I woke up around 6:30 a.m. September 2, 2023, and turned up the computer as I usually did to catch up on what happened while I was asleep. The first thing I saw was a message from a friend telling me Jimmy Buffet had died the day before. You could have slapped me in the face and I would not have been any more shocked. Eyes watered immediately and I leaned back absorbing. Then as the day progressed and more and more announcements and stories about him filled my screen. I attempted posting a couple of things and sharing a few more but none of them really said what I was feeling
Toward evening and still reflecting and letting even more tributes come up, one incident leaped out of the past and spoke to me.
It happened like this, our usual bunch had gathered in our favorite bar, a place I called Key Largo as I had recently gone through another breakup with another woman I had loved and that song of the time had resonated. A wall of windows overlooked the harbor in Valdez, Alaska. In daylight we could see to the end of the bay where the Chugach Mountains rose to their white caps. Sometimes a sunset behind us would color them pink or purple. One time when they turned deep purple we made everyone in the bar stand up and sing that patriotic song with "purple mountains' majesty" in it. Commercial salmon fishermen sat next to some of us tour boar captains and charter fishermen along with several crew members, girlfriends and other hangers on, even a couple of ocean sailors, with a few tourists scattered at tables a cautious distance from us locals.
The usual din of conversations, shouts from game players, laughter, cursing to be sure, stories being told, just the general noise that fills any bar along with the occasional interlude for some favorite song coming out of the jukebox. In short it was a normal night at Key Largo.
Then the first notes came out of that box, familiar guitar chords and then a harmonica lament. By the time the first words emerged several of us were already singing, "Mother, mother ocean, I have heard your call, wanted to sail upon your waters since I was three feet tall…." By the end of that first phrase most other noise had ceased and the place had fallen almost into silence, almost or maybe in reverence as more people joined the song. We sang every word of that song to the ending verse:
"Mother, mother ocean, after all the
years I've found
My occupational hazard being my occupation's just not around
I feel like I've drowned, gonna head uptown
I feel like I've drowned, gonna head uptown."
As the last notes faded, so did our singing, into a funereal silence throughout the room as each of us relaxed into what might be described as a state of euphoria while we searched our own minds for meaning. That musician had been there, in one way or another done what we've done, and held the experience in high regard and was able to express our emotions about it for us, an unseen crew mate. We could feel the meaning but for my part anyway could not find the words to articulate it. Maybe it was the kinship all of us felt for each other, the singer and the ocean. The silence lasted for what seemed several minutes but was probably a few seconds. I recall catching the eye of a fisherman, recognizing each other as brothers despite our differences, as I whispered to my friend, "That was special," and then fell back into my reverie.
Soon the buzz of conversation rose and the room filled with the usual sounds and the moment passed. Passed for the time being, yes, but not gone as is evidenced here and to tell the truth every other time I hear that song.
Bit of an update: I posted this on the BuffettNews - Jimmy Bufftett facebook page: 98 comments and likes.
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