June 9 Papa, After dinner at a pizza place last night, we drove to Saquatucket Marina and walked the docks. We'd eaten outside, and during dinner, a thick fog had come low over the Cape and shrouded the line where sea meets sky. Darkness fell with it, and in the dull, gray light, the spires of … Continue reading Day Four: Sailboats, Seashores, Sunsets
June 8 Papa, Did Edwin Teale write those travel stories you were telling us about -- River Horse, I think it was? I'd like to read it. Speaking of reading, Stockbridge had a wonderfully regal and airy library with tall, paned windows and a white fireplace. Dad told us to meet him at the van at … Continue reading Day Three: The Inn
June 7 Papa, The trees are different in New York. The forests on each side of the interstate are lighter, thinner, less honeysuckled than back home. There are vineyards, windmills, pines... and a sign that read: "Correction Facility -- Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers." Then, there were the Falls. I'm sitting here, trying to work up … Continue reading Day Two: So Much Water
June 6 Papa, Today has been us and the highway: low cumulus clouds over farm fields and power lines, the smell of honey pretzels and luggage, and the interior plastic of the van rattling against my elbow. Not too much to write yet. I hope you don't mind an email each day or so; these … Continue reading Day One: East
At the end of each day on Cape Cod in June, I’d find a quiet corner of our cottage and jot off an email to my grandpa Larry. I'd mostly pull from my journal, trying to capture for him the way things smelled and looked and moved. He and my grandma (we called her Nanny) … Continue reading This Summer: The Cape Cod Letters
