Memories of old boats
Traditional cruising catboat.
— Photo by Jean-Pierre Bazard Jpbazard
Adapted from Robert Whitcomb’s “Digital Diary,’’ in GoLocal24.com
I grew up very close to the harbor of Cohasset, Mass., and so my family had a bunch of small boats – rowboats and a sailboat. The former, which were wooden, were mostly to get out to the mooring for our 17-foot-long fiberglass sailboat and occasionally to fish from (mostly flounder and oily, but delicious, mackerel). The best time was when we’d (or sometimes just me) sail far enough offshore on a hot day so that the southwest wind would cool after blowing over 68-degree water to a refreshing air temperature of 70 degrees while it was 90 on land.
But those boats, as small as they were, took a lot of work – mostly in the spring – though having a boat got easier with the arrival of fiberglass, in the late ‘50’s. Before then, there was tedious calking and sanding before laying on a new layer or two of anti-fouling copper paint. And then there was the chore of putting the boats in the water and then hauling them out a week or two after Labor Day.
The most exciting boat in my latter boyhood was the recently invented Boston Whaler. A friend who was a next-door neighbor and orphan had one (his grandmother bought it for him), and for a couple of summers, we often sped around in the remarkably stable craft, powered by a loud Johnson (or was it an Evinrude?) outboard. It gave us a feeling of youthful freedom, for which I’m still nostalgic, sort of like the nostalgia I feel for my first car, a used VW bug.
The experience made me realize that it could be a lot easier to enjoy someone else’s boat than your own. That, of course, reminds folks of the old line that your second-best day is when you buy your boat, and the best is when you sell it.
To suggest how long ago this was: You could buy “chicken lobsters” (small but legal) at the town lobster pound for 25 cents each. The region’s waters then had lots of lobsters, and there were many brightly colored buoys floating over the rocky bottoms favored by the creatures. (Sometimes there would be little territorial wars between lobstermen, with, a few times, brandishing of shotguns.) Warming waters, changing currents and some other factors there have much reduced the catch. Lobsters are moving northeast.
For generations, people in my father’s (mostly middle-class) family often had small sailboats, especially on Cape Cod, where some of them were from and where others, starting after the Civil War, went for stretches in the summer. These had centerboards instead of keels because the waters were shallow with sandy shoals, rather than the deeper, rocky waters along the shores north of the peninsula.
The most popular craft were catboats, with a single sail. I have a much faded photo of my father sailing a small one in about 1930. I had a pang when I found in his desk, soon after his sudden death at 58, a sales brochure promoting a 25-foot-long catboat with a little cabin two people could sleep in, cook in and, er, eliminate in. Extravagant!
That, I suppose, was going to be an escape vehicle as he approached retirement.
On the Beach
“This is a day that’s beautiful as well,
and warm and clear. At seven o’clock I saw
the dogs being walked along the famous beach
as usual, in a shiny gray-green dawn,
leaving their paw prints draining in the wet.’’
--From “Suicide of a Moderate Dictator,’’ by Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979), American poet and short-story writer
xxx
Now, of course, is toward the end of prime ocean beachgoing season for millions – the salty breeze, the semi-hypnotic sound of the waves, the warm upland sand, the cool sandcastle sand between the tides, the adventures of beachcombing and socializing. But not much more than a century ago, people tended to avoid beaches, complaining about the smells of decaying dead fish and seaweed, and, for the affluent, trying to avoid suntans (which are signs of burns) because they were seen on poor farmers and others who worked outside. Lower class….
But over the next few decades, going to the beach and developing a tan there became something of a status symbol. It meant, among other things, that you had leisure time. (That’s a reason, along with air-conditioning and faster transportation, for the unfortunate rise of Florida.) But more knowledge of skin cancer in the past few decades has led people to cover up much more, and now villages of tents and umbrellas cover many popular beaches.
The best time to walk on the beach around here is September and October.
Before the summer beach house mania started in the late 19th Century, New Englanders usually avoided dwelling right along the coast – too vulnerable to storms. Instead, they lived safely inland, often around town greens. They were right.
Thoughts about beaches
Nauset Beach on Cape Cod, with eroding bluffs.
Popham Beach, Maine, on an evening in July.
Photo by Dirk Ingo Franke
View of Nantasket Beach, in Hull, Mass., in 1879, when it was a very popular resort for Bostonians.
Adapted from Robert Whitcomb’s Digital Diary, in GoLocal24.com
“Objects on the beach, whether men or inanimate things, look not only exceedingly grotesque, but much larger and more wonderful than they really are.’’
-- Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) in Cape Cod, published in 1865.
Sandy beaches, with dunes or bluffs behind, stony beaches and these days even disappearing beaches, draw us. I’ve lived near most major varieties.
Beaches invite long walks, and offer a wide-open view to the horizon, which we need in our all-too-indoors world. And they’re the best places for kite flying because they’re usually breezy; too bad that you don’t see as much kite flying these days. I mention in passing beaches as venues for sex. Bad manners.
