Ah . . . The Sea (Patricia Potter)

"I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face and a gray dawn breaking."

"I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied. . . "

John Masefield’s poem is my very favorite and has been since 10th Grade English. I’ve always felt the call of the sea, and when I get within a few miles of water, I go on automatic. Whether by foot or car or bus or train, I’m going to head straight for it.

Living in land-locked Memphis, my opportunities to be lured by the sea are limited. I satisfy myself with glimpses of the Mississippi and an occasional two hour voyage on a river boat, but this is something less than satisfactory.

When I visit some place on the ocean, I gravitate to the nearest boat, ship, tug, ferry, beach, or any other place where I can gaze out to sea.

So my recent trip to Novelists Inc., in San Diego, was somewhat problematic. Sessions – some very good sessions, indeed – or the sea?

I’m afraid the sea won.

I did sit in on a morning session by a creativity coach, then could stand it no longer. Down to the ships I went with a friend. There was a two-hour harbor cruise ready to go. Okay. Maybe I would get it out of my system and enjoy the rest of the conference.

‘Twas rather chilly, but I loved every single second of it. I listened spell-bound to the tour guide about every small detail of the bay and the Navy ships anchored there. I rejoiced in every gust of wind, and every cry of a sea bird.

I grieved when it was over, but leaving I saw a sign for a whale watching trip the next day.

Yep, you guessed it. Four whole hours on the sea. I signed up with the same friend. It was freezing but we stayed out on deck when everyone else fled inside. The sea was gray, and there were no whales, but there were sea birds, and seals perched on buoys and a school of porpoises, and I was a very happy sailor.

Time to go to work, to return to the hotel and listen to people who would help by craft and my business savvy.

That’s when I saw an advertisement for a "adventure" trip on a tall ship. A sailing adventure aboard a replica of a 1860's revenue ship. Three hours working the sails and the braces. All my good intentions rushed from my mind and yes, I bought a ticket and was there well before the required time.

I’ve taken several windjammer cruises in my younger days and they were the best trips I ever had. I helped with the sails, took turns at the wheel, slept on the deck and swigged rum punches while the sails billowed in the wind and the crew played "Born Free" on calypso drums. I proudly say I was the only who did not get sick.

I truly love sailing ships. There is something about the absence of the smell and sound of engines that frees your spirit. You have only the sounds of the sea: the slap of waves against the hull, the occasional flap of a sail, the cries of gulls as they beg for any tidbit you might offer them. They are all intoxicating to me. They free my mind from all concerns, all worries.

Alas, it is now the last day of the conference. I see an ad for a cruise on an America Cup ship, but it is too late. It’s already gone for the day, and I’m leaving in the morning.

I put it on the list for next time.

I’ve attended precious few conference sessions, though I’ve had some time to see old friends. Not enough time, and I regret that. But the sea has restored my spirits and my creative juices as much as hours inside a hotel conference room. And yes, I can justify some of it as research for a sea-faring book. I keep telling myself that.

When I was a reporter at the Atlanta Journal, one of the editors once told me he was taking his brother to the coast. His brother was dying and that was where he wanted to go. He mused that the ocean is from whence we came, and there seems to be something in many of us that draw back to it in an almost mystical way.

I’m a shining example of that theory. Because of family, I’ve been unable to migrate to a place alongside the sea, but one of these days . . .

In the meantime, I’ll grab any chance I can to savor every salt-tinged moment I can.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that on the last night of the conference I attended a St. Patrick’s Day concert by the San Diego Pops Orchestra. It featured a magnificent Irish tenor (did I mention before that the Irish Tenors and the Celtic Women are my favorite artists?), an Irish folk singer and Irish dancers. If I could possibly feel any better after my hours at sea, the concert accomplished that.

So here I am back in Memphis. Session-less but content. And if I can’t be by the sea, Memphis will do at this time of year. It’s at its best. In just the five days I’ve been gone, it’s been transformed. Azaleas and flowering trees are blooming. Young tender leaves are turning trees green. Color is everywhere, and the 80's temperatures are alluring.

But still . . . I already yearn for the sea again, for the lonely sea and the sky.