Crossings

St John to Digby was a 6 hour crossing on a seemingly endless blue-gray ocean without the first sight of land.

The old ferry featured staterooms - which we never took, a needless expense according to my frugal grandmother -
a coffee shop, lots of restrooms, and several day crossing rooms consisting of an assortment of chairs and leather couches, shabby and worn down by the thousands of travelers. Nana and my mother knitted or read while we roamed the decks, intrepid explorers on a hunt for the unexpected. Or we napped, lulled to sleep by the steady hum of the ship's engines and the constant forward motion. Sudden bouts of seasickness were rare as we had been making this trip for all our short lives but if overtaken by queasiness, we went on deck, forward to the canvas covered lifeboats to hang on the rails, watch the ocean and linger in the crisp salt spray. We were even allowed on the bridge as Nana knew the captain, a rugged and distinguished old sailor.

Compared to her sister ship - Portland to Yarmouth in 12 hours - she was a tired, old vessel with no fancy dining, no well appointed accomodations, no casinos or nightlife. She was, however, reliable, reasonably comfortable and almost always on time. Best of all, when she docked in the Digby harbor, we were only an hour from Long Island as opposed to the three or four from Yarmouth. So year after year, we boarded and departed the old ship until we felt as if we knew her as well as her captain and crew.

It was a plain and simple crossing with no amenities but it was an important part of coming home.