#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Bench Slats in Sunshine and Shadow, Menemsha Hills, Martha’s Vineyard
. . . The sun of plants speaks in your voice. . .
~ Muriel Rukeyser, Murmurs from the earth of this land
Where’s Frank, I wonder, waking early in the hotel. I hope he might be at Mocha Mott’s, buying us coffee. And, I am correct. He comes in soon and we are relaxed and happy and ready for the sunny day ahead, on our short treat trip to Martha’s Vineyard. Frank is going to play tennis with his MV tennis pal, doubles, his first try since his recent injury around his birthday. I am going to my favorite morning walk in the world, to the Menemsha Hills where I have not walked in a year. I park at the Trustees of Reservations lot; there are two cars there before me. I will walk to Brickyard Beach over Prospect Hill and down to the rocky beach. My only sadness is the absence of my best walking buddies who are back at home in Sherborn. Sigh. How I would love be taking them on their first walk here in the past year. Charlie’s extreme excitement when he gets to the woods stairs and smells the sea and sees the rocks and water and runs in to get wet, Suzi right behind him. It’s hot, sunny, perfect, quiet. I walk the rocky beach, I pass the spot where the soupy clay gathers from the cliffs, I pass the brickyard and the chimney; I cross roaring brook, where I stop, and see a great blue heron quietly perched in the shade of the brush, her feet in the fresh water. I arrive at Great Rock Bight where I will take my swim in what I hope will be seclusion. Ah, but there are swimmers who have beat me to the spot. Two women, two children. The little girls are getting naked, their mother tells them not to worry. I take off my shorts but leave my shirt on and jump into the super refreshing cold salt water. Ahhhhh. The girls’ mother is Jenny Slate, I say to myself. The actor, comedian, writer. Her smile is absolutely original and a give-away. She asks me if I swim here every day. Yes, I say, when I am staying here. I don’t want to tell her how much I loved her movie, Obvious Child. Instinctively, I feel we deserve friendly anonymity and privacy in this idyllic, remote place we have hiked to, to appreciate nature. I am enjoying my swim. I hear her laugh, and yes, that’s Jenny Slate’s absolutely distinctive laugh. My arms and legs are chilled in very pleasant, refreshing way. There is no seaweed today, the water is clear. Charlie and Suzi, I miss them. Soon, I put my shorts on, my shoes, and head back the way I came, the longer route back to the parking lot, except this time, I walk up the steps to pass the brickyard, then head up again into the hills. The parking lot that holds only 20 cars is now full, and eager hikers are crowding the lot, fighting for spaces, and I exit quickly, leaving my space. Frank and his friend have won their doubles match. We get sandwiches and drive to State Beach, park on the road, and we each have a half hour meeting on Zoom. I meet with a board that I’m considering joining, if invited. Then, a couple of hours on the beach before the ferry home. What bliss. Frank is so happy with our trip, and so am I. Last night at my brother and sister-in-law’s house was such a wonderful time. I realize, on the ride home with Frank, that we have come to the Vineyard virtually every summer for thirty years, thanks to my sister-in-law and brother, who were married on the island thirty years ago almost to the day.
