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| Just in time for the Spring Equinox |
A local column this month noted that when you live in the city, talking about the weather is something you do for polite conversation. "Nice day" or "Looks like rain". But, when you live on an island, the weather becomes a greater influence in day to day life. The tides, wind speed, temperature and precipitation all determine what kind of day you're going to have if your work is on the water or outside. There's a more intimate and immediate connection that makes checking tomorrow's weather a ritual and I usually print out the local weather report for B&B guests when they're here for a few days to help them plan activities. Even a walk on the beach benefits from this seemingly basic information.
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| Coast Guard Beach in Eastham |
Every now and then, I learn another fascinating story about how quiet, little Cape Cod figured into well-known historical happenings. The Marconi Wireless Station in the town of Wellfleet was instrumental in relaying messages about the sinking Titanic, which helped to save 740 people. It happened only as a coincidence when an off-duty wireless operator aboard the ocean liner Carpathia tuned in to the Marconi's scheduled updates to find out information about a coal strike in his home in England. Learning that Marconi's messages weren't getting through to the Titanic, he decided to help and received a response back, "Come at once, we have struck a berg." On his way to assist a rescue, he advised the Marconi operator, who began transmitting calls to other ships nearby for assistance.
The station also played a significant role in defeating the Germans during the Battle of the Atlantic by intercepting Enigma-encrypted wireless messages between German headquarters and its ships at sea. The Marconi station is now preserved and run by the National Seashore Park Service.
Two other Cape Cod stories made it into Ripley's Believe it or Not. The first, in 1959, told of Eastham's Captain Edward Penniman, described as, "the mariner who led a charmed life." His historic home is on our street on the way to Fort Hill, and is now owned by the National Seashore. Remarkably, Penniman sailed on seven different vessels on whaling expeditions, brought them all home to port safely, and every one of them was destroyed after he left command. The other story told of Warren Edwards of Orleans, who was on volunteer patrol of the beach keeping watch for submarines during World War II. Instead of subs, he found 80 letters addressed to Harold Douglas washed up on the beach and took them to the lighthouse station in Chatham. As coincidence happened, Serviceman
Douglas, from Kansas City, MO, had just reported for duty there the day before. While on board a ship sailing from Greenland, he tossed the letters overboard and they were picked up by the Labrador current and delivered to the Nauset shore.
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| The Penniman House |
In April, I will reluctantly take down the snowflake and icicle decorations from the old beams in our kitchen that get put up every Winter Solstice 'as a suggestion' to the universe'. It wasn't our year for a big snow show, but the gardens are preparing for one of their own, and the show must go on. Meanwhile, look backwards if you choose, to this same time when we first washed ashore and created life on a Cape Cod B&B.
Cape Chronicles #5 – February, 2010
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| From Fort Hill overlooking Town Cove and the Atlantic Ocean |
Thrift and consignment shops are as plentiful here as kudzu on back roads in the South, and my formerly casual treasure hunting has evolved into a more purposeful consigning and volunteering pastime. I’m told there are even chartered thrift shopping bus tours during the summers. On good days, foraging in the 'free shops' at the transfer station has yielded wonderful finds, including books, clothing, kitchen items, a fountain, frames, mirrors, artwork, decorative items, furniture, yard and garden items, a bike and helmet, glass fireplace doors, and an endless list of miscellaneous things. Some get kept, some given away, and others consigned for the next person to find and appreciate them.
Just when I think I have acquired a modicum of ‘cool’, another snow flurry will have me driving along with a silly, excited grin on my face that is impossible to control. I wonder how many times it will take for me to become blasé about it? I've discovered a new phenomenon, which I call sun flurries. They're just what they sound like, a beautiful, sunny day, with bright blue sky and a few puffy clouds, out of which are sneezed delicate flurries. Today’s flurries found me driving the 2- lane Mid-Cape Highway, which is an easy way to get from town to town, unless there is someone driving below the speed limit.
I’ve now come to realize that stocking up on favorite things for our move out of fear that I would be too far removed to find them was totally pointless. The only thing lacking, the farther down-Cape one goes, are chain stores. I can’t say there are any that I actually miss and it’s enjoyable patronizing local shops. One in particular is a local coffee shop and meeting spot in Orleans called The Chocolate Sparrow. Think Starbucks, if they were also a candy store, grill and local art gallery. Even the Stop and Shop grocery has its own local ambiance with live announcements such as congratulating the staff "for making our very own Orleans store the biggest seller of baked chickens in New England, on ‘Crazy Chicken Day’. That’s right, folks, 2 baked chickens for ten buck-bucks!" It reminds me of Principal Spotts' special announcements at school. Actually, many chain stores can be found if you’re willing to drive about a 20-30 minute jaunt to Hyannis.
With a little help, the exercise equipment has been hauled in from the garage, where it was temporarily parked, to the basement, where it shares the Man Cave-Music Room. With the hookup of a T.V. and VCR, all it lacks now are people exercising.
