A Special Edition: In Memory of Ray

A friend in Virginia once asked me “Does anyone ever fart on Cape Cod?”  He meant that everything always sounded so rosy in my blogs that it seemed like a place where nothing could ever go wrong. I answered, “Of course it does, but who would want to read about that?”  Well, something enormously wrong did happen this month, and we along with countless others lost a very special, true 'Cape Cod Character'.  His name was Ray, known to us as “our brother-from-another-mother”, a Cape fishing legend, a family man, and a friend to everyone he met.  Many of us knew Ray had been battling an illness for years, but he just shrugged it off saying that he still had a lot left to do.  And, he did. 

Ray was a familiar sight at Fort Hill, enjoying the beauty and checking on fishing conditions.

When I met my husband in Virginia and we decided to make our home on Cape Cod, he promised me that when we got here, I would meet a wonderful friend of his named Ray, and that I would love him.  Soon after his first visit to our new home, he became a regular.  In fact, if you were a reader of my earlier blogs, he was mentioned often.  Once he discovered Ron’s barista skills, he began bringing friends with him to sit at the kitchen bar and get acquainted.  “Ya gotta try this guy’s coffee.  It’s the best you'll ever taste!”

Some days, he would come by with his truck full of vegetables to give away.  “Get a bag and come pick out what you want, Sweetheart.” 

When the weather was bad, he’d come in soaked and I’d give him dry clothes to wear while I threw his in the dryer, and he and Ron would watch the History Channel together and rehash WWII.  “Sweetheart, while you’re at it, there’s a button missing, do you have an extra you could sew on for me?”

Many times we would come home and find his dog, Tiggie, tied up to the truck bumper in the shade so he wouldn’t dig up my gardens, and Ray asleep on our couch snoring blissfully to a movie on TV with the cats curled up beside him.

Our cats, who are fairly discriminating about people, loved Uncle Ray.

When the weather was conducive to leaving the windows open, we’d hear him singing in his strong, rich voice as he ambled up the walk, “Oh, my spurs go jingle jangle jingle…”  

He would never miss an opportunity to mug for the camera, go for the joke, or share his good fortune. 

Sharing a joke with Ron, his brother-from-another-mother.

Wearing a tinfoil Viking hat, of course, because why not?

Years later, when Ron was flat on his back from chemo treatments, the basement flooded and I needed help moving soaked carpets up into the yard.  Ray was there in 5 minutes and Ron never knew what went on until we had it all cleaned up. 

Ray was one of those people who thought there was no such thing as a stranger.  While some Codders rudely proclaim “We’re Not on Your Vacation” with bumper stickers, we’ve seen Ray walk up to tourists in the summer and ask, “Hi there, where are you all from?”  He took hours getting through Stop & Shop because he greeted every employee as an old friend.  Many of the kids he babysat for later brought their kids to meet him.  He took friends to medical appointments and shared food, money and a nonjudgmental ear.  He thought every woman was beautiful, every kid was cute, every animal was precious and nobody was unworthy of help.  He pretended he was just a dumb fisherman, but he was wise in all the important ways. 

Taking Ron's twin sister and family from San Diego clamming. 

Before we knew it, our vocabulary was peppered with ‘Ray-isms’ like, “Getcha, gotcha”, which meant, I know what you mean.  And, “I stink so.”  Translation: I think so.  Or, "OH, HO, HO, HO...", which just meant he was getting up and on the move.  “Did I ever tell you about my French-Canadian cousins, Jacque and Pierre?” was the only joke he could remember and would tell as many times as you would listen.  He always wanted to know if we had any Canadians or French people staying at the B&B so he could tell them that joke.  If we didn't, he'd walk over and introduce himself anyway, and after asking if they wanted to buy any fresh lobsters he would tell them all about his imaginary cousins.  Nobody ever complained.  As his memory became worse, I learned how to make “Indian Pie” many times, told with the same enthusiasm and detail each time.  

