Winter can be a lost season for those of us who live on Cape Cod only during parts of the other three. Typically, I visit once or twice to check on the cottage. Did I use enough antifreeze to prevent a pipe break? Is the kitchen broom still propping open the door of the fridge to ward off mold? Are the windows shut tight? My family and I would rush in, check for red flags, and rush out, consoling ourselves with the idea that spring was only a snowstorm or two away.
That changed last week when I decided there had to be more to these visits than simply looking for trouble. So I took some time and discovered the small wonders that come with a trip over the bridge this time of year.
Piled high inside the cottage were the tiny mermaids, chimes and solar lights that decorate the garden and walkways and a flower box or two. A mop and bucket stood near the door. Patio cushions were piled across the bed, some fallen to the floor.
The chores, done in haste, were part of my adios-until-April list. Why was I in such a hurry to be done with this?
Outside the lilac bush, its branches brittle and bare, awaited resurrection. The Japanese maple saluted the empty sky while a gull dipped out of sight. Where would the poor thing stay on this cold winter night?
Out on the road, I passed a rusty bike set against a tree, left for the cruel elements but ready to go. A reminder to get the flat on my own bike repaired ASAP for trips to the beach – where us two-wheelers still get in for free.
Passing the harbor, I saw pleasure boats wrapped tight in their shiny white cocoons. The water in the harbor was a mirror until a duck glided in. Or was it a loon?
Stores were open here and there, braving the paucity of paying customers. A yogurt shop. A pizza place and Cynthia Reed, owner/operator of Reed Books in Harwich Port, in business with her husband for 25 years. Cynthia said they had enough walk-ins and phone-call requests to keep them going. They were making the rent.
As I neared the water, an afternoon moon rose from the ocean like a dull spoon.
Long brown shoots of beach grass whispered in the wind. The dunes showed berries left to blacken on the vine. What did the birds find that was so unappetizing?
The cold took a bite of my cheek. A large hot coffee in hand was already cool.
The air, salty and damp, stripped away memories of sunny days in July when children filled in the scene with bucket and ball. I thought of my parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts who brought me here as a child, of afternoons in the water with those late great people, splashing Aunt Patty and making her give chase, tossing the football with Uncle Mike, cold beer and cookouts later still. The wind picked up and rattled the bones of the old Cape Cod, one I hold dear with all my will.
In its cold and unforgiving way, my winter visit brought back these warm memories and triggered my desire to walk on, into the wind toward new resolutions. To use my time more wisely when I’m here because we all have so little of it, to connect more often with family, and to find a way to make new memories of a place we all love.
Cape Cod in winter. Who knew?