Word: cod
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...stake in the war was the codfish-an ugly inhabitant of the North Atlantic that lingers lazily at the bottom of the ocean, spawns furiously and brings Iceland $59.3 million a year. Until June 1958, the schools of cod that lurked in the open sea more than four miles from Iceland's rocky coast were fair game for anyone. Every year British trawlers hovered off Iceland's coast outside the four-mile limit, scooping up enough cod to make up 50% of their distant-water catch...
Along Route 45 near rural Ramapo, N.Y., bounces a big green soda truck with a driver to make heads turn-big, bespectacled and full-bearded, beneath a round, wide-brimmed black hat. When he turns off the highway into a community of modern Cape Cod cottages, the friend who greets him on the roadside or waves from a window might be his double-big beard, black hat, black coat and all. This is how men look in New Square...
What kind of charm T Wharf diffuses remains a mystery. Neither the residents, nor the owners, claim to find any historic value in the Wharf beyond its importance as the former center of the cod-fishing industry--one of the industries significantly responsible for raising Massachusetts Bay to its major commercial status. Nor do they claim any architectural beauty. Quaint it may be, but not beautiful. Yet it has an aura which, as Mr. Love remarked, "seems to have a knack of inducing acute nostalgia in anone who has ever known it--including...
Precision or Abstraction. In his one-sitting paintings, mostly landscapes and seascapes done on Cape Cod, Dickinson is especially versatile at catching the highlights of a moment. He can do a cottage window that is both precise and geometrical, yet seems about to reveal some intriguing mystery. A seascape may be romantic and bathed in mist, while a painting of waves crashing upon some rocks can recede into abstraction. But Dickinson has still another side to him: oils that are pure dramatic invention. Such a work is his Ruin at Daphne...
...learned to put up with the constant, ear-banging racket of water slapping against resounding steel plate, the whine of generators, the mournful complaint of one of the largest and loudest foghorns in the world. But the food was good, and there was time for recreation. Men fished for cod, killed time in the tower's hobby shops, and played pool (although the roll of the deck turned the game into something unrecognizable by landlubbering sharks...