Ray was drawn to a career in fishing when he visited Cape Cod from his home in Western Mass because he said it looked like something he thought he could do. He grew to love the ocean and became proficient enough to support a family.  After befriending the remarkable Cape Cod fishing legend, Tiggie Peluso, who taught him and dozens of others to fish, he became the only person Tiggie ever allowed to fish on his boat with him.  Tiggie’s daughter, Lou, recently related her first meeting with Ray to me:  “My father's health had been declining for a long time and Ray came to visit him at home.  After hearing all about this amazing fisherman and friend from my dad for so long, I was not expecting to open the door to see a little guy about my height with a Santa Claus beard. I thought he would be so much bigger!”   

Ray and his dog, Tiggie, named for Tiggie Peluso

After Ray was not allowed to drive anymore because of his health, we started going through withdrawal, missing his daily drop-in’s, even if it was only for a few moments because, “I gotta get home and make dinner for Anne”, the woman who stole his heart when he first came to the Cape, no matter how many times he found himself “in the doghouse”.  We kept listening for the bells hanging on our door that always jingled when he let himself in.  “Anybody home?  Are ya decent?”  We kept looking for his truck to drive in and hear the slam of the door and his admonishments to his dog, "Tiggie, be quiet and lie down.  I'll get you some water."  We realized that it was our turn to help Ray, and we made “Ray-Play-Dates” to get him out of the house.  By that time, his energy was flagging, and the outings wore him out and were probably more for us than him.  But, he still had so much more he wanted to do and we wanted to help him do them.   We knew his health was failing, but like everyone else, we thought there was more time.  A few more months, maybe a year, or two...but it still wouldn’t have been enough.  

Ron and Ray on the way up Fort Hill on one of their "play dates".

Kudos to Ray’s wife, Anna, who took the best possible care of the most impossibly strong-willed patient ever, who thought he could live 'his way' forever just by being too busy to acknowledge his illness.  We knew the force of nature you were up against, Anna, and we're so grateful for your Herculean efforts.  Just as wicked Nor’easters blow bits and pieces of Cape Cod away from time to time, the universe saw fit to leave this giant hole in all of our lives who were lucky enough to know Ray.  We know he’s only as far away as our memories... 

Our birthdays were 4 days apart.  The 'Scream' tie was a gift from Ron.

His wife, Anna, planned a fun birthday party for the both of us.

He loved the chipmunk slippers I found for him.

And, the lobster hat...

...which he earned honestly.

He always included us in his holiday fun.

Was always willing to indulge my strange photography experiments.

Teaching Ron how to make pizza dough.

Goofing it up with our boys at Fort Hill.

...but we're still going to miss him, wicked bad.

June 2017 - It's Summah-time, and the livin' is crazy...

This year's photo exhibit at the Orleans Cape Cod 5

When you spend as much time being seduced by the ever-changing ocean sky as I do, it's inevitable that an exhibit devoted just to that would result.  But, it's too easy here to snap a beautiful sunset over the water and I needed a challenge.  'Sky' is similar to the game we play looking for animals, or faces in the clouds, only I've enjoyed capturing moments of ephemeral modern art, here briefly until the next puff of wind, and then evolving into another display of art.  Thank you to Cape Cod 5 for providing the venue for me to indulge my art.

An Eastham sunset

COAST GUARD BEACH PLACES #6 ON
DR. BEACH'S PICK OF AMERICA'S BEACHES

So, just who is this Dr. Beach, anyway, and what gives him the authority to rate our country's beaches?  Well, Dr. B. is actually Dr. Stephen P Leatherman, Professor and Director of the Laboratory for Coastal Research at Florida International University.  And, if those credentials aren't impressive enough, he has been reviewing and evaluating beaches and coastal areas all over the world for the last 25 years based on a 50-item criteria.  Okay, so he probably knows a good beach when he sees one.  We knew Eastham's Coast Guard Beach was pretty special, anyway, but it's always nice to find a comfy spot year after year on such an esteemed authority's top 10 list.   

Coast Guard Beach in Eastham, MA 

WAR OF THE CRITTERS

 The war is on...

