Some of you old timers may remember Richard Friedman. He ran a whale sighting yacht in Alaskan during the tourist season and was also pipe maker (his specialty were sea creature shapes). The Yacht was "He was a member of the NYC pipe club. He passed a few days ago and this was shared on the NYC pipe club page. He lived a rich life.
I believe there is a thread her somewhere, on how he stored his pipes on the yacht.
David Whyte - SONG FOR THE SALMON
For too many days now I have not written of the sea, nor the rivers, nor the shifting currents we find between the islands. For too many nights now I have not imagined the salmon threading the dark streams of reflected stars, nor have I dreamt of his longing, nor the lithe swing of his tail toward dawn. I have not given myself to the depth to which he goes, to the cargoes of crystal water, cold with salt, nor the enormous plains of ocean swaying beneath the moon. I have not felt the lifted arms of the ocean opening its white hands on the seashore, nor the salted wind, whole and healthy, filling the chest with living air. I have not heard those waves, fallen out of heaven onto earth, nor the tumult of sound and the satisfaction of a thousand miles of ocean, giving up its strength on the sand. But now I have spoken of that great sea, the ocean of longing shifts through me, the blessed inner star of navigation moves in the dark sky above and I am ready like the young salmon, to leave his river, blessed with hunger, for a great journey on the drawing tide. ...
Richard Max Friedman
10-26-50
2-26-23
I believe there is a thread her somewhere, on how he stored his pipes on the yacht.
David Whyte - SONG FOR THE SALMON
For too many days now I have not written of the sea, nor the rivers, nor the shifting currents we find between the islands. For too many nights now I have not imagined the salmon threading the dark streams of reflected stars, nor have I dreamt of his longing, nor the lithe swing of his tail toward dawn. I have not given myself to the depth to which he goes, to the cargoes of crystal water, cold with salt, nor the enormous plains of ocean swaying beneath the moon. I have not felt the lifted arms of the ocean opening its white hands on the seashore, nor the salted wind, whole and healthy, filling the chest with living air. I have not heard those waves, fallen out of heaven onto earth, nor the tumult of sound and the satisfaction of a thousand miles of ocean, giving up its strength on the sand. But now I have spoken of that great sea, the ocean of longing shifts through me, the blessed inner star of navigation moves in the dark sky above and I am ready like the young salmon, to leave his river, blessed with hunger, for a great journey on the drawing tide. ...
Richard Max Friedman
10-26-50
