July 1, 2010

By David M. Lawrence

This segment is called "Reflections on Shipboard Life," but shipboard life – for me, anyway – triggers a lot of reflections of life back on land.

Several times I have felt visited by ghosts on this expedition. They aren't angry ghosts or what the Chinese would call hungry ghosts, but ghosts of people whom I've loved and lost, or of people I've never known, but who have played an important role in making me what I am. In previous posts I have written about Marie Tharp, a dear friend who mapped the ocean floor and changed the way we understand the Earth; and I have written about some of my ancestors, such as William Coxe or Yee Jock Leong, who crossed wide expanses of ocean to find and build a better life in the Americas.

Today I feel the presence of someone else: my great-great aunt, Lucy Stout.

I grew up in Louisiana. When I realized I was going to be junior steward, I wanted to add some swamp-rat flavor to our meals today. My first idea was red beans and rice with king cake. Red beans and rice is not a problem, but a good king cake recipe eluded me, so I wracked my brain for something else – and I found it, a family tradition handed to me my aunt Lucy.

I had the pleasure of growing up next door to her. She was born in the first decade of the twentieth century. Her grandfather and some of her uncles were Civil War veterans. One, Lindsey Leander Crawford, was only 15 years old when he joined the Confederate army, but his commanding officer told him to stay home and make shoes for the other men – probably one of the wisest orders ever given in wartime.

Aunt Lucy was connected to, and had lived through, a wide swath of southern history. She was a living tradition herself, and several decades ago handed me a piece of that tradition – a recipe for pecan pie, complete with vague traditional instructions like, "bake under a hot oven." (I had to press her for temperature and time, which she had to guess at. From the results of my pecan pie baking efforts ever since, her guess was pretty good.)

Today, with steward Lillian Corbin's help, I baked four pecan pies for the crew. We didn't exactly follow Aunt Lucy's recipe, but I hope the approximation is well enough executed to be worthy of her name.

It's kind of appropriate that I feel Aunt Lucy with me today. She died in 1996, when I was on another expedition – to Indonesia. I got the news in a phone call home from Balkipapan, a city on the east coast of Borneo. She knew I was abroad at the time, and I think she was excited for me, but I still wish I'd had a chance to say a proper goodbye.

So, Aunt Lucy, I'm thinking of you today and hope you are well wherever you are. If the pecan pie is a success, it's all because of you. If it's a failure, the failure is mine and mine alone.

P.S. It seems to be a success. Thank you, Aunt Lucy.