When we began awakening to find the poles that hold our bird feeders bent down to the ground, I knew that the War of the Critters had begun once again.  We seem to have a bumper crop of chipmunks and red and gray squirrels this year, but they're not even the worst culprits.  This year we have a motion sensor light that illuminates the mischief makers and follows their movements.  I suspected raccoons, but was surprised to see a big possum lumbering away, trying to escape the sudden light.  It wasn't long before the raccoon showed up, too, in broad daylight.  Axle grease seems to have slowed down the nocturnal pole dancing, but they're still quite the gymnasts in order to get to the sunflower seeds and grape jelly.  A visit to google for help suggested soaking rags with ammonia and tying them around the bottom of the pole.  Raccoons are fastidious creatures and don't like anything that smells like urine.  I tried that strategy, but it's gone with the first rain.  Ron has his own ideas of communing with the wildlife, and reasoned that if he left them a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on a plate every night, they'd leave the birdseed alone.  Neither strategies are working.  If you're going to feed the birds, the rest of the animal kingdom will demand equal rights.  To be continued...  

Yes, YOU!

Living so close to the water, it makes one acutely aware of how things in nature tend to ebb and flow; the tides, the seasons, tourists, wildlife, all answering to their particular rhythms.  This month, we are having to acknowledge the ebb and flow of time as our wonderful, elderly neighbor across the street is moving back to Ohio to be closer to his family.  And, he's not any happier about it than we are, but in the end, time and concerned children have the final say.  It probably seems like such a a short time ago to him that he and his now-departed wife retired and became Cape Cod residents and together roamed the Fort Hill trails down the street.  Time seems to betray us just as we think that we finally got it right.  And, I will try to pay very close attention to each day, each walk on Fort Hill, each visit to the beach, each drive along the winding roads lined with beach roses because I know that time makes up its own rules and we're never really ready to give up a good thing no matter how long it's been. 

While most people are just looking for a quiet getaway to enjoy the beauty of the National Seashore and the quaintness of "Olde Cape Cod", we have so far this year hosted four surprise birthday trips and an anniversary.   It always feels good to be part of a gift to someone else.  From as far away as France to California, Wisconsin, and points from Maryland to Vermont, the attraction of this tiny finger of land jutting out into the Atlantic Ocean continues to irresistibly beckon people from far and wide.  Providing a home away from home to share this delightful place makes us feel truly worthy of our time here.  With July right around the corner, we're ready to welcome the parade of guests, new and returning, and enjoy introducing them to our Cape Cod.

The Golden Chain Tree decorates the Cottage in Spring 

MAY 2017 - Lobstahs, and surfboards, and cars, oh my!

First Encounter Beach on Cape Cod Bay welcomes Spring visitors

May is the final wakeup call for businesses to open for the season, and one of Eastham's most popular, well-known and eagerly awaited openings is Arnold's Lobster and Clam Bar.  They combine the trifecta of beach resorts - seafood, mini-golf and ice cream, and get annual accolades and awards for each.  The big date this year is May 19th, and in honor of the revered crustacean, here is some lobster trivia for you:

A female lobster is called a hen.

A lobster that weighs about one pound is called a chicken.

A lobster with no claws is called a pistol.

A lobster's brain is the size of a grasshopper and they are sometimes referred to as "bugs of the sea".

Research suggests that lobsters keep growing forever, but scientists won't be able to tell how long they really live because traps aren't designed to catch the largest ones.  

Lobsters can regenerate lost limbs, but it will take a good five years for a one-pound lobster to grow a claw that's close to the same size of the one that was lost.

Lobsters taste with their legs and chew with their stomachs.

A lobster claw can exert pressure of up to 100 pounds per square inch.  Ouch!

Lobsters are banded because when they're crowded, they become cannibalistic.

Lobsters only turn red after they're cooked.  They're mostly green, although occasionally a rare blue one is caught.

Lobster meat is actually a healthy source or protein and omega 3 fatty acids, if you don't overdo it on the butter.

Lobsters were once so plentiful, they were served to prisoners and servants and they make excellent fertilizer.

The record holder for consuming lobsters is Sonya Thomas, who ate 44 of them in 12 minutes at a contest in Kennebunkport, Maine.

You can actually hypnotize a lobster by standing it on its head with it's tail turned inward and rubbing up and down on the carapace [upper shell] and between its eyes. Eventually, it might stand by itself, but no one really knows why you'd want to do this.  And, on that note, ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY LOBSTER!

