Last year, I wrote about my annual visit to Marshfield, where I lived among hostile neighbors from 1999-2001. That particular visit, like the others before it, was a painful one, and I left with the hope that this year’s would be different.
I’m happy to report that progess has, indeed, been made.
With my 12 year old car pushing 218,000, it’s been a tough call when to schedule this year’s venture to the old place.
In the last 3 months or so, I’ve had 2 problems with the car’s exhaust system, the last on Christmas day, and I haven’t wanted to risk a breakdown so far from a reasonable “please pick me up” request.
So, when an opportunity came up to justify renting a car for a mission to Greater Boston, I figured it would be a good time to swing by the old neighborhood on the way back to the Cape.
Peter left yesterday for his annual San Francisco trip to Macworld, and I offered to drive him to the Logan Express in Braintree.
Because of the insomnia that seems to have become a pattern the last several weeks, I was able to finish the usual Saturday chores early.
The weather predictions weren’t especially good for mid-day, exactly the time we were planning to make the trek, so we left a little early – good thinking as it turns out: as we were approaching the Logan Express terminal, the rain that had started in the morning turned to sleet.
I found the roads back to the Cape surprisingly good. By happy coincidence, the sleet/rain line was almost exactly at the Marshfield exit.
I drove through Marshfield Center which, if anything, is even more of an aesthetic disaster than when I lived there. Promises to create a “Mashpee Commons-like village” have not been kept: the area is a sickening disgrace.
The old neighborhood hasn’t changed much. The people who bought my little house had decorated it with Christmas lights and seem to be keeping it in good repair, which made me happy.
I stopped at the Fish Market and picked up my annual calendar, which provides details on sunrise, sunset and tides. As was the case last year, they had piles of boxes with the calendars, so it seems a lot of their other customers haven’t gotten around to picking theirs up, either.
It wasn’t much of a day for a beach walk, so instead I headed straight for Duxbury. As predicted, FarFar’s is closed for the season, but the public library was open, one of the best in the area.
I drove down to Sweetwater’s and parked in the Snug Harbor lot for a few minutes, recalling a happy time in which the harbormaster gave Bob a ride on his skiff, and we heard the canon salute that marks the end of season for the yacht club.
I drove by the church, where Bob, Emme and I picked up little, inexpensive Christmas gifts at a holiday fair, including the precious handmade “Noel” door hanger that Emme bought for me, and which has been a prized decoration every year since.
Next, I passed through Duxbury Center, noting the places where I used to window shop are still there, along with the old A&P, one of the very few that hasn’t yet changed hands.
Duxbury doesn’t seem to have changed, a most pleasant matter of fact.
Thus, although I had a Marshfield address, that dismal town was never “home” – but Duxbury truly was, in every sense that makes a place the treasure of one’s heart.
Peter did make his flight and arrived in SF only about 45 minutes after ETA, a great relief.
I’m picking him up next Saturday, and if it’s a good day, I just might leave the Cape a bit early – just so that I can go home again.