In the autumnal season of life, as we age and retire out of the workforce, some of us may begin to feel unwanted and useless.  We’ve done our job, and certainly did our best… we put heart and soul into our family and career.  But now that we’re a few years removed from a busy active life, and no longer able to do what we once could, maybe some of us feel like we’ve been “put out to pasture” and left to watch time slowly tick away.

I hope you’re enjoying a great autumn season as the leaves turn colors, the geese form their entourages and fly south, colder weather requires jackets, and tinges of wood smoke make the outdoor air aromatic reminding me of what pioneer days must have been like. We still have not had a frost but expect it later this coming week.  Like life, a lot of changes happen in this season of fall as we prepare for winter just around the corner, reminding me I need to prepare for the inevitable and get those snow tires put on.  And so, we prepare for our latter season of life… and enjoy this time of change. Admittedly, though, I am not a big fan of change… like arthritis creeping in, realizing I need to buy a magnifying glass to read the fine print… but I roll with it, accept the changes, and move forward… 

These thoughts came to mind on seeing some photos several years ago, like those at this tug graveyard, taken by Will Van Dorp, aka Tugster, another friend from childhood days.  As Will documents and blogs about the daily traffic of his aptly-named watery “Sixth Boro” surrounding New York City and its environs, we see tugs hard at work towing and pushing barges or assisting an array of ships.  Once upon a time, newly minted, they slid off the ways into the water, freshly christened with a shining glow, eager to face whatever responsibility or danger came their way. Tugs of various shapes and sizes actively plied the waters for many decades, sometimes sold to be rebuilt, repurposed and renamed to fit a new owner’s need.  But, it saddens us when these workhorses of watery roads are abandoned in a lonely inlet graveyard to slowly rot away.  They deserve a more fitting tribute for their hard-earned rest.

Sort of like us… who begin to feel more like the months of autumn as the effects of aging take their toll… despite our thinking we’re a few decades younger and that we can still handle what we used to do with ease!  Maybe we had only one job, one career, or maybe we embraced multiple careers in our lifetime.  Maybe we lived through an era in history with a personal perspective that today’s youth just don’t understand.

Be willing to share your life stories… the blessings, the fun and laughter, and the tears in tough times.  What was learned through your experiences may help someone else understand how to face their own difficulty.  With the end of life coming to us all eventually, be it boat or person, we can still make the most of our time that’s left.

We don’t need to retire to the proverbial rocker in the corner… at least not yet anyway!  We can be repurposed in retirement to benefit others.  We can volunteer our time in any number of ways within our local community.  In so doing, we can bring a smile, a sense of joy and love to someone who truly can’t get out and about as they once did. 

Listen to the stories, memories of the heart.  Help a friend share their life’s history.  Perhaps you can be the catalyst to writing down their memoirs.  Create the opportunity for such remembrances to be passed on to their children, grandchildren and great-grands, even to others beyond their immediate family. 

Every one of us has a story to tell… our place in history to share.  Like us, those old tugboats are deserving of recognition for what was accomplished during life’s journey with a fitting salute and tribute. 

Tug Salute

Linda A. Roorda

They ply the waters, these boats called tugs

Each bow riding high with a stern slung low

A workhorse they say for river or sea

Vital to traffic of watery lanes.

~

Now gaunt and faded like lifeless fossils

Left to corrode alone with their mem’ries,

Who can recall the day of christening

When futures shone bright as colorful hulls.

~

Riding waves high to rescue the dying

Pushing and tugging behemoths of the deep

Gently nudging, tucking in a berth

Or pushing deep scows hauling upriver freight.

~

No matter the calm, never minding the storm

They’ve a job to do without laud or praise

Handling with ease by a captain’s trained eye

Who knows safe channels like the back o’ the hand.

~

But came the day they were put to rest

No hands at the helm, their days were numbered

Silently rocking as waves tick off time

Lapping relentless to a tune not their own.

~

Haunting images mere remnants of honor

Come close and listen, if you dare tread near

Listen to whispers of tales long ago

As we salute you, the pride of the harbor.

~~

PHOTO CREDIT:  Will Van Dorp, "Tugster".