Walk by the Ex-Hospital

The sky was noticeably leaking as the wife and I and our hefty boxer set out for our Sunday stroll in Rockport. It could be raining buckets and it wouldn't stop the missus from this weekly walk. And how rash can a husband be to argue with the determination of the so-called weaker sex. The soaking is easier to stand than a woman's wrath, we say.

This time the destination was the old Leander Haskins Hospital grounds atop Summit Avenue. For years in selectmen's sessions and in town meetings we had heard officials vocally wrestling as to how to get rid of what had become a town drag. For awhile the Air Force used it for barracks for their sky-spy tower.

The town fathers cleared the way, finally, to bring it to earth so as to create a town park for all to enjoy. Their judgment is excellent. As we reached the site with all traces of the architectural monstrosity removed, it was easy to see what a glorious park the site can be. The view is magnificent.

In fact, a short climb into the fire tower must afford even a richer view of the ocean and countryside if it weren't for the forbidding sign that orders stay below. The town would help us all by erecting a companion tower with safe steps and railing to allow people to reach a height where the panorama could be relished.

Always the good right hand, the wife stayed close with her garish bumbershoot held over me so that the heavy dew couldn't wash out the scribbled notes I was taking. The galloping boxer, however, paid no attention to the weather but probed new spots of mystery in the brush, around the tower, and in the open spaces.

An old-time electric car bench intrigued her, as it did us. Maybe we sat on that same seat when a kid bouncing over the tracks that spanned the spillway at the end of the Goose Cove bridge. The hospital stable, still standing, was even more impressive with its spectacular bay window, perhaps the only barn that ever had one.

A peek inside a window revealing a motley array of junk that only a New England barn can collect, plus a weird assortment of tools and whatnots. Evidences that the town park department appreciated the area were shown in the gathering of freshly navy-grey painted park benches and also gangplanks for town floats. They looked mighty shipshape, typical of this department.

That road to the fire tower is wide enough for cars, although unless you need to, we would advise staying a-foot. It's probably meant to get the woods fire kit through so as to get at the heart of any blaze on that end of Dogtown or vicinity. But the path is also girded by signs of Spring such as the soft green foliage of trees, the stately white birches.

By this time we were in the area once beloved by the native Rockporters at Third Pines. The wife, who remembered many a Sunday School picnic beneath the cooling trees on a hot summer's day, looked in vain for the pines that gave the place its name. They seemed to have vanished with the years.

Lilies-of-the-valley were over-running the place, blueberry blossoms were rampant indicating that the crop ought to be real lush this year. Shad bushes were rich in their sheer white splendor. The walk was still worth it.

Birds of all kinds could be spotted through the woodland growth, could be heard where there was no sight of them. Molly almost had conniption fits trying to nuzzle out just one for a haze. The wife and I rejoiced at her defeat. As much as the sleek skinned monster means to us, how could we ever forgive her catching even one bird.

We were on the road to the Common, that we knew. And someday we will chase that road to its destination. But on this rain-swept day we had too much else on our minds, including a date at the home of a friend.

All three of us agree that our town fathers have done much for the hill and its environs by laying low the Haskins ghost structure that ruled so many years. Out of the ashes can spring a thing of beauty like a mountain park for all Rockport and her visiting friends from everywhere to enjoy as we did on this sprinkled Sabbath. - J.P.C., Jr.