In our 27 summers in Dennis Port, my wife and I have engaged in a curious parlor game, one that has yet to yield any lasting results: what to name our little cottage by the sea.
That’s a thing around here, in case you hadn’t noticed. I think many of us believe that the naming confers a measure of seaside immortality. Think of Sir Edmund Hillary and his Sherpa planting flags when they reached the top of Everest. Humans far and wide have an irresistible urge to stake their claim.
It’s not as though my wife and I haven’t tried. Plenty of times we’ve batted around the possibilities, telling ourselves this is it, this is the moment our tiny abode’s identity is nailed down and posted for the passing world to see.
``Happy as a Clam’’ was a favorite until it wasn’t. ``Summer Wind,’’ another strong contender until we convinced ourselves it was far too common, indistinguishable from all the other ``Summer Winds” riding across cedar shingles from Falmouth to the far reaches of P-Town.
Last winter, on a trip to check on our cottage, we decided to ride around the neighborhood and jot down names others had chosen. Maybe we would be inspired.
Captain’s Quarters? No. Squeezed Inn? I-N-N? And then there was Space Available. Could be an answer to Squeezed Inn. Hey, too bad you’re squeezed in, but we have plenty of space available over here.
There was Ocean Mist … Snug Harbor … Briney Breeze … Breeze Inn … and just plain Breeze.
Cape Diem. Es-Cape and Apres Sea.
Online, I found names divvied up into categories. You want more puns? How about ``Shore Thing’’? Or ``Seas the Day.’’ Seas spelled S-E-A-S. Or this gem: ``A Wave from It All.’’
Nothing seemed to move us, so I reached out for the help of a pro. Bob Lacy opened the Chatham Sign Shop in 1989. The 92-year-old craftsman keeps six people including himself busy six days a week. Bob and his crew have turned out cottage signs for customers across the Cape and on every continent except for Antarctica.
Given that broad reach, I expected Bob might have deep insight into why people feel the need to name their cottages.
“Well,” he said after pausing to think. “It’s kind of like naming your dog. You got to call it something.”
Not exactly the stuff of Kierkegaard et al, but I knew Bob was right. The Moroneys of Dennis Port, at last, had to settle on something. And so, in one rather ugly brainstorming session, we went through another flurry of options.
There was Crimson Cottage and Saltwater and Scarlet (we have a red ornamental door mounted on the front of the cottage.) Happy as a Clam bubbled up again and just as quickly retreated under the sand. So did Summer Wind.
Then we thought why not go international? Why not C’est Si Bon -- which translates from the French as It’s So Good. And as you might have guessed, we were spelling the French si, not as S-I but SEA. Thus C’est Sea Bon. This Sea is Good? An Internet search showed that someone had already taken it. Same for C’est La Sea.
It was the moment I decided maybe this process was not c’est si cool. We shouldn’t name our cottage after all. Nothing seems to fit. The years of electing and rejecting the options had made me realize there isn’t one turn of the phrase, not a single silly pun, that does our seaside sanctuary justice.
Our cottage stands for many things, for the respite it provides, the wind, the waves, the good times that we’ve shared with loved ones and the good friends we’ve made in the bargain.
Try fitting all that on one sign. C’est impossible.
