About

July 15th, 2009
There’s something magical about familial ground – a place where each tree, each bend in the road, conjures up a communal past, a spot from which to draw a sense of security and personal history.


...in my garden.

I’m Nancy Coppola. This photo shows my cottage garden, my summer sanctuary in the Thousand Islands on the St. Lawrence River. Our cottage is very close to the small village where I lived as a child and grew up, so this place feels like familial ground.

I created this social media site because I want to connect with current students and alumni of the graduate program in professional and technical communication that I lead at New Jersey Institute of Technology (NJIT). Our master of science degree program is completely online, and has been for ten years; it too needs a communal place, a spot from which students and graduates might draw a sense of security through the community of others.

At Least.
I want to get up early one more morning,
before sunrise. Before the birds, even.
I want to throw cold water on my face
and be at my work table
when the sky lightens and smoke
begins to rise from the chimneys
of the other houses.
I want to see the waves break
on this rocky beach, not just hear them
break as I did all night in my sleep.
I want to see again the ships
that pass through the Strait from every
seafaring country in the world-
old, dirty freighters just barely moving along,
and the swift new cargo vessels
painted every color under the sun
that cut the water as they pass.
I want to keep an eye out for them.
And for the little boat that plies
the water between the ships
and the pilot station near the lighthouse.
I want to see them take a man off the ship
and put another up on board.
I want to spend the day watching this happen
and reach my own conclusions.
I hate to seem greedy-I have so much
to be thankful for already.
But I want to get up early one more morning, at least.
And go to my place with some coffee and wait.
Just wait, to see what’s going to happen.

Carver, R. (1986)
Where water comes together with other water: Poems (p.43). Vintage

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