Travel Diary
Late Thursday afternoon, we drove through Pennsylvania’s beautiful Pocono Mountains and crossed the Delaware River Gap cut through the mountains. Then we crossed the Hudson on the nearly five-mile-long, seven-lane Tappan Zee Bridge from which we could see in the distance the towers of New York City. Eek! The bridge that’s 132 feet above the water was built in 1952. To save money they built it with a life expectancy of only 50 years. Since it’s deteriorating, thank goodness they’re building a new bridge with a life expectancy of 100 years.
The bumper-to-bumper traffic on the other side of the Long Island Sound was horrendous. We finally stopped for the night in Darien, Connecticut. When I consider that some people make this stressful journey to and from work every day I wonder if this how human beings are meant to live. I don’t think so.
We arrived in Plymouth earlier than we had expected. I said, “You know, we may have a hard time finding a hotel.” The town was absolutely packed when we got there because of a major festival, and they wanted $300 a night at the Hampton Inn! Clever Bill said, “Let’s stop at the Visitors’ Center.” A very charming lady suggested a B & B and booked us a room at a beautiful house overlooking the ocean. We often forget B & B’s, but they’re much nicer than motels and a better value!
Saturday: We met the twins’ train and drove through the town. “Wouldn’t you like to see Plymouth Rock again,” I asked. They didn’t respond. Everyone who has visited the Rock tells everyone else that they must see it. It turns out to be a only nubbin of rock in a fancy enclosure.
We drove to White Horse Beach where the gracious owner escorted us through the downstairs of a wonderful house built directly on the sand of the beach, about a hundred feet from the surf. Scientists say that life on Earth started in the sea. All I know is that I feel a sense of homecoming and completion whenever I arrive at the great waters.
Early morning: I always take my first delicious cup of coffee out to the deck while it is still dark — ah! I watch and wait: Eventually a flame-red eyebrow appears above the horizon. As it rises, it makes a path to it onto the waves. Majestically, that master painter, the sun, casts constantly changing tints on the clouds floating in an azure sky and on the water: rose, pink, mauve, lavender, gold . . . I like it best when the calm sea is silvered, and then sun sparkles create a diamond effervescence. Lulled by the sibilant sea-sigh that is broken only by the wild cry of the gulls, I am at peace. And then the glory returns at dusk!
I am a moon watcher as well as an admirer of sunrises and sunsets. It is hard to remember sunrises and sunsets because no two are alike, but my internal photograph album contains vivid pictures of the moon. Moonshine on water is especially lovely. Here Bill seven-year-old Vicki and I sit on a log at our isolated campsite at Leigh Lake in the Tetons to which we’ve backpacked. The twilight hush is broken only by the soft peeping of a flock of Merganser geese as they head for their roost. Slowly the full moon rises, and Mt. Moran is reflected onto the tranquil water.
“And hand in hand on the edge of the sand
They danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon.”
— Edward Lear, “The Owl and the Pussycat”
While we were at the beach house, a huge full moon laid a golden pathway across the sea. I awakened in the middle of the night, and the moonlight in our room was so bright that I could read the time on my watch.
I am so lucky to be alive! wclarke@comcast.net