If April was all about nature reawakening, May on Cape Cod is all about Memorial Day, the beginning of High Season.  In May, you are just as likely to be driving behind a boat as a car.  Or, if it's a car, there's a good chance there will be a surfboard or 3 bicycles dangling from it.  The Department of Transportation has been racing to finish repaving the main road after 2 years of digging it up to install water pipes for a new town water system.  Fresh, white stripes will finally replace the orange-striped barrels that residents have been dodging all Spring.    

Spring on Fort Hill in the National Seashore

Although Cape Cod is known for fogs that sometimes roll in and sheathe familiar terrain in gauzy camouflage, there's a different kind of cloud casting gloom over the usual anticipation of High Season here, and elsewhere in the country.  'Trump Slump' is the name attributed by travel industry experts to the murky fog that has rolled over the tourism industry this year.  Search engines reported a steep decline [26% according to Market Watch] in international travelers looking for flights to America immediately after his controversial order to ban refugees and immigrants from seven predominantly Muslim countries in early 2017.   Industry experts report that the fall in travel to the U.S. is also thought to be due to political factors, which have made the country "an uncomfortable place for foreigners".  Here on Cape Cod, not only have we witnessed this unfortunate situation, but there are other factors impacting us, as well as other National Parks around the country.  Cuts to funding of the National Seashore are playing havoc with programs that guests have enjoyed for years.  And local businesses, who depend on foreign students with travel visas to help staff their restaurants, hotels and shops because of the shortage of local applicants, are finding that students are unable to obtain the necessary visas this year.  Compared to more dire world issues, this may seem like small potatoes, however, this has a very real ripple-effect on the economy.   Locals who depend on the tourism industry to support their families also support other local businesses, who support larger companies.  Considering the impact of all the funding cuts to every National Park in the country, the resulting repercussions as it travels up the chain to the top could significantly effect decisions on spending, hiring and investments.  The ripple-effect should never be underestimated for both undesirable AND desirable results.

And giving equal time to a story with Major Desirable Ripple-Effect, I'd like to tell you about Sarah Swain, the founder of The Cape Wellness Collaborative, which is funded by her Cape Cod Women's Music Festival.  A lot could be written, and indeed has already been written about this amazing woman, but here's the incredible short story:  Sarah is a very talented local musician, whose mother died at an early age from cancer.  In her honor, Sarah founded an organization on Cape Cod to help cancer patients pay for integrative therapies, which are not covered by insurance, to manage pain, nausea and anxiety, and to increase well-being during their illness.  The collaborative refers to what seems like an endless list of local practitioners for an equally impressive list of therapies to make the cancer patient's road to recovery a little less bumpy.  Approximately 1400 people are diagnosed with cancer each year on Cape Cod.  In this organization's first 18 months, it was able to distribute over $65,000 in wellness therapies to over 200 people, and they're just beginning.  Sarah's wonderful idea, with the support of an astounding network of talented and caring women musicians, created the best kind of ripples that affect whole families and beyond.     

Sarah Swain - center

For more on Sarah's personal story:  "The Big Decision"

After hearing last month that one of my photos was chosen for the cover of the Eastham Chamber of Commerce information booklet, life quickly returned to daily chores, putting pants on one leg at a time, and then totally forgetting all about it.  Until...the new copies were delivered this week and word started getting around.  I'm certainly in no danger of being stalked by paparazzi over this accomplishment, although one friend actually did ask me to autograph her copy.  Honest!  I warned her not to try to sell it on ebay, as it would be a very disappointing experience for her.  I really can't take too much credit, as the magnificent Fort Hill did all the hard work for me, but, here it is in all its glory, and can even be viewed online to read the bio and enjoy other pictures of our beautiful town!

 

To view online:  Eastham Chamber of Commerce booklet  

[click the left and right arrows to turn the pages.

As my 8th Memorial Day as a Cape Cod resident looms, I recognize that it's feeling a little different from my first few here.  While I wouldn't consider myself an old-timer, yet, there is a quiet, knowingness from experience that expresses itself with more subtle anticipation.  It's a sharing of recognition with other locals of, "Here comes another one, are you ready?"  The answer to that is 'yes'.  I have my relaxation CD's in the car, ready to soothe my patience as I wait to turn left on the highway, and inch my way through clogged rotaries.  I will try to remember that parking at the back of the lot is good exercise.  Knowing how lucky I am that I don't have to leave after only a week will make room in my heart for visitors who maybe forgot to pack their manners with their swimsuits.  So, maybe I'm not that old-timer yet, but I feel that I've maybe graduated from pre-school. May these lessons please last through high season.

