Perched on the banks of Stony Brook in the Cape Cod town of
Brewster, Hay observes the stunning phenomenon of the annual run of
the alewife, a herring that spawns in fresh water, enters the ocean
as a fingerling, and returns to its natal pond. From the Gulf of
St. Lawrence to the Carolinas, hordes of alewives make the dramatic
journey every Spring. For Hay, the run is filled with danger and
beauty: In terrible simplicity, the alewives were swimming toward
the island gauntlet they would have to run, having a title, by
their common, wild, and ancient advent, to all great kindled
things.
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