There can hardly be anyone harder working than a Cornish fisherman. Every day my first steps take me to the pier, where I am almost sure to see this man in yellow, scrubbing, organizing, weighing, sorting, or answering the questions of tourists. It's all part of the job.
Some of these sightings take place when the tide is out, and I think, "Why would a fisherman be at the pier now, with no water to carry him out?" But Stuart always has plenty to do, tide or no tide, and the work is never really done.
Yesterday I arrived in the bright sunshine to find a little group clustered around him, the mother, father, and two children asking him about his catch. A group of seagulls also hovered with a lively interest, above. All of this interest was focused on a bucket of delicious looking crabs, their long spindly legs seeming to reach out in curiosity toward us. Lobsters squirmed around in another bin, their claws bound securely for safety, and a bucket of mackerel twitched together in the third. The children stared.
"Oh well, you see, we don't need to worry about them getting loose. This lot isn't going anywhere." A long crab claw reached out, as if on cue, toward the little girl. She squeaked.
Stuart saw me then and said, "Y'alright?" in the typical Cornish welcome. Once we had established that I was alright, the family said 'thank you', and slowly moseyed in the direction of the wharf. I made to follow, knowing how busy Stuart was. Then I remembered something.
"How is your son doing?" Stuart's son is a younger fisherversion of himself.
"Oh -" the man said, perking up. "He has a baby now, just three weeks old! The cutest little thing..." he forgot his catch and began flitting through a smart phone to find the one absolutely perfect photo of that 'cute little thing'. He finally did find it, and held the screen toward me.
"She IS the cutest thing!" I said in all honesty. More digging revealed photos of his daughter's two children, every bit as cute. Those three grandchildren were the blondest haired, bluest eyed children I had seen since...since I'd left my own grandchildren in California!
"I spend all my extra time with these three," he said, checking his watch. "Better get workin' now so I can go back..." He bent over the lobster bin and heaved it into the truck.
Fishermen are strong and can heave bins of sea creatures into trucks and take them to market. They rise early and go to bed late. They put up with people who fiddle with their boats because their boats have to be outside all night long.
The fishergrandfather's day is never over, because what about that 3 year old? and the 18 month old? and that cutest little 3 week old who is already starting to love her granddad? There's an awful lot of holding yet to come.
See you along the way!
the SconeLady
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