Episodios
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Great Island in Wellfleet is a beautiful pearl on the Cape Cod National Seashore’s necklace, the most dramatic of a handful of islands strung along Cape Cod Bay, linked by sandy strands.
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They appeared suddenly one night on our patio, four young raccoons, a quartet of rumble-tumble trouble. They pressed their little bandit faces against our glass sliders, scratching to get inside our tiny cottage.
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¿Faltan episodios?
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It started with the lupine.Last spring, I started taking the hound to Thompson’s Field, a 57-acre conservation area off Route 137 in East Harwich managed by the Harwich Conservation Trust.
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I’ve always thought Nantucket was rather flat — elevation-wise, that is. Our highest point is the Madaket Landfill, and after that is Altar Rock in the moors.
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We all mark seasons in different ways, often using holidays like Labor Day past, Thanksgiving upcoming. For me, the circle always wheels around the constellation Orion.
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I was leading a tour out in ’Sconset the Thursday before Labor Day when a local eyed us warily and said, “Summer’s over, it’s time for you people to leave.” Ouch! Now Labor Day has come and gone, the curtain falling on summer.
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My chum, who these days walks the Outer Beach more often than I do, commented that “high tides are reaching further up the beach than they used to.”
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The hound has gifted me a new image of hope. And it looks like an otter.
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Where do you seek the soul of Cape Cod? The pounding surf on the Outer Cape? The stalwart beacon of Coast Guard Light? The broad stretch of the Great Marsh?
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It’s August on Nantucket, and to find a place where you will be alone and undisturbed, you need one of two things. You either need a four-wheel drive or a boat. The other Saturday, thanks to a good friend and some borrowed kayaks, we set off from Barrett’s Pier and headed for the Madaket Ditch.
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Among Cape Cod’s remarkable attributes is a way of surfacing when and where you least expect it – associations, affiliations, allusions, connections, a single degree of separation among strangers.
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We all mark time in different ways. For me, it’s the dry cleaner.I have been dropping off clothes to the same dry cleaner in Hyannis since a week or so after I moved here fulltime in 1974 – that’s 50 years ago.
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People say half-facetiously that we should accept reality and change the name of this sandspit to Cape Dog.
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The air is so thick, there’s little difference between walking and swimming these days. High summer fog brings a certain relief to the island.
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I come today to sing the praises of the simple sweatshirt.
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This is embarrassing, but maybe making a public admission could save me hundreds of hours of expensive psycho-therapy:I have a thing going on — with a tree.
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Lady Slippers are in a class of their own, so strangely shaped, with their pink pouched petals.
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Birdsong, five in the morning. A sign that my neighborhood — a relatively new affordable housing subdivision — has matured. My neighbors’ trees provide plenty of places for songbirds to perch.
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About six o’clock one evening, as we were about to sit down to dinner, there came from the other end of the house a loud thunk, as though something had hit a window. I stepped outside to see what the noise was.