This winter I've been remembering my mom with kudos for the extensive selection of silk camisoles she left behind that nobody else wanted. They are probably the only things she had that fit me, and she must have ordered every possible style from the Winter Silks catalogue. I have benefited from every one of them in the last couple of winter months. I recently learned, via Ron and the History Channel, that aside from excellent insulation properties, silk was worn as an undergarment in battle, by the Huns, because it would keep a spinning arrow from puncturing the skin by tangling it up as it pierced the leather breastplates. Little did my mother know that when she ordered these, she would also be keeping me safe during hunting season.
The Audubon Society has a huge presence in New England, and birds are a big deal on the Cape. The designer of our home saw to it that we have the equivalent of a big welcome sign for feathered friends by custom building a different kind of bird house into every eave. We've gotten into the spirit by providing a big birdbath off the porch, and have put up numerous feeders and suet cages, all visible from our windows, much to the delight of our quivering and chattering cats. From the great horned owl, who serenades us at night, to the big Coopers Hawk who sometimes visits, looking for dinner, to the tiniest of chickadees, we have many chirpy new friends. Because of the larger, predators, the cats must be content to do their viewing from inside. I had my first coyote siting along the highway last week.
I started to feel like a local when Ray, one of Ron’s old friends dropped by looking for his dog, Tiggy, and to share some free produce that he’d been given. My refrigerator is now full of potatoes, peppers, cukes and mushrooms. Although nothing was expected in return, I was glad to be able to send him home with a bag of homemade cookies and the last piece of pumpkin pie. He also told us where to buy shellfish, fresh from the water, for pennies apiece.
There is still much talk about possible snowstorms on the horizon, but in a subtle shift, the stores are full of Burpee seed displays, St. Patty’s green, and bunnies. Little green shoots peeking through the dirt all over the yard offer glimpses of the coming Spring show. It seems too early, but I trust they know what they’re doing.
I made my first clam ‘chowdah’, as it’s called here, with the clams Ron bought and steamed. It probably won’t be long before he decides to get a license and scratch for his own clams, oysters and mussels, which Ray told us are plentiful within walking distance from us. Sort of gives a whole new meaning to running out to pick up dinner.
March’s home project will be a partial bathroom renovation. In an otherwise tasteful custom home, this particular room appears to have been designed by a blind person. I have exercised tolerance for some other decorating statements that I personally wouldn’t have chosen, but tiny, brown, flowered wallpaper with a dark pink countertop, yellow fixtures and a beige floor is just a little too much to pretend is o.k. With a very handy carpenter in the house, there is just not a good excuse to perpetuate this yuck factor.
I spotted my first Spring flowers today, blooming in the front yard. I think they are appropriately called ‘Snowdrops’. The big push now is to ready the 2 suites to be listed for guests and summer rentals, and we’ve been burning up craigslist, both to acquire items, and to sell unnecessary ones. The cottage will have a casual, white wicker and nautical theme. The other will be more upscale, with a brass bed and Chinese carpet. We can only hope that people enjoy visiting them as much as we’ve enjoyed putting them together.
I know, I know, enough about the snow, already, especially for my Virginia friends, who already blame my leaving them for the mountains of dirty snow, still piled high in their parking lots. But, this is March, the last hurrah of winter, and what can I say, except that I still thrill to every flurry! With another giant storm lumbering up the Atlantic coast, this morning’s weather report called for 36 degrees, thick, gray skies, and…who knows? That’s about as specific as you can get around here. The ocean has a capricious way of redefining weather forecasts to suit its moods. But, the kitchen window never lies. As the lattes were steaming, I took the real measure of what the sky had in store for us. The wonderfully long view takes in our front yard, the waving tall grasses of the protected Mary Chase Salt Marsh area beyond, and the curve of the hill on State Route 6, approaching our Fort Hill area. When it snows, you can see every nuance of the ocean breezes as they blow in swirling sheets across the highway. Eastham is known as a breezy town, anyway, but the snow showers literally paint the movement of the wind before your eyes. Hey, soon you won’t be able to get me to shut up about what I’ve discovered blooming in my yard, so bear with me while I enjoy what’s left of how I’ve always pictured a real winter.
Cape Chronicles - #6 – March, 2010
I know, I know, enough about the snow, already, especially for my Virginia friends, who already blame my leaving them for the mountains of dirty snow, still piled high in their parking lots. But, this is March, the last hurrah of winter, and what can I say, except that I still thrill to every flurry! With another giant storm lumbering up the Atlantic coast, this morning’s weather report called for 36 degrees, thick, gray skies, and…who knows? That’s about as specific as you can get around here. The ocean has a capricious way of redefining weather forecasts to suit its moods. But, the kitchen window never lies. As the lattes were steaming, I took the real measure of what the sky had in store for us. The wonderfully long view takes in our front yard, the waving tall grasses of the protected Mary Chase Salt Marsh area beyond, and the curve of the hill on State Route 6, approaching our Fort Hill area. When it snows, you can see every nuance of the ocean breezes as they blow in swirling sheets across the highway. Eastham is known as a breezy town, anyway, but the snow showers literally paint the movement of the wind before your eyes. Hey, soon you won’t be able to get me to shut up about what I’ve discovered blooming in my yard, so bear with me while I enjoy what’s left of how I’ve always pictured a real winter.
