You Can Hear the Sea

At the Wicked Oyster restaurant in Wellfleet: Painting by Kim Kettler of Truro, MA.

Nikki and her big sister, Emily, at Cahoon Hollow Beach in Wellfleet tonight.

Left to right: Olivia, Joe, Figgy, Nikki, Emmy and her and Nik's brother, Ryan.

Sadness settling in, inevitably. We go home the day after tomorrow, leaving behind this fresh Cape air, the dunes, the lighthouse beam. The bike bath, the general store, Ben & Jerry's. The ocean, the ponds, Route 6.

We're trying to pack a lot into tomorrow. Audubon, visit Rite & Bob, ride the bike path, swim in pond or ocean, go to Chatham, meet our friends for dinner, go to "our bridge" on the path through the marsh behind Coast Guard Beach. Then, to the dump on Sunday, clean the house, and off we go.

We shall see how much we do; our dance card is full.

In spite of all this beauty, I'm mourning. I don't want to leave. The next time I come back I'll be the parent of a child who is in college, no longer living under our roof. It's been a long string of trips taking Figgy up here--not just in summer, but even in the snow. 

First in my belly, when I swam at Nauset Light Beach in the polka-dot maternity swimsuit. Then on maternity leave, with Dad. Then during preschool, kindergarten--reading her stories, tucking her in. Then soon after 9/11, when a suspicious ranger questioned me and Dad as we drove with Figgy into the Coast Guard Beach parking lot. So many memories, so many, many treasures.

I don't have the energy to sift through them all. Or the willingness. Not at this moment and not from this vantage point.

At this moment, I'm gathering what we need both physically and spiritually to let our bird fly. The set of extra-long twin bedsheets--and the inner calm. It's not just Figgy that time on the Cape has enriched and strengthened. It's H. and me, too. We are all far wealthier, wiser, more balanced and better nourished for having spent so many endless days here. I don't know what the future holds--it may involve full-time work for me again, if the stars are in their courses over the next year--but I know that my heart holds Cape Cod. I know that anywhere and any time, I can hear the sea.

Good night.

TCOY

1. Salmon plate at the Wicked Oyster for breakfast with the Mernins--table for 10.
2. Read, napped.
3. H. and I walked with Sug on the dark road by Nauset Light tonight....well, it's lit by the sweeping beam. The breeze was blowing and it was desolate and pretty. I held Sug in my arms b/c thought a coyote or fox might spot dinner.