I’m going to let this post do the walking and talking, with its photos and words from the very first time we had a family trip to Truro. Before we had Des, and after I had fallen madly in love with Cape Cod and especially Truro. It’s slipping away now, as we move into the next phase of life – and my heart is breaking. It would be different if my kids had a lifetime of memories of this place, or if they were too young when we were last there – to make the kinds of vivid memories you can embrace in later years. Instead it’s being cut short – only halfway through the story.
Maybe it has no ending, and maybe we can start from scratch or rewrite the story halfway through. We can make it our own. And who knows? This one may last several lifetimes or so.
The Very First Day of the Very First Time:
I have to be honest. When Cassidy first told me about our long-planned cousins’ reunion at the beach house in Truro, Cape Cod that Cassidy’s family owns, I was less than pleased. I was missing the birthday party of a darling girl I wanted to celebrate and I don’t like missing Northampton weekends because they’re so full of promise. Promise and fairs and berries and the like. I also don’t usually put myself in situations where I’m lacking much needed space.
See, I grew up in a big family and our summer vacations were a bit cramped, I’m sure, but I didn’t care because it was my family. Ever since a fateful weekend in our San Francisco one-bathroom apartment in which one of our invited houseguests had a stomach virus or food poisoning and one of our uninvited houseguests was a freakin’ mouse next to the shower, well, I never fully recovered. I need space. I need to know there’s a room in the middle of the night in which I can read or ground myself or check email. In actuality I rarely, if ever, get up with anxiety in the middle of the night at home. Yet I still like to know there’s space for me if I need to!
Our summer Truro plans included no room for space. All four bedrooms were booked, we had three children – two of whom needed cribs and bedtime routines, a last minute addition sleeping in the living room and two relatives out on the yard in a tent. I was afraid for myself.
Did I mention I’m not really a beach vacation type? There’s only so much sun I can take and I didn’t even own a bikini until this past weekend. I do like to relax but as one of Cassidy’s wise cousins said over the weekend, “A family reunion isn’t rest and relaxation. Being alone or with one other person is.” He’s right. I usually choose my vacations based on adventures – moose, whales, and interesting new places. I wouldn’t ever think to plan a crowded family trip in the same exact state I live in. Three+ hours away, sure, but the same state! Is that a vacation?
I learned my lesson this weekend. I learned it good. After a 4-5 hour car trip first to Hartford and then back into Massachusetts up to Cape Cod, and then another hour up the crooked, flexed elbow or arm shape of this wondrous “resort peninsula.” We arrived. We were open to the love and the reunion. This was taken seconds after we got out of our cramped car in the driveway:
She feels the love. Two out of three grandmothers were there. And another two-year-old. And a sweet 11-year-old. And lots of cousins. And a cute dog to boot. It nearly blew her mind.
Cousin Sarah is beautiful inside and out. I especially liked how she patiently took such good care of Scarlet when I decided to fall asleep face down on the bed after too much beaching.
Later that night after dinner, Cassidy and his brother decided to go fishing on the local, quiet beach. It was chilly and the fishing poles took up the whole backseat and I had to illegally sit on Cassidy’s lap while we drove, my head hitting the windshield repeatedly. I wondered if it was such a good idea to tag along.. It was. Turns out, it really really was.
Present day me again. I wrote a part 2 and a part 3 filled with stories and photos, and then there was year 2 and year 3 and some years with two visits and somehow it all blurs together in a swirl of sun and ice cream, and only occasional rain. I can’t believe they’re selling the house. It’s theirs to sell and the reasons are great, but I’ll never forget this piece of heaven we held in our hands like sand. Slipping through our fingers, but left scattered in pieces we take home with us. Always finding its way back to its rightful place. Maybe that’s like us. Making our ways towards the best parts of summer. Putting it in our pockets to keep us warm throughout the year.
I’m linking up with Finish The Sentence Friday for another great prompt. This week’s topic is “The best part of summer vacation is/was…” And there’s still time to write yours. Link up HERE.