This Thing Called Courage

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Rockport Part II





SO WE WENT TO UNCLE MARTIN'S GALLERY in Rockport, which is called An Artful Hand, and they have some really lovely things there, including these great windmill statues for the garden (very unusual) and pottery and jewelry and, of course, art (see pic of one of Uncle Martin's watercolors above, of a castle in Ireland-- he used to go to Ireland a few times a year to paint and give lessons.) Martin's daughter Margaret wasn't there yesterday, but a very nice gentleman named Donald Stroud was, manning the place. We ended up having a great chat and he wanted to know about my books, so I told him, and he is going to get them. My Mom got some earrings there. Then we mosied back down the street and treated ourselves to home-made ice cream, and hung out at the ice cream shop's outdoor cafe tables. Then we hit a store called 'Provence,' a delightful little emporium selling things Francais-- soap, dishes, linens, music, prints, etc. I got some lavender soap for Mom and had a nice chat with the nice lady there.

Before we had started yesterday morning, I got on the net and researched interesting things to do in the Rockport area, and a few places had mentioned the Halibut Point State Park. The coast is exceptionally rocky up that way (hence the name)and apparently there were some quarries where the state park is now, filled with water and looking like post-modern sculpture. Really beautiful! Mom stayed in the car while I explored. After a long, tunnel-like trail through very still and quiet woods, one comes to the quarries, and watch your step or you'll be dropping down into them forty or fifty feet. The view here is staggering-- the quarries, then the ocean beyond that, then these rather impressive hills and mountains which must be in New Hampshire, I presume. Someone else thought so as well, a woman painting. She paid me no mind as I walked by, but then I hollered over my shoulder, "En pleine aire, oui?" and suddenly she was my new best friend, throwing more French at me in a minute than I could comprehendez-vous in an hour. But we still had a lovely chat. Beyond the quarries, more trails twisted through slabs of boulders and thick bushy growth, much of it poison ivy and beach roses, until finally I came to the ocean. There was no beach, just slabs and accumulations of stones and boulders, and the waves smacking in every few seconds. Very beautiful. On the way out of there we drove through town again and I spotted a plaque on an old house, saying it was the Ebenzer Gott homestead, and he had fought at Bunker Hill. I thought immediately of my dear friend Dave Gott of Benson Place blueberry farm Burnt Hill fame, and wondered if there was some connection way back when. All in all, a delightful day, and I will definitely be going back to Rockport, to An Artful Hand, and to Halibut Point State Park, where perhaps I shall do a little en pleine aire-ing myself.

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