This post is from last summer's blog series, The Cape Cod Letters, in which my grandpa Larry and I wrote to each other during my family’s trip East in June 2021. June 10 Papa, My lips and face are chapped, my hair stringy, and my legs sore from bracing myself against the railing of the … Continue reading Winds on the Atlantic
June 12 Papa, This comes a day late, since we fell into bed after midnight last night. I slept like a rock, a dog, and a baby on the hotel's wonderful pullout couch. We left New York City late, after missing our Lyft ride because we were standing in the wrong spot, and so trotting across streets, … Continue reading Day Seven: Quiet Work & Chaos
June 11 Papa, I've only just started the Quartets, but yes, I hope to see the present here for what it is. I hope to do that every day, really. Dad asked me last night what I think about when I walk the shoreline, and I said, "I feel like I should be thinking deep and … Continue reading Day Six: Last Day at the Sea
June 10 Papa, My lips and face are chapped, my hair stringy, and my legs sore from bracing myself against the railing of the Whale Watcher ship. We motored out of the harbor and skipped the waves toward Provincetown. We weren't prepared for the wind (10 knots or so) that filled up our ears. It … Continue reading Day Five: Winds on the Atlantic
June 9 Papa, After dinner at a pizza place last night, we drove to Saquatucket Marina and walked the docks. We'd eaten outside, and during dinner, a thick fog had come low over the Cape and shrouded the line where sea meets sky. Darkness fell with it, and in the dull, gray light, the spires of … Continue reading Day Four: Sailboats, Seashores, Sunsets
June 8 Papa, Did Edwin Teale write those travel stories you were telling us about -- River Horse, I think it was? I'd like to read it. Speaking of reading, Stockbridge had a wonderfully regal and airy library with tall, paned windows and a white fireplace. Dad told us to meet him at the van at … Continue reading Day Three: The Inn
June 7 Papa, The trees are different in New York. The forests on each side of the interstate are lighter, thinner, less honeysuckled than back home. There are vineyards, windmills, pines... and a sign that read: "Correction Facility -- Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers." Then, there were the Falls. I'm sitting here, trying to work up … Continue reading Day Two: So Much Water
June 6 Papa, Today has been us and the highway: low cumulus clouds over farm fields and power lines, the smell of honey pretzels and luggage, and the interior plastic of the van rattling against my elbow. Not too much to write yet. I hope you don't mind an email each day or so; these … Continue reading Day One: East
At the end of each day on Cape Cod in June, I’d find a quiet corner of our cottage and jot off an email to my grandpa Larry. I'd mostly pull from my journal, trying to capture for him the way things smelled and looked and moved. He and my grandma (we called her Nanny) … Continue reading This Summer: The Cape Cod Letters
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