"Oh, Come To The Church In The Wildwood . . ."

Remembering the little white church on Plum Island (see blogpost for Sunday, 1/23) brought the following song to mind, a song that was a favorite of Marash Girl's father, one he would often sing, sing, sing, sing! The Church in the Wildwood by Dr. William S. Pitts There's a church in the vale by the wildwood, No lovelier spot in the dale; No place is so dear to my childhood As the little brown church in the vale. Chorus Oh, come, come, come, come, Come to the church in the wildwood, Oh, come to the church in the vale; No spot is so dear to my childhood As the little brown church in the vale.

The Little White Church On Plum Island

Marash Girl woke up today remembering . . . no, not the Little Brown Church In The Vale, but the little white church on the island . . . Plum Island! Is this the church she remembered?

Or was it this one?

Marash Girl must have been 7 or 8 years old -- or younger -- when the family was visiting Plum Island for a week and she first saw the little white church. She remembers asking her father why they weren't going to church there . . . it was Sunday, after all. She doesn't remember his answer . . . all she knows is that because it was not THEIR church, she couldn't attend!!! She was so disappointed. Marash Girl thinks that that was probably one of the only Sundays in her childhood that she had not attended church, or at least, one of the only days in her childhood she had not attended Sunday School! N.B. Images taken from the internet.

A Postcard From Plum Island

Woke up this morning remembering a picture postcard that was popular in the old days -- a postcard sitting on a rack in the corner bookstore on Plum Island in Newburyport, Massachusetts. On the picture side of the postcard was a cartoon image of a bikini clad beach beauty, and on the message side of the postcard were printed the words, "Wish you were her!"

Remembering Henry and Rose (Bezjian) Nofal

When Marash Girl began thinking about summer, especially summers along the North Shore of Massachusetts, summers on the shores of her favorite summer island, Plum Island, she remembered the following. Many years ago, when Henry and Rose (Bezjian) Nofal were visiting Marash Girl's family in Newtonville, Massachusetts, (the Nofals had driven all the way from Troy, New York,) Marash Girl's father decided to surprise his children (Marash Girl and her siblings) and Henry and Rose Nofal with a trip to Plum Island, an island off the North Shore (of Massachusetts). Living in Troy, New York, they rarely had the opportunity of experience the Atlantic Ocean! Arriving at Plum Island (Newburyport, Massachusetts) after driving north for one and a half hours, the Marash Girl's father and his family decided to take their guests for a leisurly walk along the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. Enjoying the warmth of the sun and the music of the surf, they suddenly heard the screams of a swimmer . . . a swimmer who had been caught in the notorious surf undertow of Plum Island. Without hesitation, both Henry and Rose dove into the surf and rescued that swimmer, bringing him safely back to shore. What a wonderful and courageous couple they were! Marash Girl misses those summers on Plum Island and she so misses you, Henry and Rose!!!

Deep Sea Fishing With Dad in Newburyport

Third grader that she was, Marash Girl tugged very hard on her fishing line, so excited was she that she had a caught a fish; as she tugged, the line with the mackerel on the end of it swung behind her and smacked another fisherman . . . a man fishing on the opposite side of the boat . . . a cold wet smack right on the back of his neck.  The "injured" fisherman came roaring across the boat seeking to punch out his attacker.  Marash Girl's father (toughly muscled and fearless as he was) tried to calmed the fellow, giving him the eye and saying, "She's only a little girl . . . she didn't mean to hurt you.  She just didn't know how hard to pull!"  The man backed off, moved to a different spot on the other side of the large fishing boat . . . far enough away from Marash Girl so that he wouldn't have to feel another wet smack on the back of his neck . . . or have to deal with Marash Girl's father, iron-fisted Peter.  And that, as they say, was that!!!!

