A Snapshot of Edie Sweet

This is what she had to say when she said it July, 10. She always said it so well. Please open your hearts to support her family. Thank you.

A Good Crop

I'm older than two-thirds of the people I know. I rode in on the shirttails of the sixties and twenty years later the boys who did return home from Viet Nam were men who didn't vote; twenty years after that are men who are dying from cancers caused by exposure to Agent Orange. Then there's the hippy side of the sixties. We all know the history; the disappointment, the drugs and money, and 'it's not going to work anyway' attitude. And the nether side of the Civil Rights movement -the gunning down of leaders, the violence and inequalities that persist today. All of this coupled with the breakdown of formal religion results in a breeding ground for violence, apathy, or if possible a materialistic scramble to the top of a ladder of opulent spending. Gross generalizations, I realize, but I am trying to give a picture of where I come from as a single mother, artist, and laborer.
I've seen a lot go down. The demise of the local fishing fleet has been one of the most heartbreaking. To have the tradition, culture and livelihood wiped out by international factory ships depleting the waters while our own small boats post for-sale signs or go off to auction in the government buy-back program, a list as long as those lost at sea, while displaced fishermen and families move off-Cape - is a loss that makes the heart sink.
And then there's all the greed. And the war. Not to mention the present regime so unhealthy for the working class.
Sure. Lately these last years of feeling my age, is the knowledge that, if I let it, the hot fetid breath of disappointment in life could very well sour what I've got left of it.
However…
This week an overwhelming tide of hope washed in, so strong, so viable, so present and so here-to-stay-not-going-away. It came onto the shores of Cape Cod where a tragic accident occurred on Independence Day. A beloved member of the community, twenty-five years old, was injured in a skateboard/truck accident, the board dragged under the wheel and our friend up in the air and down on his head. By nightfall the word was out. Seven per cent chance of survival.
And then the tide roared.
His generation, the twenty to thirty year olds, are praying. On the Town Hall lawn they're praying. Twice a day they're praying. In every store in five towns is a magic marker flyer 'Pray For Caleb". On surfboards paddling out in the Atlantic into a circle one hundred and twenty-five strong, they're praying while Caleb's pirate kites fly high from the dunes. Praying all over town. Praying in Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. They are brothers and sisters and they are not going to let this tragedy go down It's as simple as that. They are not going to let it happen.
Each day as Caleb wiggles a toe or blinks an eyelid or comes off the life-support and takes a breath on his own, the prayers are rampant. The young women sew leis for the off-shore surfer circle. Donation cans are stuffed and emptied five times a day. Tourists in restaurants read the news and voice their rational, judgmental, negative opinions and are blasted out of their coffee cups by the waitresses. Only positive thoughts for Caleb!
Now I am drawn into the circle of prayer by my twenty-five year old daughter. Beside the pirate flag we light the candles at the vigil on Town Hall lawn for Caleb, the much loved shellfisherman and surfer. Tomorrow undergoing brain surgery. Tonight, hands held, the prayer circle rings three deep to include two hundred and fifty people; octogenarians and three week old babes and the rescue squad who picked up his pieces. The gathering swells. Chanting soars. Only positive vibration is accepted.
Here I am uplifted by the hope, the determination, the force and yes, the know-how of this young crop of people.
It's here again. The hope. It can not be dismissed.
I don't know how they know how to do it. The drumming. The chanting. But it's here again. A gift of the spirit.
And I'm thinking because I've felt it before, and I've witnessed it go down just as I've witnessed the local fishing fleet go down, that these are the people who can do it. These twenty to thirty year olds. This generation. This good crop. They can raise the young man, brother, lover, son, best friend, beloved, raise him off his death bed. They can sustain the local traditional industries. They can collectively raise natural wind and solar resources to replace death-bound oil. They can find a way to feed the people. They can spread healthcare to those who can't afford it. They can. They will.
For God's sake they've even brought me into it! No longer tottering on the edge of skepticism and cynicism, I can say 'we' again. We will do it.
I'm with them. I'll give them all I've got.
Because this crop has given me back what had slowly hemorrhaged away these past forty years. Hope.
Hope.
More power to us all.

Edie Sweet July10th, 2007