Some Account Of My Days in New England...

I will post some of my journals from this trip, beginning with July 4th...

First Day

It was a hilarious, long, weary, wonderful night. At quarter of six we stopped in a tiny New England town for breakfast. Half of us were in pyjama pants, and no one looked really presentable. But Dunkin’ Donuts still sold us coffee and hot chocolate, juice, muffins, bagels, and donuts.

“Early morning hot chocolate,” I explained to Casey, “is a New England tradition.” For me, it counts back to the week I spent living on a boat with Grandpa when I was thirteen. We sailed the ports and drank hot cocoa first thing every cold, raw morning at sea.

Mike took pictures of us all. We were sitting at a row of small two-person tables. “It looks like a dating game,” Marjorie quipped.
“Marjorie Liz!”
“What?”
“Where did you learn that term? David—Casey! She’s only been in your caregroup for one day! What did you do to her?”
David and Casey, who have just become the leaders of a singles caregroup, protested their innocence in vain.
“Sure, sure, we know the truth. You got all those newly-graduated high schoolers in there and said ‘Hi! Welcome to the singles ministry. We want to get you married and out of here as fast as possible, so sit down and talk to the girls.’ That’s what you said, wasn’t it?”
Which led, of course, to David telling a story about how one time in his singles caregroup (back when he was a single) they really did do that (for a lark) and how his college roommate used the time to collect a list of the girls’ ring sizes and preferred proposal spots.
“What did he plan to do; sell the information to prospective suitors?”
“Mhm, something like that.”

We piled back into the car and drove two more hours. I noticed that the scenery had become rockier, more rugged, and that the houses were now all of New England style and construction.

At Grandpa’s there were rounds of hugs, a quick shower, then off to the end of the driveway to see the childrens’ parade. Oh my. I’ve never seen so many antique cars hung with so much bunting! It was a slow, brief, quirky, candy-ful, adorable parade.

Casey’s comment: “New Englanders all look like J-Crew models!”
“J-Crew,” I replied, proudly, “is a New England wannabe.”

Then, naps. Throughout the house and all over the lawn, people were strewn like ninepins. David, Casey, and I piled out onto the broad table-flat outcropping of granite about twenty yards from Grandpa’s deck. I lay down in the clover beside it without a towel, because I wanted to be able to smell the earth. David spent the next three hours sleeping on the rock (which has symbolic importance for him because it is where he went to call Casey every night while on vacation last summer, when they were courting). Casey slept on a towel near me. We all had books, but the sun and breeze put us to sleep almost immediately. When David finally woke up, one whole side of his face was more tanned than the other.

It was a day of intermittent sleeping. We read, slept, ate, slept, gazed at the sea, slept, and slept. I can’t remember the last time I’ve rested so deeply, perhaps because there was such silence, and yet so much air and music. At Grandpa’s house all the windows and doors are left perpetually open to damp, salt breezes. There are a million jays and cardinals making the air glorious with melodies, yet a profound peace reins over the whole scene. It sounds and feels the way a Christian soul should be—utterly at rest, yet full of fresh movement and song-snatches.

Late in the afternoon, Casey and I went to stroll the beach. We wandered slowly up and down. For once, I did not spend my first beach-walk utterly absorbed in the sea. Instead we talked of people, humility, wisdom in caring for others, love for them, and some memories of various relationships and situations. It was a wonderful talk—a gift, since somehow there seem to be few chances for me to really fellowship with my newest sister.

David, Mike, Mama, and Grandpa found us. I squinted up the beach at four approaching figures, and asked Casey “Do those belong to us?”
“Yup.”

Grandpa decided to take the two younger married couples for a sail. Neither of the young wives had been before. Jess and Casey came back a little wetter for wear, but definitely happy. David and Mike, who have been many times, were more nonchalant.

We had a true New England dinner of salmon and peas and salad and bread and baked potatoes, finished off with ice cream treats and cookies. Grandpa and Grandma got their birthday presents, which they enjoyed. A little later, Charity and Marjorie and I asked Daddy to hold Supreme Court for a proposed addition to the Book Laws. We wrangled through the legal ramifications of the fact that Charity now has second claim to two books, and whether Marjorie, having first claim on one and third claim on the other, can succeed to first claim on one when Charity establishes first claim to the other, and whether such an interpretation of Book Law is or is not a sort of “living constitution” distortion.

“Original intent!” David cried. Casey, half-asleep against his shoulder, is making her very first foray into Book Law territory. She is at present sidestepping the issue by letting Nate read her book, even though she has first claim. However, knowing how much those two enjoy teasing each other, I have no doubt that she will at some point decide to invoke her claim.

We finally decided that it is not appropriate for a dual-second-claimer to succeed to dual-first-claim, and stipulated that Charity shall have to choose one or the other. Then we remembered that this law already existed in the unwritten Book Code, and that we had simply forgotten it, since it has now been some time since there were six children and a constant influx of new books to keep the complicated mass of rules fresh in our minds.

It was delightful to hash over old customs, and we enjoyed playing lawyers. Now, wouldn’t you know it, I’m not particularly sleepy. Oh, well, Marjorie will come up soon to the bunk room and want to watch a DVD on my computer.

Tomorrow we go to visit the Newport Mansions, a familiar but still interesting haunt (I think everybody except the new sisters has been at least twice). The following day is for sailing, with a massive thirty-person CLAMBAKE (my first!) on Saturday. Sunday we shall spend with Nana, then Mike and Jess and I will stay on at her house until Thursday, whereupon we shall come home. Friday and Saturday nights will be by me devoted to viewings of As You Like It: a free, outdoor, on-the-lawn-and-bring-your-own-picnic Shakespeare performance back in Maryland. I am adding to my collection—this will be my seventh live Shakespeare experience (not counting school productions of Much Ado About Nothing and Macbeth).

My skin is browner than it was this morning, and smells that nice, warm, slightly exotic smell of suntan lotion. My feet have been scrubbed with salt and seawater. My hair is curly and tangled and blown full of New England aurae. I feel as fresh as if I had been remade out of silver and crystal and blue-green water. Tomorrow I shall be up early to run on the beach. I want to see if I can fly right off the ground—almost walk on water—or at least splash. I’ll run until I have no breath, and then I’ll breathe sea air.

O home, home of at least half my soul, I’ve come back! How I missed you! How beautiful you are!