Sunday 16 September 2012

A Wondrous Mysterious Night

For the past four days, Guha Shankar from the American Folklife Center, Library of Congress, has been instructing us in our field school, leading us through the intricacies of condenser microphones, TIF images, and archival metadata. However, last night things took a different turn. Guha was leaving in the morning, Kristin was about to have a birthday. So we all assembled first in Stella's house for a shared meal of seafood chowder and vegetable soup. And, for most, their first encounter with ingesting a cod's cheek or cod's tongue, followed by a scruncheons chaser.

Jerry with cheeks and tongues

(photo: Meghann Jack)

Then off we went to the Pocius house for a farewell to Guha, and a celebration of Kristin's birthday. Well into the evening, Erin decided it was time to initiate us all into the Royal Order of Newfoundland Screechers--that ancient secret society whose origins recede into the mists of time. But we soon realized we were all becoming involved with a particularly unique version of the ceremony, one shaped by the shadowy ghosts of Moss's Hill, substituting the standard protocols for ones that grew out of our own field school situation. Kristin was the first to be indoctrinated, she would receive the full ceremony. She had to don a Sou'wester, but, in this case, a leftover from a tourist trip to Nova Scotia. And she would be the one to wear the Sou'wester cowl for the rest of the evening. We all stood in the sacred circle, Kristin performing the steps of the ritual first, each of us following in succession. Erin instructed us in the protocol. We all first recited the ancient ritual chant: "Long may your big jib draw." But then she revealed that secret incantation special to the Bonavista Peninsula that we all had to repeat: "Pass I's down the mustard peckles, I likes dey, and dem ones in clear vinegar, I likes dey too." Afterwards, as was the practice unique to the ancient druids of Keels, Brother Pocius held the salted dried capelin up to the lips of each noviate for a reverential kiss. Finally, we each tipped a tiny vessel containing the sacred liquid of dark rum into our throats, sealing our fate. We had arrived, we were finally one with our fishing ancestors in Keels, those who hauled the cod trap and turned fish on the flake, now only shades walking the mist-shrouded rocks that surrounded us. Our evening had become that unique time when we affirmed we were part of a special community. The Keels Field School.


Kristin and Erin, "Long may your big jib draw"

(Photo: Meghann Jack)

Kristin, Erin, Jerry, and The Capelin

(Photo: Meghann Jack)

Erin and The Capelin

(Photo: Meghann Jack)

Meghann and The Capelin

(Photo: Guha Shankar)

Guha and The Capelin

(Photo: Meghann Jack)

Noah and The Capelin

(Photo: Meghann Jack)

Alicia and The Capelin

(Photo: Meghann Jack)

Claire and The Capelin

(Photo: Meghann Jack)

Ed and The Capelin

(Photo: Meghann Jack)

Jerry eating The Capelin

(Photo: Meghann Jack)



The Finale

(Photo: Meghann Jack)

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