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Journal of a Sabbatical |
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July 16, 2000 |
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an island garden - not |
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Today's Bird Sightings: Today's Reading: Outside Lies Magic by John Stilgoe, Among the Isles of Shoals by Celia Thaxter Today's Starting Pitcher: Tim Wakefield
Plum Island Bird List
Copyright © 2000, Janet I. Egan |
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Well, the plan for today was to take the ferry from Portsmouth to the Isles of Shoals for a tour of Celia Thaxter's garden, on Appledore, made famous in her book An Island Garden and the subject of a well known painting by Childe Hassam. (For more info check out her biography by a grandchild, and the ferry company even provides a reading list.) Alas, the weather did not permit. Nancy got me up wicked early to drive to the ferry. The weather forecast was for occasional showers. Nobody mentioned torrential downpours, gale force winds, and 8 foot waves. As we sat in the car waiting for the ferry ticket office to open and for Donald and Michael to arrive with La Madre, it began to rain. One of those showers, I thought. Hah! Rain soaked through my jeans as I walked to the ticket office where four other people scheduled for the Celia Thaxter garden tour were asking about rescheduling. The ticket kid kept calling the phone number of Shoals Marine Lab and leaving messages but not getting a call back. More Thaxterites arrived asking the same question. The guides and a guy who works at Shoals Marine Lab arrived dressed in foul weather gear. We began to get reports of gale force winds and 4 to 8 foot seas. Donald and Michael arrived with La Madre. They had rain jackets. La Madre didn't. They had just seen The Perfect Storm, terrifying Michael who vowed he wouldn't go if the weather was bad. Gale winds and 8 foot seas count as bad. The guides and the guy from SML told us it would be a very rough crossing and we would all be seasick. Somehow, having crossed the Drake Passage without throwing up even once made me take these warnings with a grain of salt. On the other hand, I was in a much bigger ship in the Drake Passage. You could almost fit the Thomas Laighton in the lecture hall of the M/V Explorer. Legions of Thaxterites arrived. Only 2 bought ferry tickets and got on the boat. I was not one of them despite my brave "I survived the Drake Passage" rhetoric. The weather worsened. The guides canceled the tour. The ferry captain announced same and the 2 intrepid souls who'd been willing to chance it got off the boat. We didn't have a plan B for how to spend the day in Portsmouth, so I suggested coffee at Cafe Brioche where we could regroup and figure out what to do instead. Of course, D&M and La Madre had never been to Cafe Brioche so it was up to me to lead them. In a driving rain, early in the morning, with Whittier's poem about the shipwreck on Hampton Beach running through my head, finding downtown Portsmouth became an unexpected challenge. I lead us over the Piscataqua River bridge (wrapped in a white canvas tarp for some reason - has Christo been in Portsmouth lately) into Maine then realized my mistake and found the downtown and the cafe on the second try. Other than forgetting La Madre's bagel, Cafe Brioche lived up to expectations. The new plan involved taking a walk to Strawberry Banke to see the garden. I thought Donald meant the historical garden at Strawberry Banke itself. Actually, he meant the demonstration garden at Prescott Park. We started walking. The heavens opened up again. Despite rain jackets and umbrellas we got wet. Should've worn those waterproof pants I bought for the Antarctica trip. None of the buildings at Strawberry Banke were open yet (it was well before 10:00 AM) anyway, so Prescott Park's garden would have to do. Just when I thought it couldn't rain any harder, it rained harder. Joggers in the park left wakes in the spontaneous lakes that popped up. But the garden was colorful - I was sorry there wasn't enough light to photograph it - and there was a a Piscataqua River gundalow anchored alongside the park. Its keeper was getting it ready to open to the public - it's apparently a Strawberry Banke exhibit too - and he let us on board to check it out, answering my silly questions about what the mast is made of (white spruce) and Michael's question about the load of granite that keeps the deck flat and shows how actual gundalows were loaded back in the day when they were the only way to transport loads of freight in the Piscataqua estuary. We also discussed with the poor wet museum guy whether the Red Sox would be rained out and how well Tim Wakefield is pitching. It was really fun. After walking back to where we'd parked, Nancy and I took leave of D&M and La Madre. We drove slowly down the NH seacoast stopping in Hampton to watch people standing at the sea wall watching the 8 foot waves, watch surfers riding the waves, eat the cheese sandwiches I'd packed for a picnic lunch on Appledore, and shop for Hampton Beach kitsch to send to BiB (we didn't find anything appropriately reminiscent of childhood treks to Hampton Beach). We explored all 18 miles of NH seacoast thoroughly then crossed the imaginary line into Salisbury for and then on to Newburyport for coffee and unexpectedly good carrot/ginger soup at Fowle's and a couple of hours browsing at Olde Port Book Shop with no intention of buying anything. Domino meowed her approval of our rainy day strategy. The rain let up, turning to a fine drizzle. We listened to the Red Sox on the car radio and drove the length of Plum Island looking for birds - doing the drive-by birding thing to avoid getting any wetter than we already were. Wakefield pitched well and we found a glossy ibis. What more could a person want on a rainy July afternoon in New England? |
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