And, if the Snowdrop blooms by the front door weren’t enough of a harbinger of Spring, this morning we witnessed a convention of robins, who found our front yard exceptionally inviting. I counted a minimum of 26 plump, orange tummies, as best I could, as they played with the wind currents from tree to tree.
Wanting to learn as many nooks and crannies before guests come, we pulled over and visited what turned out to be the oldest cemetery on the Cape, about ½ mile from home. Called Cove Burying Ground, it has stones that date back to the 1600’s. Some of the writing has worn off, but the spelling and artwork on the legible ones are strangely fascinating. One of them was of a man who was born in the 1500’s. No rubbings are allowed anymore, for obvious reasons.
Forget about coming in like a lion…March has sauntered in with a beach umbrella and sunglasses. Here it is, only March 9th, and the daffodils in the back are ready to pop. In just the last few days, the raw, wintery mix has cleared out, and we are quickly peeling layers and looking for lighter clothing to enjoy some gorgeous, teaser Spring days. Of course, I don’t expect it to stay like this, but it’s pretty exciting watching the transformation. All over, there are “Opening Soon” signs popping up in buildings that have been vacant all winter. Seasonal property owners are beginning to do general sprucing up, which means lots more upscale stuff that gets dumped at the free swap shops as they redecorate for another summer season. As a concession, to the approaching equinox, I’ve taken down my snowman flags and put up some more seasonally appropriate ones. That will certainly provoke a Nor’easter, but I’m committed to sharing the Spring enthusiasm.
Perhaps this could have been called The Consignment Chronicles. What continues to fascinate me is the element of serendipity in this pastime, for instance, the round, topless, wicker table I brought home, knowing that Ron could cut a new top, But, as it became apparent that my porch was getting full, and there wasn’t really space for something that would also become an additional project, I decided to return it. It hadn’t touched the ground for a whole minute before a man dashed over to retrieve it. Ron pointed out that it needed a top, to which the man replied enthusiastically that he had a top at home, but no table. My mother’s words, “maybe somebody could use this some day”, keeps coming back to haunt me. She’d be so gratified to see how many times those words prove true here. Yesterday, the epitome of excitement at any swap shop presented itself. A truck with a big U-Haul pulled up, and for the second time this month, I encountered grown children who had the task of cleaning out their parents’ home. The treasures in these trucks are from a generation of people who lived through the Great Depression, (as opposed to the Crappy Depression in which we currently find ourselves) and they also subscribed to the theory that “maybe somebody could use this some day”. I have instant empathy, having recently spent months clearing out my mother’s home. It started out very methodically, considering each item, as to its future usefulness to someone, with pauses for reminiscences, then progressed to sorting with like items to perhaps find an appreciative place for donation, to finally filling boxes randomly with loads to take to the dump because nobody wants all this stuff and we have to get it out. Happily, our swap shops here provide a place for some of these items to be adopted into new lives, giving validation to our parents' words.
Daylight Savings Time snuck in under the veil of a wild and wooly Nor’easter that just won’t quit. Instead of enjoying the benefit of longer days, it has been the same shade of gray for the past 3 days. Though the temperatures are indeed more “Spring-like”, it really doesn’t feel much different than before when the wind is blowing cold sheets of rain. In an effort to thumb our noses at this uncooperative behavior, we headed out to Nauset Beach, a part of Orleans I hadn’t seen yet. It may not have been an ideal day for a walk on the beach, but watching the ocean’s fury from the comfort of our vehicle greatly enhanced the sandwiches and hot apple cider we picnicked on from the nearby Village Farm Market.
On the morning before the first day of Spring, we had a lovely surprise when I opened the front door to chase off one of the chubby squirrels who love to dine at our bird feeders. It smelled like ocean, real, honest-to-goodness, ahoy matey, ocean air. Ron told me this would happen when it got warmer, but I had my doubts that it would make it all the way over the hill to our house. Smelling is believing. Also, very Spring-like are the crocuses and daffodils, which are beginning to bloom. I’m told that we have a lilac and a plum tree in our back yard, and am looking forward to some fine sneezing and eating.
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| Nauset Beach in Orleans |
My critter timing is still off, but our new tenant tells me she came upon 3 deer on her morning walk up the hill, last week, and saw either a fox or a coyote when she was getting her mail. So far, I’ve had to be content with hawks and chipmunks. I did see a school bus at the lookout the other day, and am willing to include an elementary school field trip as a variation on critters. I get very nostalgic when I see those reminders of my past life, but have become a bit of a wild critter myself lately and don’t know if I could sit still in a school office all day again. It’s nice being on a new learning curve.
Last, but not least, we've chosen Bed and Breakfast Cape Cod, Inc. as our management company to book our summer rentals. Having already represented the former owners, they are very familiar with what works best for our situation, and are excellent advisors. Ron got his wish to be a B&B, and I've gotten my wish to provide a stocked kitchen with continental breakfast items verses playing chef in our own kitchen. And so, Crosswinds B&B, named for Ron’s sailboat in the front yard, is born. 
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