A Walk Back of Brad's -- June

The sun fairly blessed Rockport this Sunday of our choosing for a walk around town, taken by the wife, old four-foot Molly and myself. This time, the missus had voted for a walk back of "Brad's."

There is only one Brad in our town. He is J. Bradley Hodgkins, a man of many business ventures who proves by his industry that he's forever willing to take a chance to better himself and his.

Cheating a bit as usual, we gassed up the cluttered Sabbath highway to park near the residence of our old friend Hannibal Nunes, painter and former spokesman for his people of "the Hill" in Gloucester. At 213 Main Street, we saw he had converted the grounds into lush gardens of fox gloves, sweet Williams and Canterbury bells, among other favorites. And gracing his front door was the replica of a spread eagle, our nation's emblem.

Down the lane our eye was struck by the sight of a picnic table carved out of a tree stump as we saw Molly go out into high gear for a squawking pullet that had the world to herself until the boxer invaded the scene. Roosters crowed tauntingly as their lady won the race without pain. All Molly got was just plain winded.

More of the carver's art was ahead of us in the shape of Indian totem poles that looked up awesomely into fluffy gray clouds of a perfect late Spring day. The road began winding back to the main stem. The month of June had taken over, proven by the sight of yards and yards of daisies.

Here we came across a group of modern homes nestled in the woods and relieved from all the hustle-bustle of the nearby highway. We were at last in the thick of Brad's housing development. But he was nowhere to be seen. Maybe developing had his attention.

Molly met more than her match at this juncture, for out jumped a snappy peanut-sized Boston bull terrier who just was not going to have any other canine no matter how big, taking her home base away from her.

What surprised us was the sight of so many new homes, especially nice homes, that have mushroomed in this area between Upper Main Street and the railroad tracks. We remembered that area as woodland and brush.

We had the feeling that we were walking in people's backyards, though every home appeared to have ample room around it. One house sported a pair of old iron tea kettles.

Out front on the main stem was a neat yard appropriate for a banker, flying an American flag, the property of Harry Mills, of the Rockport Granite Savings Bank.

Across the street, the wife and I continued toward Cape Pond. We passed the town garage, flanked by a parked plow and a stockpile of fill and gravel.

Our big reason for taking to the Cape Pond highway was to give Molly a chance for a real run. Amid the housing development, we hardly dared to let her off the leash; too many hazards existed for our frayed nerves.

The pleasing smell of Vermont woods seemed to pervade this area, along with the sounds of birds everywhere. Gulls galore dotted the Pond. But then too many darning needles began to buzz around us and it looked like the best bet was back to the car and home.

The walk was well worth while for all of us.

J.P.C., Jr.-