We ran oysters into New York yesterday, packing them in snow. Winter has finally shown her cold side, if for only a few days. We cut back from 7000 to 4000 oysters and will continue to diminish our shipments: the big ones are all sold and demand in general falls after New Years.
We had to shovel three inches of snow out of the boats before making the harvest. As we were leaving I was told that the local dock builder had died. He was repairing a dock destroyed in the hurricane and his barge ran aground. While trying to refloat himself, he dropped dead. His crew tried to revive him without success.
A hard worker, I respected him and his elder brother. Today, the funeral home was overflowing as Father Tom said a mass. Mostly men, many who worked on the water, attended. They wore black jeans and black windbreakers, boots and were mostly bareheaded in the 20 degree morning. A few had suits, but not many.
Marines folded the flag from his coffin and gave it to his third wife. She was sobbing. He was buried in a small cemetary off of Arshamonmac Pond where his mother was also buried. His older brother, always a gentleman to me since I first arrived, kept his chin up while a buglar blew taps and pipes played.
His coffin was lowered into the frozen ground and packed in snow.