From a Newspaper Clipping

By Helen Webb Bernstorff

Mrs. Helen W. Bernstorff lived for a time at Minturn on Swan’s Island and wrote articles for newspapers.  The following is from such an undated article from some local paper.

Swan’s Island Grandmother Goes Lobstering Every Day in Punt

SWAN’S ISLAND – In Maine the sunswept days of early fall seem never to end.  Only the fact that last night we pulled up the extra quilt and that this morning we ate an unusually hearty breakfast makes us realize that winter hovers just beyond the islands.

We noticed too, as we sauntered down toward the wharf, that Ella Davis just in from hauling her traps, had rolled down her sleeves.  Son Robert sported a red plaid shirt.  “Out early, ain’t you?” she grinned, throwing us her painter.  “Hi, Ella.  Out early yourself.  How’s the haul?”  “Warn’t much.  Twenty pounds.”  Ella always makes us think of “Smilin’ through.”  Maybe because her grin is warm and earthy.  Ella’s smile makes her seem as young as her youngest grandchild.  “How many traps did you haul, Ella?”   “Now waida minute.  What you doing with that pencil and notebook?  You gonna put me in the paper?”  We nodded.

Son Helps Haul

             Ella climbed out of her punt to sit beside me on the pier, booted legs swinging.  Robert, a sturdy lad of twelve, grinned shyly down at us before he vanished up the path.

             “He’s a good boy,” Ella said.  “Helps me every minute he’s not in school.  Mornings we get up at four-thirty and haul thirty traps.”  She watched me jot it down.  “You put down I got eleven children and ten grandchildren.  I was born here on Swan’s Island forty-five years ago and have lived here ever since.”

            Although only six of her children, the youngest four, still remain at home, we marveled at the laughing sparkle in her eyes.  How gallantly she carries her burden.  Her husband, Elmer, an expert boat builder, is often too ill to work.  All of Ella’s ingenuity and industry go to get the children off to school, well fed and clothed.  Yet a healthier, happier group of pretty girls and handsome boys we’ve never seen.

            Take Joan, the seven-year old.  The first time we noticed her was a raw December afternoon when little more than a toddler, she had scurried up the rough, frosted road which led to the store, a penny clutched in her hand.  She looked like a fat bare-footed kewpie doll.

 

Plenty Of Work

            “Your so busy, Ella, that we seldom have time for a talk.  Take today for instance.  What will you do today?”

            “Same as every day, I guess.” She grinned.  “Go home and get breakfast, then over to Abby’s to clean and do a little painting.  When the kids come home from school they’ll do some work around the house.  After supper I’ll have to do the washing.”

            “And this winter?  Now that the summer people are leaving will you be able to get some rest?”

            Ella chuckled.  “They left me enough cleaning, papering and painting to keep me busy all winter.”

            Ella scrambled to her feet, grinning widely.“Never cost much to have them.  Keeping them’s what’s hard.  Mostly the neighbors helped.  Twice the Island Nurse came over.  Once I was alone with just the young children in the house.  Elmer was over to Bass Harbor on a job.  That was when Joan was born, seven years ago come January.  Fourteen below, it was, and the fire went out.  I bundled the kids into bed, and walked the floor all night.  Toward morning the baby came.  Later on one of the neighbors came over and found us.  She brought some wood and built a fire, or I don’t know what would have happened.”  Ella shifted from one foot to the other.  “They’ll all be howling for breakfast.”



“Well, thank you, Ella for staying to talk.”  We returned her warm smile and watched her hurry up the path.  “It’s a privilege to know you.”  We called after her.  But she probably didn’t hear.