Let the season begin!

April 2017 - April on Cape Cod is all about the flora and fauna.

Gone are the big stacks of firewood and salt containers on the porch.  The glider pillows have reappeared, and little seed packets are getting tucked into peat pots, hoping for a few good seedlings to go into the garden by May 1st.  The grape jelly and oranges are out for the orioles to rediscover, and the hummingbird feeder just got its first syrupy infusion.  Each day there are new bird reports of who spotted the first of a species.  And, even if you have no use for a herring, it suddenly has become very important to know if they are running, yet.   With some milder April temperatures, the perennial gardens seem to be in a race to see which plant will bloom first, and bare tree branches are suddenly bursting with buds, which please the birds, as they offer better camouflage from the hungry Cooper's hawk.  This is Phase Two kicking in of life beyond winter, but only after the brave crocuses and snowdrops first tested the waters.  Now each day through Fall will bring new discoveries of long ago plantings, revisiting as old friends.  

It gets very quiet when the Cooper's hawk visits.

One of the perks of the fallow winter garden is that it gives gardeners a chance to reflect on the successes and failures of their efforts.  And, with the quiet winter season of a resort town, there is plenty of time sitting by the cozy fireplace to come up with new, grandiose plans of what will make it "the perfect garden" next year.  In the dead of winter, achy bones don't factor into these plans at all.  One can still visualize the finished project and not worry about how it actually gets that way.  The changes are just beginning, and  are resulting in the removal of one of the three raised beds to reposition the greenhouse so it will receive better sun.  As it turns out, this wasn't a difficult decision as I really hadn't counted on it filling up with roots from the big trees nearby.  Live and learn, AND relocate a lot of dirt, with a lot of help from friends.  

Once this is accomplished, the next phase, when time allows, will be to increase the garden fence height by a few feet of lattice to make it more of a "secret garden" for the innkeepers, family and friends.  The lattice will, of course, allow for peeks of color and activity, but with more of an illusion of privacy.  And, for good measure, the old wooden gate from the now defunct garden on the shady side of the house will be refitted to make a real entrance.  It's so nice to have a carpenter in the house.  While politics rage across the country about "sanctuary cities", we are designing our own little sanctuary in the truest sense.     

For some, Easter is a religious holiday, for others, it's all about finding hidden candied eggs, but for us, it turned into a perfect day to spend some pre-High Season relaxing time at the beach.  As a kid, growing up two hours from the ocean, I always thought if I ever lived closer, I'd certainly be walking the beaches every day.  I guess I hadn't counted on all that darned grownup stuff getting in the way, but we're vowing to do better this year. 

First Encounter Beach on Cape Cod Bay - our favorite.  

And, the fauna report wouldn't be complete without an update on whales.  A researcher at the New England Aquarium’s Anderson Cabot Center for Ocean Life reported seeing 112 in one day.  Scientists estimate that there are only 524 North Atlantic right whales left, so this sighting represented about a fifth of the world’s population.  
Enjoy this aerial view:   Return of the right whales

Next month...LOBSTAHS, or "lobsters" as the rest of you pronounce them.

March 2017 - "Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush." - Doug Larson

There's activity in the garden area, again.

Whiplash weather best describes March.  When a mild spell hits, it's time to dig out a T-shirt and do a little garden cleanup.  Days later it will be covered in snow again, and the temperatures will plummet, demanding multiple layers of clothing.  But, when the next warm front creeps in, it cheers the heart to see the efforts already taken.   

