Summer in Nahant
In the winter I can see the Boston skyline from my hallway windows,
but it's summer that is truly seductive when it comes to living on
this island. Boston disappears behind a screen of trees in full
leaf and, when I'm not occupied by the web in one fashion or another,
I find myself out on my deck doing nothing at all. Well, not quite.
I watch the evening storms brew and wonder whether or not to water
the tomatoes. Inevitably, I do. It seems as though the lily
bulbs I put in last fall, grow fatter by the minute and require
careful watch lest they explode into blooms while I'm not looking.
The seagulls and tree swallows need lots of attention during their
nightly feeds as they swoop through the humid air shrieking and
twittering at gourmet insects. Two raucous pots of parsley and a
healthy basil plant turn my thoughts to cooking, planning how to
cook the herbs up with a mess of rice and peas. The ocean either
roars or shushes in the background depending on the recent or
future weather and provides a pleasant white-noise background for
all these quiet distractions.
Summer in Nahant means barrelling across the causeway to work in the morning
morning already looking forward to the end of the day when I can
return to my island. I wonder if my mood will lead me to the rocks
at East Point, the fine sand of Short Beach where my friend Joe holds
court with the locals, or only as far as my backyard. Whatever, there's
a certain peace in knowing that the night will come and will undoubtedly
be pleasant.
Nahant becomes a magical place when the clouds fall down on it during
inclement weather, hiding the island from the mainland. My ten minute
commute home across the causeway turns into a childlike leap of faith.
Is my island still there? Avalon comes to mind. It's only when I can
finally see the lights of my unknown neighbors that I'm convinced that
my trip down the causeway hasn't turned into a matter of driving into
the ocean.
Even when the weather is good, though, the causeway dash is uncanny in
the summer. I can feel the temperature fall as I close in on the
island, its place in the ocean is nearly always ten or fifteen degrees
cooler than it is on the mainland.
In Nahant the ocean is at most a five minute walk from any single
residence, lucky Nahanters can take a wrong turn in bed in the morning
and find themselves waking up in the surf. The rocks at East Point
are snarled with
wild roses that produce fat sweet hips in july and august, and
the inky-black comorants cruise silently over the water while
invisible pheasants squawk in the thick brush. On any sunday
morning the rocks are cluttered with fisherman hoping to snag a
Striper or a Blue.
Short Beach becomes
a wide stretch of sand at low tide, offering warm, shallow, clear
water for swimming. Forty Steps, a pebble beach tucked between
East Point and Egg Rock Manse, is a secluded spot in that there is
no parking.
Not everyone understands my love affair with this place, which is
perhaps a good thing. It just wouldn't do for everyone to move here,
even if there were room. It would no longer be the place that I want
to stay. As I always respond when friends ask, "How can you stand
to live in Nahant?": "Live? I intend to die in Nahant."
Back
Date last modified:
Wednesday, 13-Apr-2005 17:47:31 EDT
© 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001