{"id":181,"date":"2013-05-16T20:00:45","date_gmt":"2013-05-16T20:00:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.byrdspilmandewey.com\/?page_id=181"},"modified":"2013-05-17T00:50:43","modified_gmt":"2013-05-17T00:50:43","slug":"glimpses-and-echoes","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.byrdspilmandewey.com\/?page_id=181","title":{"rendered":"Glimpses and Echoes"},"content":{"rendered":"

Editor’s Note: This little poem essay appeared in The Tropical Sun in 1891 under Byrd Spilman Dewey’s weekly column “The Sitting Room.” It is a delightful glimpse into a day-long picnic to what was then called “Pitt’s Island,” today’s Munyon Island, now a wildlife refuge north of the Palm Beach Inlet. Enjoy the rich description of a simpler time in an unspoiled paradise.
\n<\/em>
\nA glorious morning after days of storm.
\nA white winged boat speeds towards the wharf.
\nShe pauses; friends disembark.
\n\u201cGet your hat!\u201d
\n\u201cNever mind the lunch!\u201d
\n\u201cPlenty on board!\u201d
\n\u201cPicnic!\u201d
\n\u201cCome along!\u201d
\n\u201cHurry up!\u201d
\nAll talk at once. Bread butters itself. Gloves and hats are found to be already on. Everything does itself.
\n\u201cAll aboard!\u201d
\n\u201cCast off!\u201d
\nFlying up the Lake.
\nPausing for more picnickers.
\nGreeting passing boats with friends on board. Everything and everybody glad of the inspiring weather \u2013 drunk on sunshine.
\nFlying past the Inlet.
\n\u201cWhere to?\u201d
\n\u201cThe Island.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat Island?\u201d
\n\u201cThe island of palms and flowers!\u201d
\nWe disembark. Flowers, singing birds and happy people, bright dresses, warm welcome, laughter, everybody talking at once.
\n\u201cDinner time!\u201d
\n\u201cSpread the cloth!\u201d
\nBread and butter-fish-chicken, potato salad-
\n\u201cNo cake?\u201d
\n\u201cNo cake.\u201d
\n\u201cNo pie?\u201d
\n\u201cI thought you had brought the cake.\u201d
\n\u201cI thought you<\/em> had.\u201d
\n\u201cNever mind; who cares for cake, anyway.\u201d
\n\u201cNot I.\u201d
\n\u201cNor I.\u201d
\n\u201cI adore bread and butter.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd I.\u201d
\n\u201cGood <\/em>bread and butter.\u201d
\n\u201cYes, indeed.\u201d
\n\u201cMh-hm.\u201d
\n\u201cPass the jelly.\u201d
\n\u201cHave some more chicken? salmon?\u201d
\n\u201cGood coffee.\u201d
\n\u201cYes, splendid. Another cup.\u201d
\n\u201cCucumbers?\u201d
\n\u201cYes and bananas.\u201d
\n\u201cEverything but cake and pie.\u201d
\n\u201cUnique picnic.\u201d
\n\u201cGather up the dishes. Let the birds have the fragments.\u201d
\nLong paths and avenues of palms, rubber trees, and all queer vines and shrubs. Hermit crabs.
\n\u201cOh, he bit me, the horrid thing! I want his pretty shell.\u201d
\nLaughter-jokes-conundrums.
\n\u201cInlet?\u201d
\n\u201cYes, come along.\u201d
\nLying on the sand. Point of rocks, with spray falling over it. Woman in a red shawl watching steamers plowing through white waves. Tide coming in.
\n\u201cSee that shark!\u201d
\n\u201cWhere?\u201d
\n\u201cThere he goes.\u201d
\n\u201cSand fleas.\u201d
\n\u201cHow funny, where do they go?\u201d
\n\u201cTime to go back on the boat.\u201d
\n\u201cCome on.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat a lovely conch shell.\u201d
\n\u201cPhe—-ew, he\u2019s dead!\u201d
\n\u201cWhat a funny fish! There see it?\u201d
\nHomeward bound.
\n\u201cHow lovely!\u201d
\nA silvery moonrise on one side, a golden sunset on the other.
\n\u201cOh, for eyes all around like a spider!\u201d
\n\u201cHow beautiful the cocoanuts, on that point against the sunset! Their leaves, \u2018each alone in feathr\u2019y grace, against the tropic sky.\u201d
\n\u201cThat was written about the pine trees.\u201d
\n\u201cYes, I know; but it fits the cocoanut even better.\u201d
\nThe afterglow dies swiftly. The beautiful moon! We sail through the pathway of silver.
\nHome at last.
\n\u201cGood night!\u201d
\n\u201cGood night!\u201d
\n\u201cTired?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cSleepy?\u201d
\n\u201cOh no.\u201d
\nSunlight. Moonlight, laughter, fish, steamers, winds, waves-the pillow is full of them.
\nThe day is gone; but its echoes linger.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Copyright, 2013. Ginger L. Pedersen and Janet M. DeVries<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Editor’s Note: This little poem essay appeared in The Tropical Sun in 1891 under Byrd Spilman Dewey’s weekly column “The Sitting Room.” It is a delightful glimpse into a day-long picnic to what was then called “Pitt’s Island,” today’s Munyon Island, now a wildlife refuge north of the Palm Beach \u2026 Continue reading → <\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":79,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"page-fullwidth.php","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-181","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.byrdspilmandewey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/181","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.byrdspilmandewey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.byrdspilmandewey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.byrdspilmandewey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.byrdspilmandewey.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=181"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.byrdspilmandewey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/181\/revisions"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.byrdspilmandewey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/79"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.byrdspilmandewey.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=181"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}