Fishermen and Pickup Trucks

Marash Boy took Marash Girl out to Auburndale for breakfast today, her favorite place to go for Sunday's brunch buffet. They were seated right next to the large expanse of windows overlooking the Charles River.  But today the parking lot was full of pickup trucks with such license plates as 

              and  

What was going on?  Well, it turns out that there was a gathering of Castafare (cast afar, hey!) fishermen, an outfit "offering Cape Cod deep sea fishing charters for tuna, marlin, striped bass, and tournament fishing off of Massachusetts on a 45 foot custom".  The dining hall was filled with fishermen from Massachusetts, Rhode Island and a few from New Hampshire.  

Deep sea fishing?  Marash Girl remembers when she would go deep sea fishing with her father in Newburyport, on Plum Island.  They would board a fishing boat and go out into the deep; if they were lucky (and the captain of the boat had followed the seagulls), they may have just found a run of mackerel, mackerel who were hungry, eager to take the bait on the fishing rods provided by the captain of the fishing vessel.  (Marash Girl can't remember the name of the outfit  now, as it is no longer operating out of Plum Island, Newburyport, Massachusetts.) 

Marash Girl remembers one such trip when, upon feeling a bite on her line, she pulled back so hard that the line came up out of the water with the fish on the end of the line, a fish which went flying through the air, still attached to the line, and smacked the fisherman who was fishing from the opposite side of the boat, smacked him right behind his sunburned neck.  Was he ever angry!  He turned around in a rage and came stomping and roaring across the deck, only to find a little girl holding the fishing rod on the other end of the line that held that mackerel that had smacked him.  "She's only 8 years," Peter said benignly to the raging fellow, the rage quickly dissipating into laughter.

Plum Island Diner - Service with a Snicker!

In the late 1960's,  Marash Girl and Haig (just off the bus from New York City) took a day trip to Plum Island, a beautiful beach on Massachusetts' North Shore.   Hungry and thirsty after a long walk along the beach, they found a diner at the beginning of the road leading to the southern tip of  the island, (the road that now leads to the federally owned stretch of the beach).  Happy to find a place to quench their thirst, they took two seats at the counter and ordered 2 tuna fish sandwiches (Marash Girl's favorite at the time) and 2 Cokes.  As the young people awaited their meal, they heard the folks behind the counter talking in Armenian -- talking about Marash Girl and her friend in a running commentary that was far from flattering.  Little did they realize that Marash Girl with her long light  hair and long skirt and Haig's long droopy moustache and "hippy" attire did not keep the two "tourists" from understanding the language of their people.  It was all that Haig and Marash Girl could do to keep from laughing.  Finally, having finished their meal, paying the bill, the two turned to the folks behind the counter and said, in perfect Armenian, "Thank you so much for the meal and the compliments!"  

The moral of the story?

Slacklining on Plum Island

Marash Girl had heard of putting yourself "on the line", and of "walking the line", but never of "walking" or "putting yourself on" the slackline.

Marash Girl first witnessed slacklining on Newtonville Avenue in Newtonville (Massachusetts) several weeks ago (see above).  It wasn't long after that that she found an unofficial slackline installed on the beach at Plum Island, challenging passersby to "put their balance on the line". . .

in this case, while holding a cigarette in one hand and chugalugging a beer with the other!  

Contemporary Sculpture on the Waterfront, Newburyport, Massachusetts

ROBERT MOTES, "AN IMAGINED PLACE"- NEWBURYPORT, MASSACHUSETTS 
Photo by Marash Girl, 10/2/13

Unable to walk along the beach at the Federal Wild Life Sanctuary on Plum Island (see yesterday's blogpost), Marash Girl took comfort in the Contemporary Sculpture at the Waterfront in downtown Newburyport, Massachusetts.  The only problem with taking comfort in the sculpted chair?  It was facing away from the water!

June 16, 2012: Artistry on Plum Island, Newburyport, Massachusetts

Creation of Sand, Plum Island, Newburyport, Massachusetts

Creation of Driftwood, Plum Island, Newburyport, Massachusetts

Overheard at Bob Lobster, Newburyport, Massachusetts

Overheard at Bob Lobster (located on the road to and from Plum Island):

While dining on delicious, freshly made clam chowder at Bob Lobster, Marash Girl overheard the fellow at the table by the front window happily and loudly proclaiming to his table mates, "My condo is located between Friendly's and Burger King!"

