The weekend was wonderful.
I think everyone left early to avoid the traffic. It took friends five hours to get up to New London, leaving at 1:30. We left at 6:30 and took the slow road and went way around New Haven -- and it took us 2 hours and 45 minutes. As we entered Connecticut on the Merritt, we looked at the open road in front of us and at each other and said, "where are all the cars?" It was a green and golden drive, the early evening sun streaming through the newly green trees in golden swathes. The Merritt is just beautiful this time of year, with grassy verges, overhanging trees, and graceful old stone bridges. We got there so fast, they didn't even have time to eat their dinner at a local restaurant. A woman at the bar got on the phone and gave us directions from the I-95 exit, and we pulled into the parking lot at 9:20.
Since we were the first guests to arrive, we got the pick of the beds - a mattress double, queen waterbed, or futon double. We chose the mattress double in a room off the dining room - I have slept many times on a waterbed, and they don't thrill me. The others arrived about 15 minutes after we got to the house, and we cracked open the wine, some cheese, and movie-tasting popcorn (made with coconut oil!). We explored the house and then sat in the living room, catching up and chatting. The house is beautiful - built in 1913 with a relatively open floorplan downstairs, clean lines reminiscent of an arts and crafts bungalow, lots of wood painted white, which fits the beach location of the house - the Long Island Sound is just half a block away.
The next morning, 8:30 was too early, but we were roused by various kitchen noises. My friends all got to see my weekend morning grogginess, which caused not a little amusement. Making the coffee was difficult, but I finally managed. We had a wonderful breakfast, all of us contributing something.
Set out for the shore, and with shoes in hand, walked on the firm sand along the edge just out of reach of the still-frigid water. Walked to the edge of Alewife Creek and wandered through tidal flats, fording shallow stretches of stream. Back across the beach and into the beachside arcade, frozen in time from the 1980s. The skee-ball tokens and cheap, yet coveted, prizes still look the same, although they are probably made in China now instead of Taiwan.
Back at the house, there was a peaceful stillness that allowed me to relax. The only street noise was the breeze that caused the sunlight to dance through the leaves, punctuated only occasionally by a child's laugh, the sound of a ball hitting the ground, or the brief buzz of a lawnmower. The air was clean and fresh and lightly tinged by the saltiness that is fundamental to me.
We broke the spell by piling into two cars and heading for Captain Scott's Lobster Dock, located near the land seized by eminent domain that has fallen into disuse, next to the Amtrak line and swivel bridge. Jim was enraptured by the industrial setting and set off to explore, leaving me to order. Steamers, clam bellies, a hot lobster roll, 1 1/4 lb. lobster dinners, with crisp fries and purple cole slaw. We washed it all down with a crisp vinho verde we had picked up on the way there. Took our time, laughed at the menfolk with their lobster bibs blowing straight out behind them like the Red Baron.
Next stop was Thames River Wine and Spirits (that's the THAYMES River, not the TEMMS River, btw), a fantastic store in an incredible space (scroll down the link to see a photo of the wine cellar). Spoke with Jim the Wine Guy, each of us describing our planned contribution to dinner so he could recommend a wine for each course. After choosing the perfect wines, we wandered across the street to an amazing antique/junk store, one of the biggest I've ever seen and with stuff you'd actually want to buy. Jim bought me the US Army's Meat Handbook from 1945 - illustrated with lots of butcher cuts.
Then, it was time for ice cream. We headed to Michael's Dairy. Chocolate monstrosity in a sugar cone, butterscotch, black raspberry, coconut, lime - take your pick. We ate sitting at barn-red picnic benches set out on a perfect lawn, next to a red barn with white trim. In the middle of the lawn was a flag pole with waving flag. Across the drive was a gazebo decked with patriotic bunting. It was a picture-perfect slice of americana, and for once it didn't seem so bad. After the ice cream, one by one, we made our way to the expanse of manicured green, took off our shoes and socks, rolled up our jeans, and stretched out on the grass. Eyes closed against the brilliant sunshine, the smell of fresh grass and springtime in our noses, we made up for months of concrete deprivation and did our best to burrow into the earth.
We headed back reluctantly but resolutely, for we knew that we had hours of cooking ahead of us, followed by the promise of hours of eating. Cook we did, and eat we did -- starting at close to 9pm, we stretched out the eating over an epic six hours, with a break around 1am to head to the bonfire burning strong on the beach. We watched the moonrise over Fisher's Island - a mango-shaped moon so huge and deep orange in the dark sky and reflected in the dark sea that it looked like an apocalyptic sunrise. The meal finally drew to a close with a beautiful series of wine and cheese pairings marred only by fatigue.
Sunday morning, beautiful sunny spring Sunday morning on the beach. There was time for a beach stroll, coffee mug in hand, another delicious breakfast (how was it possible we could be hungry?), a little time to listen to the silence, and then, bags and car packed, we said reluctant goodbyes and headed to the ferry only a few miles away. It was a smooth trip across the Sound, and before too long, we were at our destination in Greenport. There was time for another good evening, another day of being able to listen to the wind, finishing with a slap of reality upside the head.
