Coming of Age in Blue Hill, Maine
For Andrew, on his graduation from Liberty School,
Blue Hill, Maine
June 16, 2006
After two years of Liberty,
managed well,
amid firefly fields
and hikes up Blue Hill Mountain,
bonfires on granite
and woodstove warmings,
with sea smoke in winter
and a springtime of emails from Africa
from the young man who returned
in place of the boy who left
this Blue Hill shore,
After two years of hammock snoozing
with lilacs and lupines framing granite steps
and perfuming front porch lunches
while lobstermen circled traps
and seagulls laughed overhead,
After two years piled high
with sea shells, sea glass, sand dollars,
stones smoothed by saltwater,
mussels picked from the sea and steamed with garlic,
After so many trips over Falls Bridge currents
at high tide, low tide, mid-tide,
with moonlit diamonds on rapids,
In the midst of so much time passing,
so much beauty thrilling, so much change happening,
I somehow missed the moment when the boy became a man.
For one day, I looked, and there he was,
tall and full of knowing what he wanted,
and I was proud and full of wonder at all he’d accomplished.
Blue Hill, Maine
June 16, 2006
After two years of Liberty,
managed well,
amid firefly fields
and hikes up Blue Hill Mountain,
bonfires on granite
and woodstove warmings,
with sea smoke in winter
and a springtime of emails from Africa
from the young man who returned
in place of the boy who left
this Blue Hill shore,
After two years of hammock snoozing
with lilacs and lupines framing granite steps
and perfuming front porch lunches
while lobstermen circled traps
and seagulls laughed overhead,
After two years piled high
with sea shells, sea glass, sand dollars,
stones smoothed by saltwater,
mussels picked from the sea and steamed with garlic,
After so many trips over Falls Bridge currents
at high tide, low tide, mid-tide,
with moonlit diamonds on rapids,
In the midst of so much time passing,
so much beauty thrilling, so much change happening,
I somehow missed the moment when the boy became a man.
For one day, I looked, and there he was,
tall and full of knowing what he wanted,
and I was proud and full of wonder at all he’d accomplished.
posted by Judy at 8:44 PM
8 Comments:
That's beautiful, Mom. Just beautiful.
Andy will love it.
I love you,
Your grown-up daughter, Elizabeth
Brava, Jucy!
Very well said
-adrienne:)
You know, Adrienne, of all of Judy's poems on this here blog, I'd have to say the one about her son graduating from high school and growing up is perhaps the *least* "jucy" she's got!!!
Hahahaha!
The One Who Grew Up First
Hi She-Who-Grew-Up-First:)!
I was IM'ing with my brother the other week, and I wrote that I was visiting Jucy soon! I saw my mistake after I sent it, but I kind of liked it as a nickname for your Mom:)! What do you think of it??
-adrienne:)
And you're quite right about Andy's poem and the others:)!!!
-A:)
Jucy is a perfect nickname! Brilliant!
Way to go Adrienne!!!
:) Elizabeth
P.S. He did. Love it. Just like I said. And now he lives on his own! Grown up for real! Ahhh...scary thoughts....
Judy, You missed his development as do so many parents and grand parents. don.
Don,
It's easy to do, as the poem says, in the midst of so much life. It was a wonderful two years. He's a terrific young man.
Judy
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