October 10, 2001
Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada
9pm. This morning, Tom and I went to the port with Eli to find work, but they had all the men they needed. On the walk home we had an adventure on Partridge Island and were in awe of art found on Bayshore Beach. At night fall, Alice and I jammed with drums and whistles.
A plaque on the Celtic cross read:
"This monument was erected in memory of more than 2000 Irish Immigrants who died of Typhus fever, contracted on shipboard, during the voyage from Ireland, in the famine year 1847, and of whom 600 were buried in the island.
This cross also commemorates the devotion and sacrifice of Dr. Patrick Collins, who after ministering to the victims of the disease, himself contracted it and died. 1847-1927.
-Designed and Erected by George McArther.
A pitch black underground passage connects old gun placements. I had been down before with a light, and even then it was scary, but we had none today. The digital camera was used like playing a video game. I pointed the camera into the dark void, captured an image with a flash, and navigated, exploring hallways and voiding obstacles, using the scene on the screen.
Currently managed by the Canadian Coast Guard, and "off limits to visitors without permission," I envision Partridge Island to be an open sanctuary for playing music and overnight camping. Neil Jacobson, head of the Waterfront Development Strategy, has invited me to join a new task force of community planners interested developing the island. It would be a radical base for the FAR OUT School. It is a perfect place to find peace or make lots of noise. I'm thinking about concerts, festivals, an art school and paintball wars.
Out of water, these precious stones lost their luster. It is often that way with nature; best to enjoy in the moment, and leave as is for the pressure of others.