Neighborly Collaboration – ND #85

Not the ones that were chased last night – Photo: L. Weikel

Neighborly Collaboration

During our walk yesterday, Karl and I had a chance to engage in some neighborly collaboration. Actually, we ended up working like a well-oiled machine. We impressed ourselves.

It all began when a large pick-up truck approached us just as we were setting off on our late afternoon sojourn. The truck, headlights inexplicably on high beam, slowed significantly as it pulled up next to us. The passenger side window was already rolled down and a young boy of about 8 years old looked out at us. A girl of about 13, presumably the boy’s older sister, was in the back seat, with her window rolled down about halfway.

“Have you heard any dogs in the last few minutes?” the driver asked, leaning toward us from the driver’s side.

“Other than the wolfhounds?” I laughed, gesturing ahead of us. We could all hear the wolfhounds barking and baying only yards away where we were now.

“Yeah – no,” he replied. “Beagles. We have two Beagle pups who took off. We’ve been searching for them for a couple hours now.”

Ugh. How awful. We cringed at the thought of losing Brutie and Pacha.

Contingency Plan

While we hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary or noticed any ‘loose pups’ on the prowl (so far), I wrote down the dad’s phone number just in case.

To be honest, we almost forgot about the loose puppies. We saw and, more importantly, heard no evidence of any Beagles. Pushing forward, turning right, up a big hill, we walked at least a mile before a herd of deer suddenly started tearing across a field to our right. We stopped. Cocked our heads. “BOW, bow, bow,” the plaintive cry of a Beagle, albeit muffled by the clatter of hooves tearing up clods of dirt, could be heard.

We strained to see what was going on, where the deer were headed. The deer were clearly confused and in disarray, running this way and that. We worried the pup would cross the road in front of us and herd the deer – and him or herself – right off the High Rock cliffs to our left, plunging them into the Tohickon.

Meanwhile, I fumbled to call the pup’s “Dad” to let him know at least one was here. I’d written his number down on the notepad of my phone – not input it directly into my phone. (I really didn’t think we’d encounter the pups. Just goes to show you!) I eventually managed to get through and described where we were. He said he’d come as fast as he could.

The Hunt

No sooner did I hang up but the deer and dog disappeared into a forest in the far distance to our right, across a golden field. In what seemed like an eternity but was probably only five minutes or so, if that, the dad and kids showed him up. As they pulled up alongside of us, we could see (and hear) a beagle in the back seat bouncing around with the sister.

“Did you find one of them already?” Karl asked.

“Yup. This other one has been a devil to catch,” the Dad tried to grin, referring to the Deer Chaser still on the loose.

“Well, he took off that way,” and I pointed ahead and across a vast field.

After saying thanks again, they drove ahead, chasing the elusive Spade. Or was it Rip?

We ended up texting back and forth over a span of an additional 10 or 15 minutes, as the little devil tore back and forth over a span of probably six or eight vast fields and tracts of woods. We co-located them using the home of the wolfhounds as a reference point, for they were directly northwest of us ‘as the crow flies.’

Yep. I literally used that expression when texting the dad.

Success!

By this time, the sun had completely set and it was nearly dark. The pick-up truck doubled back and rolled down their windows.

“Got ‘em! Thanks so much for all your help!”

Karl and I cheered. It felt great to help a neighbor out. We were sure they’d have a better night now that their pups had been found. Neighborly collaboration. Guess we’re seeing that both locally and globally.

(T+85)

Vacations on the Cape – Day 243

Nauset Light – Photo: trip advisor.com

Vacation Memories                                

I confess. I’m feeling a little cranky right now.

It’s almost the middle of July and we have no plans for a vacation in the foreseeable future. That fact, in and of itself, is not all that big of a deal for me. It’s not as if I’ve felt a sense of deprivation if we didn’t take a vacation every year – and there have been a decent number of years when we didn’t ‘go anywhere’ or ‘do anything’ of note.

No…

The dissatisfaction underlying my grousing is the distinct lack of an opportunity (either in the recent past or the foreseeable future) to languorously curl up with a good book and just read and read and read and read until I’m not quite sure who I am anymore. Then fall asleep. And then read and read and read some more upon waking.

My fondest memories of summer vacations were days on end spent reading book after book with no agenda but to move on to the next one.

Summers on Cape Cod

I was lucky enough, being the youngest of five kids, to have parents who, by the time they had me, were able to afford to take quite a lovely vacation. We rented a cottage from family friends near Nauset Light, in North Eastham, Massachusetts. We first started going to this cottage back in 1962 or 1963 – which would mean I was three or four years old – and I’m pretty sure we only stayed a long weekend. Or a week at the most.

It felt perfect to me, although I always, without fail, cried a bit when vacation would end (regardless of how long it had been), when I ‘had to say goodbye to the ocean.’

The Cliff

One of the most remarkable memories from those earliest of years is how the cottage was situated only yards from the edge of the sandy cliff that plunged – 80 feet?  –  down to the beach. Someone had affixed a rope to a spike at the top to help people climb up the cliff from the beach (a reality that would cause environmentalists nowadays to blanch).

Anyway, as a little kid, I remember easily scampering up the cliff without the aid of the knotted rope.

Another absolutely precious memory from those vacations (which extended right up to and beyond when I was 21 and went to that same cottage with Karl on our honeymoon), was Nauset Light. (Believe it or not, this is the very same light that is featured on all the bags of Cape Cod Potato Chips.)

Photo: Sandboard.com

Nauset Light

Back when we first started spending time at the Cape, every dusk, the light would come on. It would blink three times, then a ‘pause’ would occur as the lights rotated around, and then another three blinks…over and over again. The rhythm of the light was wonderfully reassuring, especially since my mother called it the “I – love – you” light.

I’m sure she started the tradition of watching those three strong beams of light gliding steadily and relentlessly out across the waves, one-two-three, then sweeping across the tops of the pine trees behind the cottage, and began the tradition of saying, “I…love…you!” while sitting with me. She soon extended that delightful  while holding my nieces, as they gradually came upon the scene three and then four years later.

It became a maternal tradition within our family, whenever a baby or toddler would cry or become anxious in the middle of the night, to stand outside in the fragrant sea breeze, baby on hip, swaying in that way that just happens, listening to the waves of the Atlantic crashing on the shore. And we would wait for it, wait for it… then blink! Blink! Blink!

“I. Love. YOU!” Chortles of delight eventually gave way to murmured repeats of the affectionate declaration, then slowly, slowly eyelids would reluctantly close.

Reading

Finally. Before I took this meander down memory lane, I began this post thinking about the absolute indulgence of reading my fill of book after book while spending time at the Cape. Now I’m filled with memories of my mom. From my love of reading to the I Love You light, I miss her so much.

I can’t remember the last time I just had days stretched out before me when I could read to my heart’s content and not feel the pull to pay attention to anyone or anything other than what the next chapter might reveal. What a luxury. What an opportunity for indulgence in one of my favorite pastimes.

I wonder if I’ll ever experience that again.

Tasty memories – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-868)