The young man decided to leave the cottage for a while as the caretaker slept. He walked along the the rocky shore and enjoyed the sun while he could. The weather was unseasonably warm. Knowing that a warm front always proceeds a large storm front he decided that he would holed up in cottage for the next few days. The golden sky was of particular concern for him. “Orange or yellow will hurt a fellow” he said underneath his breath. He searched the horizon for any signs of a sail for a moment. He could have sworn that he saw the glimmering of glass off in the distance but when no sail was spotted he presumed it was just wishful thinking. With the tide out he actually had a beach to stroll on. As he did so he continued to look out to sea. Just then he scuffed his foot across something half buried in the sand and fell face first on beach. He rolled over and looked back to what it was that he had tripped over. It was a wooden box approximately one foot wide by eighteen inches long and 8 inches deep. He dug out the other end of the box. It was a bit heavier than he expected for its size. The young man lifted the box to one shoulder carried it back to the cottage. The box could not have been lost for too long. There was no corrosion of the metal hinges or latch. Once inside he placed his newfound prize on the table and contemplated on how to defeat the lock. He walked into the supply room and found some tools. There was a hammer and chisel, a file and after some digging around he found a box of miscellaneous keys. He would start with the keys. He carefully began to remove the sand and debris from the lock. Gently tapping on the lock with the handle of the chisel would get the bulk of the sand out. He inserted the first key and it wouldn’t seat fully into lock. However, raking the key back and forth removed more sand. He patiently worked in this way for a few hours before he noticed a presence in the room. How long had the caretaker been sitting there watching him? The caretaker was just shaking his head when the younger man realized he was there. The caretaker was holding the hammer and chisel. With one pop of the hammer and chisel the lock opened. Inside was a fine navigational kit consisting of a sextant, a compass, ships glass, and a chart. In the very bottom of the box well wrapped up in oil cloth was a watch. The set was exquisite. The fine craftsmanship of instruments was second to none. The box was well fitted enough to prevent the sand from fouling up the instruments. There was a navigator somewhere that if still alive was mourning the loss of this kit. The placed the box on the hearth where the instruments could dry out and prepared the lamp for the oncoming evening. For the first time since he was stranded the young man had a way of plotting his position. This was also the first night with a clear sky. Although the watch had stopped he could still latitude and general Compass points. To the best of his reckoning he was somewhere between Greenland and North America. The compass had a sun dial on the lid which would make it possible to determine local time.
Tag: lighthouse
The Beacon part 4
The young man was just putting away the last of his recovered belongings when the caretaker emerged from the bedroom. Determined to not be a burden the young man had already prepared the next meal from his supplies. It was early afternoon and dark clouds were already gathering to engulf the small island. At the first flash of lightning they began to count the seconds between the flash and the sound of thunder. This would let them know how many miles away the edge of the storm was. The second flash was a few seconds shorter between flash and crash. This one was coming in fast. The caretaker drops his spoon into the bowl with a splash and starts for the supply room . The young man catches him by the shoulder and motions towards the spiral staircase. The caretaker understands, the young man had already prepared the next round of oil in the lamp. They made their way to the top of the lighthouse and once more the beacon began it’s nightly battle with the darkness. They returned to the meal and stoked the fire. The little cottage had few creature comforts but the fireplace and generous supply of cordwood was one of them. It was while sitting by the fireplace that the caretaker noticed the small stack of personal items recovered from the wreckage. On top was an oilskin wrapped around a book. The caretaker gestured for the younger man to show him what was in the bundle. The young man handed him the oilskin and the caretaker removed a Bible. The leather cover was very worn and pages were falling out but it was all there. A certain look came over the caretaker’s face and a small tear formed in corner of one eye. The caretaker seemed to caress the book as he held it. Without lifting the cover he began to speak. It didn’t take long for the younger man to recognise that the caretaker was quoting scriptures verbatim in his own native tongue. After reciting a few passages the caretaker returned the sacred book to its oilskin and secured the closure. “It was my father’s book.” The young man said as he returned it to the small stack. “He was lost at sea when I was a child. It’s all I have left.” The caretaker placed a hand gently on the younger man shoulder as he spoke. After a few minutes of silence the caretaker motioned him to move back to the table and sit down. He disappeared into the back of the supply room and returned with a bottle of wine and a box. The caretaker pours each of them a proper glass of wine and opens the box. Inside was a chess board and pieces carved from shells gathered from the beach. They passed the evening with a few rounds of chess until it was time for the caretaker to focus on the maintaining the lamp and watching the rocks for the signs of ship in trouble.
The next morning the storm seemed to break early. The young man ventured into kitchen and greeted the caretaker. They had one more round of chess and the caretaker disappeared into the bedroom.
The Beacon part 3
Before advancing the story I want to talk about the image. The base is is the lighthouse at Summerville Lake in West Virginia. The background is a manipulation of one of those surprises you find on your camera roll when you have accidentally hit the shutter button .
The storyline started out as a was of featuring the lighthouse images but has seemed to take on a life of its own. As fitting images and inspiration allow I will continue to advance the the story of the beacon.
The Beacon..part 2
This is second render of the lighthouse. For this version I used the same lighthouse base image. I added rain drops from the windshield of my truck. I also wanted a brighter feeling to this one as if the storm was almost gone.
The younger person draws the blanket around himself like a robe. His hands are heavily calloused from the time spent at sea. His jet black hair hung coarse strands from being wet. The fire reflected in his dark eyes as he gazes at the flames. The shock of his experience weighs on his very soul. The old caretaker sets a thick earthenware mug of hot coffee on the table and slides it to him. There’s no need for words. They only understand a few words of each other’s languages anyway. They are brothers of the sea. As they communicate with the few words and gestures the dawn breaks and the storm retreats. The new day brings peace and with it new future.
The story above is an excerpt from one of the many stories that I have in progress. Inspection seems to come in spurts. I will add more to the story as time and inspiration allow.
The Beacon
Today I wanted to take a break from the black and white photos. This image is a composit of a lighthouse I photographed several years ago. It was my first excursion into photography with lens larger than 35 mm. I created the background and storm clouds by manipulating other photos in my archive.
I wanted to give you feeling of the powerful light driving back the darkness. Everyone at some point feels lost in the storm. We need a beacon of hope to bring us into shore. I can see the inside of the little cabin at the base of the lighthouse in my mind’s eye. A kindly old caretaker stokes a warm fire and offers a blanket to a young refugee who barely made it to shore. The younger person is soaked to the bone from the winter storm. As they sit together and enjoy a hardy meal the Atlantic Ocean rages outside. Waves crash against the stoney shore in vain as if Neptune himself was frustrated with the young person’s escape from the darkness. They are safe and secure within the refuge of the lighthouse.
