My Day by Eleanor Roosevelt

Text Size: Small Text Normal Text Large Text Larger Text

CAMPOBELLO ISLAND, N. B., Friday—Fog which lifts every day for only a short time, but always hangs just over the edge of the island, becomes pretty monotonous—and, until yesterday, that is the kind of weather we have had ever since we arrived here. Someone told me that the people out on Grand Manan Island have been enveloped in fog for 47 days, and I doubt if it has even lifted in the daytime. But a good many of that island's summer visitors are artists and some of the fog effects in this region can be very beautiful. Nevertheless, every one of us greeted with joy the sunshine and the clearing West wind yesterday.

We packed our lunch baskets and in my son's little powerboat, we started up the St. Croix River for St. Andrews. Some of our guests had an orgy of shopping at the craft shop there, since wool is again available and the handwoven materials, blankets, and so on, are very well made and very attractive.

Finally, we went to the little island just across the harbor from the town of St. Andrews. We built a fire between two rocks, scrambled our eggs, cooked out bacon, and fed a hungry crowd.

* * *

It seemed the right spot to read Longfellow's "Evangeline" to the children, and so I told them the story of Nova Scotia and the Acadian peasants, and then read from a book that had belonged to their grandfather.

"This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, bearded with moss and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, stand like druids of old ..."

Few people read Longfellow any more and yet I think he is part of our heritage, both literary and historical. And any child who is not familiar with his poems misses something.

* * *

I have read a good deal more to the older children up here than to the younger ones. But the other night we found a copy of "Uncle Remus" which belonged to their father, and the little ones were enthralled. However, I found it difficult to read aloud. It really, I imagine, requires a true Southerner to do it justice.

With the older children I have read "The Jungle Book," and we are now deep in a book which belonged to their Uncle James—called "Connie Morgan in Alaska." It is curious how some books can go on from generation to generation and still holds one's interest. So much that is written deals with contemporary thoughts and situations, but apparently a good story remains enjoyable. We have come across some copies of David Gray's "Gallops" and "Ensign Russells," and all of us, young and old, have enjoyed them.

E. R.
TMs, AERP, FDRL