THIS PLACE CALLED FORT HILL

The historic Captain Penniman House in the background

It was in the month of December, seven years ago, that I made Cape Cod my home.  Not even then did I fully appreciate my sheer good fortune at having landed at the foot of Fort Hill, a part of the Cape Cod National Seashore.  Oh sure, I knew it was a beautiful spot, one of many wonderful vistas on this tiny piece of land, carved by glaciers and jutting into the Atlantic Ocean like a mighty flexing arm.  The only reference I've been able to find about how Fort Hill got its name was a brief mention in local writer, Robert Finch's A Cape Cod Notebook of a short-lived fort, built by Bartholomew Gosnold in the early 1600's, after sailing from England to start a new colony on the New England coastline.  Apparently, an altercation with the Cape Cod Nauset Indians convinced him to move along.  Gosnold is also credited with naming Cape Cod, and also the nearby island of Martha's Vineyard, which he named after his daughter and the abundant wild grapes they found growing there.

As I made the short walk down my street up Fort Hill more frequently, it taught me its rhythm and seasons, always changing like an ongoing movie, as it has done for centuries. 

Less than half a mile from the main route traversing the Cape, it manages to remain a peaceful sanctuary for all forms of woodland wildlife and a major flyover zone for a wide variety of migratory birds.   The wonder of turning one's back on a major highway, and walking just a short distance to climb a timeless, giant boulder, where I can sit gazing at a restless ocean and listening to wind weaving through towering seagrass astounds me every time.  There's no room for nonchalance or smugness, whether a first-time tourist experience, or locals who have their first "Dunkie" [Duncan Donut coffee] of the day as they gaze humbly from their cars.  It's a soothing, awe-inspiring gift of nature there for the taking, no matter who you are.  It changes with every season, but its beauty and peace is constant, and it doesn't care a whit how long your family has lived here.   

   

An unending light and cloud show play on nature's big screen and has inspired many artists and photographers, as well as rock-sitters contemplating one thing or another.  Rock walls built centuries ago wind around and through the land, each with their own composite story to tell, summoning up visions of a simpler lifestyle, based primarily on survival.  There was no need for gyms when these rocks were excavated and piled into walls to clear the fields to grow food.  

Each month of Spring and Summer offers a stunning transformation of the frozen, bare hills and valleys as beach roses and wildflowers compete with little dots of reds, yellows, blues, violets and pinks with the monstrous, green thickets that engulf the fields by Summer's end.  The year's new crop of baby bunnies peek out at the many trail explorers, practicing their new hopping and hiding skills.  Birds chant and trill their whereabouts, ignoring the many birder binoculars and watching instead for hungry hawks.  And, if you're out at daybreak or dusk, you may find that you're being watched heedfully by a family of deer.  

By Fall, the hill takes on a golden-orange glow with scarlet vines weaving spidery patterns up trees and rocks, and seed pods bursting into next year's fluffy promise.  The calls of the seabirds seem more plaintive as many birds desert the area to journey South.  At this point, the Park Rangers mow the thickets back to a bare hill.  As the Winter temperatures chill, everything quiets and the field takes on a light golden glow, contrasting with the ocean which turns a deeper blue.  

Most winters bring at least a couple blankets of blowing, drifting snow to complete the tuck-in for the season's deep rest.  These are days when one can walk the trails completely alone with one's thoughts, feeling rich beyond measure and compelled to find the words to share the appreciation.  

I've recently found out that Fort Hill has given me another gift.  One of my photos of the beautiful Spring-blooming lupins on Fort Hill was chosen to be the cover shot on this year's Eastham Chamber of Congress booklet and will be used in ads for the National Seashore publication and Summer Guide.  It's been a goal that I set for myself a few years ago, and considering the competition, it's quite a gratifying honor.

It's time for baseball - GO SOX!  When time does the game start?

With the unpredictability of what we can now expect of seasons, I made a bold move when the weekly Ocean State Job Lot coupons came out and purchased a small greenhouse for starting seeds.  As it is, we're encouraged by statistics to wait until May 1 before planting anything outside, so by March, there are little packets of seeds with tempting pictures of thriving, fragrant herbs, prolific fruits and veggies, and dazzling blooms pleading with me from the bowl on top of the breakfront.  Short of covering every possible surface with little pots of dirt, and if that isn't enough of an unsanitary picture, keeping the cats out of them...well...it was a brilliant $16 solution.  And, it even fits in the kitchen until I see sprouts and don't hear snow in the forecast anymore. The main impetus came from a second attempt to grow lingonberries this year.  The first attempt yielded nothing but one sprout that turned out to be a sunflower.  The red seeds are the same size as a flea, and even jump when you try to pick them up with a pair of tweezers, but I have high hopes for lingonberry preserves.  Maybe not this year, but I like to set goals. 

