It was Spring in bloom in Rockport town again after our longest winter in years, so the wife and I and our lively boxer decided to chance a stroll through the center of town and into our favorite domain skirting the town's main cemetery where wildlife forever abounds.
Only on this occasion we were honored to have with us, a favorite sister, Carrie, a birder of no mean repute. After plastering the "Be Back in Two Hours" sign on the front door, we "sashayed" from our domicile up School Street past the home of Rev. Mr. Nutting and his family. Here we delighted in the display of brilliant large red tulips and blue and pink hyacinths, convincing signs that Spring has kissed our shores.
Next door on High Street we collided with the grounds of a new Rockport selectman, former police chief Dick Manson, whose yard sported spreading yews and more blazing tulips fronting an ancient stone wall. And basking in the glory was a goldfinch that caught our birder's alert eye as did the first romping squirrel of the season. Luckily Molly, our cherubic four-footed innocent, failed to spot her.
It was a mild matinee dampened somewhat by a clouded sky but old Sol came a-peeking out at times enough to solace the "visiting firemen".
Another step and we reveled in the sight on an old wrought-iron fence on Raymond Manson's property, a fence that once belonged to Dr.Charles Haskell. 'Tis a fence dating back a century. A part of it bordered the property at Beach and Main Streets. It was here we saw a cherry tree in the next yard, sporting an old white picket fence around it.
Our reveries of the Golden Age were shattered by the unearthly canine yowls of our darling Molly as she hot-footed it after a "meeyow" up Marshall Street.
May the saints be praised that her four-wheeled drive was choked to a standstill as good old Tommy escaped int the hills unscathed. the neighbor probably still loves us.
But maybe another good friendly neighbor next door has lost her friendship for us. For her petite canine came leaping out at our beloved, jealously guarding her domain only to have Molly completely ignore her as hshe snouted in the bracken and the swapmpland nosing what to heris more importnant game which she never found.
Again into our favorite cemetery. Here we found the brook full flowing tumbling ofer the rcks and singing its joyous song to the dead and the living. Herw we saw our good friend El Harris of the Rockport police force and his family on their Sunday stroll.
It was here that our sister Carrie identified the redwing blackbirds cavorting around the withered cat-o-nine-tails. We in our "learned" birdlore identified them as the sacred bleue heron. After all, it did have spindly legs and a penchant for fish of any size.
Up we went into the pasture over the sile fences, though we had to become cortortionists as we wiffled through fence openings. We had come to the site of Bottle o' Rum Rock, the ex-"rock of ages" which has been succeeded by a pond, teeming with geese including some of the Canadian variety.
Just beyond a short cut through a grael pit left a muddy yellow imprint on the boots of this trespasser, an imprint that stayed for the day. It was worth it for seconds later we came upo a swamp in which marsh marigolds and cowslips were in full bloom. Spring was really with us for that day at least.
Up the road past the Country Club we continued our stroll, spotting some dogtooth violets along the way. For the four-footer, such signs of Nature held no interest, but every little swamp had a meaning all its own to her as her probing snout tried to get the bottom of them.
From there to home, all contented to call it a day, a most enjoyable Sunday stroll. Try it sometime.
J.P.C., Jr.
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