Cape Cod Love Letter
Because, to my mind, that’s what vacations are for, and that’s why the Cape is the place to do it. If you let — or make — yourself drop everything, the Cape, or any other place you revisit year after year, becomes a part of you, and its restorative powers will sustain you through the fall, winter, and spring, until you return. Sometimes when I can’t sleep in the middle of a January night, I take myself back to our beach. My breathing becomes the bay, inhaling, exhaling, onto the sand. Soon I’m dozing.
The Cape is our reward for New England winters. Could we ask for a better time and setting to slow down and reconnect — with kids, partners, parents, and friends? A few years ago, we got together for an impromptu picnic on our beach with some old college buddies who were moving to California.
It was one of those crystalline afternoons that I imagine happen only in the Cape’s wide, high light: no wind, no greenheads, warm water, tide just right. The grass danced a spangly silver, and as the kids scrambled along paths through the dunes and carved out canals at the water’s edge, we sat in beach chairs and solved the world’s problems.
We stayed on the beach yakking until it was nearly too dark to see. It’s a day that, years later, we still talk about. And if the olive loaf sandwiches and the beer hadn’t run out, we all might still be sitting there.