A Walk to Stockholm (Avenue) - Pigeon Cove

That elusive ball of fire had again sweltered the Cape after a week's retreat, so the wife and I emerged from the oilskins along with the four-footer Molly and set out for a Sunday stroll. On opening the sealed orders, we learned the missus had again chosen Pigeon Cove, that "militant" village that stands upon its own laurels.

Lazied by the seven-day flood, we Chevied to the foot of Curtis Street and then ambled for almost two hours through that colorful way into Stockholm Avenue to return to the car, neighborly "gassing" along the way. It was a rewarding stroll for all three of us although nerve-wracking at times.

Wracked nerves sprung from the army of dogs that seemed to challenge many steps of the way. This area could be hailed as the Dogtown of today, all shapes and sizes, but fortunately for us, all even-tempered. Molly found many new friends along the way even a lady boxer like herself, all of whom are supposed to be sworn enemies. The only woof-woof who challenged her was a blackie. Maybe Molly was wrong, who knows?

Second delightful feature was the grand display of rhododendrons gracing many a yard along the way. They were all beautiful, particularly one that towered above all others in their pink splendor. We never saw so many so close together.

Impressive is the fact that along one side of the street are the woods, stirring the imagination for mystery lurking within, and opposite are sturdy homes, well kept grounds, all individual. For Molly, those woods with their fetching pools are paradise. A stray squirrel, a bird in her bath, all fair game to her, though she never could catch any of them, for which we are relieved.

Along the way we came across one yard containing a massive boulder centered by strong iron rungs indicating that once a quarry derrick must have been anchored. And next door, on the premises of Arthur Balestraci, was a rock garden of great appeal emphasized by even the rocks being painted in futuristic design.

Up farther we bumped into a bit of old Europe, an impressive stone barn, at least two-thirds up when it was finished in strong wood. Mario Balzarini had it. We were told that artists considered it a motif for their canvases. And we don't blame them one bit. It was like a whiff of good old country.

We made the bend from Curtis Street down Stockholm Avenue, through quite a stretch of sheer sylvan grandeur until we hit upon the inhabited section bumping first into Town Engineer Matt Hautala's big acre. Matt and the missus were preparing to go neighboring when we popped into view.

But our visiting moments were rudely sidetracked by an impudent Molly who wanted to give an innocent equine a hard time in her corral nigh to Matt's land. The horse belonged to Walter Wayrynen . . . from which sprung a diverting tale. Walt was a nervous wreck after having officiated earlier in the day as midwife to his dashing mare for a bouncing colt. Yup, Walt pulled him out of his natal world.

What had Walt in a great dither was to restrain the horde of young fry from exciting the mare during the matinee performance. The fry was attending a next door wedding reception at the Everett Jylkka property. They wanted to go the limit, even to riding the frisky colt. But the mare's sharp teeth wouldn't brook any butting in. As for our boxer, the whole area was off limits. That gal is an awful baiter - just like some cocky politicians we know on Cape Ann.

Our sympathy for the day went out to young Bob Hautala, whose injured hip has yet to heal. At his age, it's rough to be deprived of so many summer activities. But there's another summer coming when you can throw those crutches into the Rockport firemen's Fourth of July bonfire, so stay with 'em.

The wife and Molly and I have grown to love the Cove and its alluring streets with their folksy residents. We'll be over there again!

J.P.C., Jr.