A Walk in Snow Land

Snow's not half as bad as some folks think as long as it doesn't come in too big bundles. Take for instance that of last weekend. Just enough to lend soft white fluffy beauty to the landscape but not so much that it bogged down auto traffic or stopped us Sunday strollers from our waistline trimming ambles.

That's why the wife and I and our streamlined boxer Molly hit the high road after dinner to wander for a wee bit. Out of our home path, School Street in Sandy Bay and up Broadway, trudging kidlike through the ankle deep white drifts, it was nice to see the fun the four-footer had racing through the snow, sniffing to her heart's content. There's no calisthenics like it for a dog.

The town's smartest move in years, that off-street parking lot where Mrs. Brown once lived and Universalists made merry in Murray Hall, offered an inviting winter scene as good as any Currier & Ives ever came up with. Cars of all descriptions bathed from hood to rear bumper in snow caught the eye.

Only a short time before we had seen our Molly baffled in her effort to scratch a hole in the snow-covered hard earth to bury a brand new polished bone from the butcher, only to learn the fundamental lesson that the best hiding place is in the most obvious location, right out in plain sight, so she left it on the front lawn.

No wonder she snubbed a couple of fellow canines who were staging a raucous Donnybrook on the front lawn of the Town Office building over a clumsy stick. To her,any couple so dumb as to bare teeth over a hunk of wood would never stumble over that precious morsel of hes. So along she went about her business.

Autoists seemed to be pleased with the fact that Rockport's roads had been sanded by Road Surveyor "Pete"Perkins and his gang. Getting around in mid-morning, the sanders brought relief. Early motorists slithered all over the highway.

Again we were fascinated by the sight of the decorative old-time wooden grill work on the porch of Rockport's baseball mentor, Dr. Earl Greene. Carpenters of another day outdid themselves in this fanciful brilliance of their trade. Thousands of patients have passed beneath it without sensing its beauty because of their ills.

The old blends with the new on the roof of the Florence Pool home on Broadway, where a widder's walk is flanked by two olden chimneys and a television antenna. The latter, forever, remind us of the pictures in old books of the storks' nests atop the homes along the Zuyder Zee.

Large ornate treees never look better to us in a front yard than when draped in snow. We are thinking of the Fred Tarr homestead on Upper Broadway, painted brightly yellow. The trees have grown massive with theyears, as stately and impressive as was the late master of the house, the noted United States Attorney.

Crossing over onto Railroad Avenue, we were greeted by an old-hat rocking horse that appeared to suffer not the least, even though its hind quarters were smothered in below-freezing dew. At least she was one nag that Molly never tried her hoof-nipping tactics on, as she does with live horses.

Christmas trees abound the year around in Rockport. Such were those on the Sam Henderson property, now that of Dave Scatterday on the avenue to the depot. Snow heightens their winterish glory. There's a real warmth to their frigidity for us strollers.

Across the way and over the railroad tracks we sauntered up along Poole's Lane, noting that steel-helmeted men were driving in Toonerville Trolley shaped poles by the tracks. They said it was to bring more power into Rockport, but as far as we are concerned, this town is already power-packed with all the things that make life worth living.

It was nostalgic to watch youngsters sliding down the hill. It seemed ages ago that we too had the thrill of coaching our own to sled belly-bumper over the snowy slopes. It's heck to see them grow beyond it. Never lose a chance to walk or play with those young 'uns. It's money in the bank of life.

J.P.C., Jr.