September 30, 2008
Perhaps driving to New England by land as it was being approached by sea by Hurricane Kyle was not a good plan.
On the other hand, this was the time my vacation was scheduled for, so, by god, we were going.
It rained late into the night Friday when we took off after I had filed a story news story.
It was still raining at 1 a.m. Saturday when we stopped for the night. It rained the entire time we wandered around Walden Pond in Concord, Mass., and visited the replica of Henry David Thoreau’s tiny cabin, and the site where the actual structure had stood.
I had wanted to visit the spot for years, but figured I had better read the actual book, rather than keep snippets of its text posted here and there by other people. I read Walden over the winter and spring, and thereby, by my own lights, figured I had met the qualifications.
I kicked myself, though, because I had not thought to bring something I could swim in, because it is, after all, autumn. About a half dozen people bobbed around in the pond, which is a very popular swimming hole for folks in the Boston area. The water was about 70 degrees. I should have liked to have swum there. A baptism of sorts.
Anyway, it rained all the way from Concord to New Harbor, stopping long enough, thoughtfully, for us to unload the car. I’m told we had about five inches of rain in total up here.
The rain, mind you, is no problem for us, who come here with reading and writing in mind. We’ve both done plenty of both.
Today, however, the sky bears no hint of cloud, though there is more rain in the forecast. It will be a day to head into town, to check email, raid the library’s used book store, and hit the health-food store and Reny’s department store for a few things. Did I mention that Reny’s is very near the King Eider Pub? No? Must have slipped my mind.
The Osprey, I am happy to report, is back on its feet. Some of you may remember that a year ago, as we sat eating ice-cream on the night before our departure, the cabin’s stone pilings slipped out from under it and the entire joint slid down the hill toward the harbor. With us aboard. Nobody was hurt, and The Osprey actually suffered very little damage. This year we found the cottage standing about 10 feet further up the hill than before, on solid concrete and 4X6 foundations.
Oh, and the owner, Leonard Osier, now has a new buddy, a strapping big tomcat, whose name I have not yet discovered. Taffy-colored, with pale blue eyes, and friendly.
Anyway, as I said, it’s clear and sunny, in the 60s, with a gentle breeze. The tangle of berry vines, monk’s hood, and other wildflowers about 12 feet from this window is alive with butterflies and birds. Trees in low-lying areas burn with reds, yellows and oranges. The doors and windows of The Osprey stand wide open. The sound of lobster boats in the harbor compete with Mozart piano sonatas on the stereo. A trio of cormorants, whom I’ve named Manny, Moe, and Jack, stand on the gunwales of a small open boat moored in the center of the harbor, drying their wings and gossiping. The blue heron that had stood at the water’s edge grooming himself maybe 30 feet away just left. Perhaps he dislikes Mozart. Life is good.
© 2008 Marsh Creek Media, Gettysburg, Pa.
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