I dream of ferries - those passenger boats traveling across lakes, rivers, and wild seas. In particular the historic ones still skimming along Sydney Harbour, where they used to transport me to and home from work. On mornings I wasn’t running late, I’d splurge for a ride on a white wooden one with polished wood floors and benches, brass railings, and the smell of toast wafting from an unseen kitchen.
That was in the 1990’s. But this city’s ferry service dates back at least a couple of centuries. On my recent Australian visit - there they were bustling across that marvel of a harbor. I was staying in my old neighborhood near my old ferry wharf, which has been expanded but the wooden shelter, wisely retained and housing an impressive community library.
Although I didn’t see the white wooden ferry on this visit, all my favorite green and creamy yellow ones - that I know by name - were there. Charlotte, Supply, Friendship, Scarborough, Golden Grove. They were named after ships the British sent with convicts, settlers, and colonial officials. My romantic notion of their names dwindles when I learn about their origins. Yet my affinity for their presence remains.
A ride on one of these vessels gives me a wide angle lens on my surroundings. “The health of the eye seems to demand a horizon,” Emerson said. Funny, how a long-distance view also feels healthy to the mind and spirit.
I’m Paula Garrett and that’s my perspective.
