Walk With A View In Mind

Sunday seemed to miss the feel of Spring somehow. It was dull and sleepy, probably because of the lost hour. But a Sunday stroll, long or short, has become an order of the day in this house for the wife and I. And of course she does the pickin', however weird that may be. This time she defied the weather by searching for a view. And a view means back in the mountain goat routine.

This time it was Drumlin Road in Pigeon Cove. Before we ran out of that stock of breath, we found why folks have built on the side of this hill. Our valley dwelling took on the atmosphere of a hole in the ground.

Just above the growing ruins of the staunch stone barn, we came upon what could pass for a quiet small lake to one side of the road. It is another rain-filled abandoned quarry pit that Molly fell in love with right away. The old gal was cute. She four-legged it out a few feet until she sensed there was nothing but space one step ahead. The boxer didn't mind a bit of a dousing but hardly a full bath. Back she came to us to shower the Sunday suit with her shaking.

Up ahead of us bearing the mien of post-card scenes of the terraced dwellings of Italy, was a sweep of comparatively new homes of the "close to earth" style pioneered by the late famed architect, Frank Lloyd Wright. What a change from the last time we hit that trail a score of years ago. Odd as they look to a conventional home owner, there's appeal to the way they hug the ground, and stay on the first floor.

It wasn't only the pipe we were puffing on that climb. Anybody that admits to the half century mark would be puffing like ol' Peppersass of Mount Washington's cog railroad. Bu every huff brough us nearer to that view we were after.

We envied these folks who awake to scan a panorama second to none on the Cape. Smokey as the day was, dropping a filmy curtain on the horizon, the eye swept around from Sandy Bay Breakwater over to the Great Hill water standpipe. And nearer to us could be seen swirling in the sky, thousands of white wings, gulls who were enjoying the lake-like quarry pits including the town's reserve water supply.

The gulls were much too high to bother Molly, the distant view fell dead upon her. Only the near-at-hand is her world and by this time, that came in the form of three chummy dogs, one a itty-bitty fellah, the others, twins of a handsome variety. Their home is the hill-top. We breathed a sigh of relief. All four made friends in a matter of seconds and scampered all over the lot. 'Tis nice to know that Mollie was a lady.

One fine home that might have been called "Last Breath" because it sure took ours to reach it, even sported a greenhouse attached to it. The RFD mail box that must get its deposits by whirleybird had the name of Wentworth on it. Furthermore, it was the only home along the way where there was a sign of folks busy on the grounds. But every property looked spic and span.

Coming onto Landmark Lane we continued the short distance to the Pigeon Cove standpipe to guess at some of the myriads of carved initial combinations noting that love had passed this way more often than elsewhere. We never were the initial carving type. We did recall how our younger used to enjoy pelting this standpipe to hear the pings and pongs.

It was good to see that someone has installed benches in a field just below the standpipe, for they provide seats for those who want to view the compact village below them emphaszed by the tool company's chimney and the Hotel Edwards with its shelves of granite lining the shore. Of course, summer adds the appeal of the yacht races. A grandstand seat free for the climbing. Spring may have escaped the air, but it can never escape that hill and its command of the Rockport scene. Try it sometime. Great for the varicose veins!

J.P.C., Jr.