So much for the old sayings; our March came in like a baby chick and is going out like a polar bear.  The circumstances of who we host at the B&B are always new chapters in an ongoing anthology for us.  Our first B&B guests of the month were actually rescheduled guests from Nantucket and Connecticut, who'd had to cancel because of February's blizzard.  As it happened, their new date prompted a March blizzard, but an early start gave them the leg up this time.  Our "Stormwatcher" from Vermont tried to get here for the fun, but his flight was cancelled from where he was in Florida at the time.  You see, there are even more enthusiastic people about blizzards than ME!  Following them was a Minnesota couple, who had recently made NYC their home, and were looking for a peaceful getaway, more like the Northwest pace they'd left.  Next was a couple from the Boston area taking advantage of off-season rates for a quick dose of seashore.  A couple who'd recently settled in Rhode Island made us a weekend birthday treat to bring the month to a close.  As for our avian guests, we're overjoyed to report that the bluebirds have decided to make Crosswinds their home this year, and we count at least five pairs, prompting the consideration to change the name to Crosswinds B & B & B.   

2017 "One kind word can warm three winter months. " --Japanese Proverb

Here's a little story that didn't make it into the holiday post.  Nevertheless, it has stayed with me and is not something I want to forget.  It was mid-December and I'd stopped in to the consignment/thrift shop where I volunteer to check on things.  I noticed three people shopping in one of the clothing areas.  A young woman was squealing in delight at a dress she'd found, and her male companion was encouraging her to get it because it was SOooo right for her.  She ooh'ed and aah'ed over it, then finally put it back on the rack muttering something about spending money she shouldn't.  Her male friend tried to talk her into it, but she was still trying to resist.  Finally, the older woman grabbed the dress off the rack and said, "you obviously love this dress, I'm getting it for you."  Off she marched to the front to pay for it, with the young woman protesting after her.  I looked at her male friend and said, "That was her mother, right?"  He said, wide-eyed, "No, we don't know her at all!"  At that point, the young woman returned with the dress in the bag, flabbergasted at what had just happened.  We were all smiling and I said, "You know what to do now, right?"  Without hesitation she replied, "Pay it forward!"  It was a tiny moment in a big, messy year, but it felt like a good reminder that kindness will be just as rewarding after the holidays.  

January was relatively peaceful on the Cape.  We have the roads and shops mostly to ourselves.  The pace is finally relaxed and the talk turns to weather and what's simmering in the pot on the stove.  So, when the cable service went down, cutting power to the internet, television and landlines, that got a lot of peoples' attention.  When the service rep on the phone reported that there had been a fire, Ron thought he was getting another dubious story, so he grabbed a coat and said, I'll be right back.  Sure enough, the five minute trip to the Xfinity headquarters in Orleans revealed flashing firetrucks and police lights and a parade of onlookers who had nothing better to do on a cold winter night when their cable was down than to go check it out.  The event even made the Orleans news in the weekly Cape Codder, which gives you an idea of just how little it takes to make news and entertain us.  

photo from the Orleans Fire-Rescue Facebook

Admittedly, not everybody is nuts about football around here, but even non-watchers have at least a sense of pride in their New England teams.  Our New England Patriots didn't let us down this year.  Despite a four-game suspension of our quarterback for "Deflategate" and numerous team injuries, their skill and determination has told this year's story, carrying them, and us with them, to the Superbowl for the fifth time.  By halftime, our chances to win against Atlanta's mighty Falcon defense looked truly dismal.  But, for a diehard Patriots fan, the urge to switch to a movie, or even turn in early was not greater than knowing that however unlikely it seemed, Tom Brady is capable of working magic when all seems lost.  We've seen him do it too many times to switch that channel.  I'll spare you the game details because if you don't know them by now, you're obviously not interested.  Suffice to say, in what looked like a punishing defeat, our team never lost hope, never faltered, made every second count and showed what could be accomplished with sheer willpower and never giving up.  Now, this might seem a little corny, but perhaps there is an allegory in this Superbowl at this particular time in our country's history.  This is almost too easy, but when situations seem dark and out of control, such as the state of our current politics, do we shrug helplessly while liberties are threatened, or do we team up and fight for victory?  This story doesn't work as well, of course, if you're a Falcons fan, but you can bet their coaches are dissecting how it fell apart right now, and they will come up with the same conclusion.  Never get smug, think outside the box, and never give up.  And, that's what everyday patriots, New England and otherwise, must remember every day.  [I've even forgiven Tom Brady for his Make America Great cap.]  So, GO PATS, and thanks for giving us all something to think about and emulate.   
  

