Cape Cod is in my blood. I know it always will be.
That is the kind of hold that Cape Cod has over me. Like sand in your
shoes you can never quite get rid of it, and you don't want to try.
There is an old saying that if you carry sand away from a distant
shore, some day you will return. Anyone who has ever spent any time
here knows this to be true.
I have lived on the Cape for ten years as an adult, and have been
a frequent visitor since 1963, when I was one year old. My family
was living in Greenfield, Massachusetts in those early years, and
every summer we would drive to Wellfleet to spend a week or two in
a cabin at the Audubon Sanctuary. It was a rustic, two room structure
right on the marsh, complete with wooden bunk beds, a gas-powered
stove and refrigerator, and an outhouse populated by toads and spiders.
There were no lights and no running water; kerosene lamps dangling
from hooks held back the night, and a hand pump (primed every morning)
provided water for cooking. A second pump on top of the outhouse filled
a tank for the outdoor shower. Vacations there were like camping with
a roof over your head. We called our marsh cabin the Dirty Dune
Saloon.
For a kid there was no better backyard
to play in. Within the safe confines of the sanctuary, we were free
to roam and explore the seemingly endless marsh and forest without
worry to our parents. The activities were endless. Each morning began
by checking out what treasures the tide had brought in. Horseshoe
crabs and fiddler crabs were our companions. We would go birding in
the marsh, digging for clams on the beach, and occasionally we would
watch the sunrise on Nauset next to the lighthouse. Kites flew all
day long unattended, the lines strung through the door handles on
the station wagon. I once made the mistake of untying one and accidentally
letting go; the image of my father racing across the marsh trying
to stop the runaway kite is one I'll always treasure. |
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