'Beachcoma' Clam Chowder, Plum Island, Massachusetts

Such a beautiful day was yesterday that everyone (it seemed) in the Boston area headed for the Cape or Plum Island.  Marash Girl opted for Plum Island.  Less time, less traffic.  But Marash Girl and Marash Boy hadn't had lunch and didn't want to  walk for miles along the beach with no nourishment.  Stopping at their favorite haunt (where they could eat outside and look over the marshes) was not an option; the lines were out the door, literally, and there was no seating.  So they continued on and soon came to what appeared to be a bar.  Marash Girl remembered her father saying that bars always had the best food . . . how he knew, she's not sure, as she doesn't remember his frequenting bars . . . but on that assumption, he often told the story of how he and Uncle Paul walked into a bar, and ordered lunch.  The waitress came by and asked them what they would like to drink; they declined and said they just wanted the sandwiches they had ordered.  The waitress came by every five minutes to find out what they wanted to drink; they declined and replied that they just wanted the sandwiches they had ordered.  That continued for  half an hour; they never ordered a drink; their sandwiches never came.  So how Marash Girl's father knew that bars always have the best food is a mystery!  At any rate, Marash Boy and Marash Girl walked into a bar (the Beachcoma).  The waitress asked, "What can I get you to drink?"  Marash Girl asked, "Do you make your own clam chowder?"  "I'll check," she said, and came back assuring us that they did make their own clam chowder.  "We'll each have a bowl of that,"  Marash Boy replied.  "What can I get you to drink?" asked the waitress.  "Water is fine," they replied in unison.

And soon, out came two big bowls of clam chowder, $10 for the two, the best clam chowder Marash Girl (and she has been looking for the best clam chowder all her life) has ever had in her life.  Take a drive up to Plum Island on the north shore of Massachusetts and try the Clam Chowder at the 'Beachcoma'.  You'll want to take some home with you for sure!  And don't worry.  There's a restaurant on one side of the establishment.  You don't have to walk up to the bar to order your clam chowder.

Hand Pump in the Kitchen: Once Upon a Time on Plum Island, Newburyport, Massachusetts

Charlie Alia offered my father a week at his summer cottage, a wooden house of two floors with no plumbing, no electricity and no insulation, plunked on a sand dune on Plum Island; it would be our first of two summer vacations at the ocean, and it was a memorable one.  I loved Plum Island, the miles of open ocean, the surf, the sand dunes.  Walking for miles along the dunes . . . Standing with my father as he cast into the surf in hopes of catching a striped bass or a bluefish. . . Going deep sea fishing with my father and catching a pail full of mackerel!  My father used to love to tell the story of my getting a bite on the end of my line, and my pulling on the fishing line so hard that the mackerel came flying out of the water still attached to my line, swung behind me and smacked the man (who was fishing from the opposite side of the deep sea fishing boat) on the back of his sunburned neck.  He came out swinging, wanting to punch out the guy who had done that, but all he found was a little 8 year old girl.

I loved the old wooden ice box and the iron hand pump (it was painted red!) in the kitchen of that cottage and was delighted to help my mother pump the water, the hand pump being the only source of our water for a week.  (We bathed in the ocean!)  And most of all I didn't love the outhouse -- my first experience with one!   Phew!

We all had very bloody crucifixes hanging on the matchboard wooden walls above our beds.  That was a first!  Kind of scary for us kids.

When we first arrived on the island, I noticed a cute wooden church on the west side of the main road, the road that would lead to the cottage; I asked if we could go to that church tomorrow which was Sunday.  It was then that I learned that all churches are not alike and that no, we would not be attending church that Sunday, probably the only Sunday we ever missed.   As it turned out, I never did visit the Plum Island Roman Catholic Church, and now it's been torn down, making way for yet another megamansion.