I certainly never gave up on our bluebirds.  They typically show up for only one or two days in the winter, and I've been ready and watching for this annual treat.  Sunflower seeds, dried mealworms, nuts, berries and suet, clean water in the birdbath with the defroster going, all at the ready.  The only question was would we be fortunate enough to be here when they dropped by.  Happily, the answer is not only YES, but they have so far graced us with their presence all month!  There is something about several pairs of bluebirds cavorting in the courtyard that takes the sting out of life's pesky tribulations.     

Share the joy with this short video snippet:  
Click here on:  Bluebirds [https://youtu.be/d0WbO6ix-n8]

As I've mentioned before, winter on Cape Cod can be as isolating and peaceful an experience as you choose, or you can dive into as many different activities as you wish to make time for.  One of our favorites is the Provincetown 24 Hour Theatre Festival.  This delightful weekend thrusts teams of volunteer play writers, directors and actors together to present a whimsical evening of creativity.  This is the process:  all interested parties meet on a Friday night and put their names in hats.  The play writer draws a director.  The director then draws actors.  The groups meet to see who they have to work with to stage their contribution to the next evening's festival.  The play writer is given 3 mystery props to incorporate into the story and has the rest of that evening to come up with a ten minute play.  The following morning, the director meets with the actors with the fresh emailed script, while the writer catches up on sleep from writing all night. They have the rest of the day to rehearse before performing that evening.  After participating as an actor in this romp before, Ron took on the director's challenge this year.  Experience is not a prerequisite for participation, which brings seasoned equity artists together with good sports who've never been on a stage, but thought it would be fun.  It is, and I join the most tolerant and appreciative audience one could ever hope to find to do my part.

The luck of the draw paired Ron with 3 women who all knew each other and had never been on a stage before.  In a sense that made directing easier because their inexperience and lack of time to prepare made them very willing to just follow his directions.  The play, Teachers' Lounge, written by Lucy Blood, a former teacher, was based on the topical subject of the appointment of Betsy DeVoss, the new U.S. Secretary of Education.  The results provided some of the biggest laughs of the evening and may even have launched some local future stars.

Teachers' Lounge, Provincetown Playwright's Lab

An odd thing happened mid-month that defies logic, but it somehow feels connected to the unseasonably mild weather that has settled in.  Upon rising one morning, I opened the bedroom door to see our Maine Coon cat, Tommy, prancing around the living room with something in his mouth.  Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I approached and saw whatever it was flapping on both sides against his whiskers.  A bird?!  I quickly picked Tom up under his stomach and gently bounced him up and down until he opened his mouth in protest, and the bird dropped out and flew to the other side of the room.  Shoving Tom into the bathroom and closing the door, I grabbed some kitchen gloves and gently picked up what looked like a European Starling and took him outside, where he was very happy to fly indignantly away.  No doors had been open, including the ones to the fireplace, and it continues to baffle me, other than an omen of some kind.  Just as it was last winter, February seems to have replaced March as the new month for Spring blooms to awaken.  Already, we've seen delicate, white snowdrops and purple crocuses blooming, and daffodils shooting higher with every sunny day.  We've even seen a red winged blackbird at the feeder, which doesn't usually happen until April.  People in shorts and T-shirts have been spotted and the parking lots at the Fort Hill lookout have been close to full capacity with hikers reveling in the mild weather.  Guests have flocked to the B&B this month from as close as Boston and the South Shore area to Vermont and Canada.  I'm not putting my coats away yet, but a site online suggests that a European Starling visit in one's home means that "changes in situations are coming, usually for the better, signaling the end of one cycle and the beginning of a new one."  Sounds like Spring to me.  

Just imagine what Tommy would think of my neighbor, Paco!