Just A Walk Next Door

There are times when a feller just can't squeeze out enough time even for a short walk on a weekend. One of these times is when Uncle Sam and the old Bay State breathes down your neck with those confusing forms known as income tax blanks. Before us that Sunday was the Federal readjustment form for 1959, the State readjustment form for same, the 1960 estimate for both federal and Commonwealth.

By mid-afternoon, snowed under by forms, by scribbled tabs, we were suckers for a strait jacket, foaming at the mouth in our curses of all those chair warmers who had stayed up nights thinking up questions to trap us unsuspecting taxpayers so as to bait us into Danbury or Walpole. Believe you me, we were about ready to sign over the weekly pay check and moan help yourself but save us from these nightmares. Instead we completed every mother's son of them right down to signing our names to the dotted lines, so help us God. Now all we have to worry about is that grim gray badge three years from now demanding "How come you figger this way?"

But that's far, far, away, so with it off our chest, the wife and I decided to steal out for the short space before twilight to again catch the joys of Rockport afoot. The lateness of the hour insisted that it be just a walk next door. Up our own way, School Street, with our dainty little four-footer Molly waddling ahead like a dreadnought in wallowing seas, we dropped by the Drolets to check on the progress of his lobster boat. Emery had it swathed in tarpaulin to ward off the winter's gales. We hope to live to see the day it is launched. At least it's planked. But of course, he has to make a living meanwhile.

Our Molly, the questionable Boxer, cared not for boats but instead butted up against a l'il ol' houn' dog that had us puffing for a second until we saw the tails semaphore an "All's well with the world." That even made the sight of a bitter frigid ocean in the distance look heart warming to us.

Strolling this time of year has its hazards what with the glare ice hidden beneath thin snow. The town sanders try to smooth the way but playful winds throw them off stride. At our age, equilibrium means a great deal. But we managed to stay upright until the tag end of the meandering.

The spirit of Christmas still hugs Rockport. Clear evidence of this was noted at the Tuc Kraft Shop at the start of High Street where a lone miniature Christmas tree stood bravely on the top of a porch. Gaudy baubles adorned it. May it stay there until next Yuletide to remind all that the day should be year-round.

From there by Rockport's former police chief, Dick Manson's cozy house with its horsey sign for what reason we'll never know when we realize he's the prexy of the Gloucester Auto Bus Co. union drivers.

An indication that the olden days had a much greater respect for sheds was evidenced in the existence of a strong brick chimney protruding up from one in Agnes Rich's property on High Street. It was an impressive extension.

And the sight of deep pink blinds on the house at 22 High Street proved an eye-arrester. They lent an air of distinction to the abode. And nearby was an ivy covered apple tree in a yard which sported a "For Sale" sign.

A stately Christmas treee that would do justice to Dock Square come Christmas morn with the thousand of kiddoes surrounding Santa's emissary, hugged the portside of Skipper Alvin Brown's homestead at 20 High. Personally we think it should live out its days right where it is guarding the hearth of Rockport's Boy Scout history.

Back of Ready Kilowatt Don Pool's home we saw a new home rising up two floors. And almost next door, an ancient well sweep. Peaceful scenes these that couldn't last as long as Molly was in tow. For then all of a skitter, another female appeared, and how the fur flew. Who's to blame? S'help me, we don't know. But the air was blue with our curses as we couldn't fathom why ladies just couldn't be ladies, dogs or no dogs. But she'll be a walkin' with us come another Sunday. Why not do the same?

J.P.C., Jr.

Around the Block

Just a stroll around the block in Rockport had to suffice Sunday afternoon due to a late engagement for the wife and myself. Looking across to the school yard with the parking lot area fence removed for the summer, we noted belatedly that the selectmen did a nice job in protecting young swingers and jungle gym fans from the cars.

The wife pointed out beautiful hydrangeas in fulsome white clusters that add so much to the Fall scene. Rockport is blessed with a generous display of hydrangeas in many a yard. The wife saw to it we had a complete census on who was who in this pampering of the foliage.

Took a look into Emery Drolet's yard to see how the new lobster and party boat was coming along. Emery is so busy at sea during the summer, the neighborhood boat had to be neglected. But it is pretty well planked. And it's looking real big!

Up the road on School Street, Minister Edmund W. Nutting and his folks were completing their noon repast out in the open. More and more of America quit their dining rooms on summer days to sit on benches at rough-hewn tables out in the yard. And why not?

Down Pleasant Street to find it continues to live up to its name in every respect with green carpeted yards sliding away back into what seem like cool depths. Certainly it stands out as one of our finest streets for homes.

Ths we came upon one of the nicest gardens in town, that of Harold Dann who for years was a police sergeant in Providence, R.I. Japanese lanterns, a flower that looks like exactly what it is called, featured the natural layout of flowers in rock garden settings.

And across the street on the Goddard premises, for years the Dodge homestead, a ginkgo tree soared heavenward, not too common a sight in this clime. Nester Peterson has one down in Indian Village. That Pleasant Street tree has been there close to a half century.

Across the main drag, Mount Pleasant Street, to pass down through Cove Hill Lane, a picturesque thoroughfare if ever we saw one. A big catalpa tree in Helen Mackay's yard, a solid powerful looking stone wall, the base of the old Cove Hill School, where many of earlier Rockport learned their three R's. These greet the walker at the start to encourage him to continue on down through the winding narrow path.

Huge portions of canvas hang on lines in Duffy Blatchford's yards, presumablly those of his pride and joy, the Manchester I-class boat, Peggy, which is an often-time winner in the Sandy Bay Yacht Club weekend races.

Cove Hill Lane, a short cut for many bent on bathing at Old Garden beach. A lane that leads on to Clark Avenue, whose most prominent resident these days is ornithologist John Kieran.

Sandy Bay holds much of joy for the one who would leave his car by the side of the road and refind the town through walking.
J.P.C., Jr.