My Shore Road

Everything was different then; my grandparents house was grand.
Even before George Colt wrote " The Big House " we all referred to
it as such. The Briggs/ Birch house was was pretty grand as well with
it's fabulous windmill standing high on the bluff, greeting fisherman and women
as they came in with their catch.

We knew everyone from the Townsend/Weller house next door all the way to the

Burroughs house on "the point". There was a wooden turnstile between our house and the 

Townsend's, symbolic of friendship and welcome. There were no fences or privet hedges

between the other houses so we all ran freely back and forth across the properties.

That's how it was. 

Three generations; our grandparents, our parents and us. The Townsends, the Lincolns,

the Tyners, the Briggs, the Russells, the Garres, and the Burroughs. Of the seven houses

five have been torn down and the big house and it's two side cottages are unrecognizable.

When I drove by the big house on Sunday I thought it had been gutted by a fire. This feels

more tragic. My friend called it "wanton disregard" for the history of a place, it's charm 

and how it fits into the landscape. I could weep.

Proud to be an American?

Last night I went to a concert and the performer kept saying she was
" Proud to be an American " I beg to differ. I can only speak for myself.
I feel like I am living in a chilling time with a president who got elected on
 a platform of change and is staying elected on a platform of silence.

In my opinion he is a man with no moral compass, no understanding of history
and no political experience. He is a dangerous man, revealing and exploiting the
darkest side of humanity. There is no greater perpetrator of " fake news. " I can only pray
that this too shall pass but I fear it will not be soon.

Wren's buoy nest

It was rainy, foggy and windy until the last week of June
and then the magic began.

Every morning I wake to the birds outside my window.
I get up and have my coffee on the terrace around 6am.

Yesterday I noticed the tiniest wren flying around the buoys
hanging from the outside shower. In and out, in and out with
twigs in her tiny beak. She would perch on the fence chirping away
and then take take her treasure into the perfect hole inside the buoy.
It was like watching an incredible movie or reading a book you can't put
down. Nature is my church!