I grew up in Twillingate, An island of the northeast coast of Newfoundland. In summer it was only accessible by water, In winter over frozen ice pans. In winter before street lights, When the ground was white with snow, And the harbour frozen over, In the moonlight, it was a sight to behold. Then came springtime, and the brooks ran, And we said goodbye to snow. It was such a lovely feeling, To feel the sun's warm glow. Grass turned green again, trees grew buds again, And root vegetables started to grow. In the summer, in the evening, With the ocean calm as glass, It was such a great feeling to watch fishing boats Return with their catch. Then for fertilizer, came the capelin, All the way from Wild Cove. In the fall we did the harvest, Digging potatoes with a prong. We carried them to the cellar, Burlap bags bulging, Weighing about one hundred pounds. Then we gathered the root vegetables That were still left in the ground. From the causeway, down to Blow Me Down, And all the way to Sleepy Cove. There was once a producing mine there, Now it is home to Seabreeze Park. Up the hill to Long Point Lighthouse, So majestic standing there, Sending out its rays of hope and light, Guiding sailors to their home ports, All along the Notre Dame Bay coast. God bless Twillingate, My old home town. The rock and the soil, the sound of the sea, The kindness of the people, it was special to me. It gave me the foundation for the man I turned out to be. Gordon J Stockley Bath, ON   Submitted By: NULL