They also offer surprises: The waves constantly bring in different things to look at – some beautiful, some hideous – maybe, if you’re unlucky, even a human body. Every day walking on a beach brings different revelations, especially when it’s stormy. You’ll find such treasures as colorful sea glass -- physically and chemically weathered glass found on salt-water beaches. There used to be a lot more before plastic (made from petrochemicals) took over much of the container business. Plastic bottles, etc., turn into microplastics that present a range of environmental woes.
Then there are skate-egg cases. But there are fewer interesting shells these days and, it seems, less driftwood. And far fewer horseshoe crab shells, in part because they’re being fished out for their blood for use in medical applications. You probably know that they aren’t real crabs, by the way, but, rather, related to spiders and scorpions. Creepy?
Then there are various kinds of seaweed, some of which are edible, and useful for other purposes, too, though they draw insects, some biting, to the beach, and can have a rank smell.
High summer on beaches thronged with people can be problematic. Best to go before Memorial Day and/or after Labor Day. Then you can hear the birds and the wind more than the yelps of vacationers; you’re more likely to avoid the screech of transitorily popular music, or cutting your feet on a beer can, and, if you’re casting for fish, less likely to catch someone in the eye.
I’ve been thinking a bit more about beaches these days because the last close relatives I’ve had on Cape Cod are selling their house in a village where we’ve had ancestors (many of them Quakers) since the 17th Century. There’s a beautiful sandy beach close by (though it’s eroding at an accelerating rate because of seas elevated by global-warming) that brought us many fine memories. The clean water is warm from late June to late September – in the 70s (F) – and there were/are graceful sand dunes we used to roll down as kids.
My paternal and laconic grandfather, who lived in West Falmouth after retirement, used to call the entire Cape “The Beach.’’
Hydrangeas bloom for several weeks.
— Photo by EoinMahon
Summer bloom bursts
How nice now to enjoy such spectacular blossoming of hydrangeas as distraction from so much grim news. Of course, most news in the media is grim: “If it bleeds it leads’’. Gotta turn it off now and then.
The mild and wet winter is being given much of the credit for the particularly vivid colors of these acid-and-coastal-loving bushes this summer, which can make walking around so cheery and make you forget that the most colorful time of the year is late spring and October, not mid-summer. There’s a great Robert Frost poem called “The Oven Bird,’’ that deals with this.
Now a lot of the blooms, which come in a range of colors, are fading.
Beach bathos; save our shellfishermen
From Robert Whitcomb’s “Digital Diary,’’ in GoLocal24.com
Rhode Island Gov. Gina Raimondo has rightfully cut back parking at Scarborough and Misquamicut state beaches because of overcrowding, especially by young adults (many from out of state) who ignore social-distancing and face-mask directives. But anyway, I have always been surprised by the number of people who want to crowd together on a hot humid day on a beach, pandemic or not. A nice seat in an air-conditioned room or a walk in the mountains seems more inviting in mid-summer.
Meanwhile, it’s depressing to see the number of jerks who give retail people, such as at ice-cream stores, a hard time when the latter try to enforce pandemic guidelines. There are enough such people to have led a few store owners to decide to close for the duration. Selfish people making a tough period worse!
Of course mask-wearing is capitulation to the “liberal elite”!
New Shell Games
The shellfish industry – both wild-caught and aquaculture-grown -- is over-dependent on the restaurant industry and thus has been slammed during the pandemic. Many restaurants are reopening, but only at 50 percent or less capacity, and some have closed permanently.
So the oyster, quahog, soft-shell clam and mussel collectors are working hard to develop direct relations with consumers, with the latter going directly to oyster and other cooperatives to buy the stuff, to farmers markets and supermarkets or even have them delivered to homes and places of business. It reminds me of the fish man who would peddle his stuff, right off the boat and put on ice and covered with canvas, at the back of his truck, around our coastal town when I was a kid. (Was that illegal?)
Shellfishermen are just so New England. Let’s support them.
Southern New England's polluted beaches
From ecoRI News (ecori.org)
Nearly 60 percent of the 4,523 beaches tested nationwide last year had water pollution levels on at least one occasion that put swimmers at risk of getting sick, according to a new report by Environment America.
The report, Safe for Swimming?, looked at fecal bacteria levels at beaches in 29 coastal and Great Lakes states, as well as Puerto Rico.
“Swimming at the beach is a prime summertime joy for millions of Americans, but clearly we have more work to do to make sure water at all our beaches is safe,” said John Rumpler, Environment America’s clean water program director. “We must invest in water infrastructure that prevents pollution to ensure that America’s waterways are safe for swimming.”
Fecal bacteria can make people ill, particularly with gastrointestinal ailments. Common sources of this pollution include stormwater runoff and sewage overflows. Swimming in polluted water causes an estimated 57 million cases of illness annually, according to a 2018 study published in the journal Environmental Health.
This problem is widespread. In Illinois, for example, all 19 beach sites sampled exceeded the margin of safety for fecal bacteria recommended by the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA).
As for southern New England, here is what the report found:
Rhode Island: 54 of 129 beach sites sampled were potentially unsafe for at least one day in 2018. A sampling site at Easton’s Beach in Newport was potentially unsafe for 10 days, more than any other site in the state.
Massachusetts: 223 of 583 beach sites sampled were potentially unsafe for at least one day. A sampling site at Nahant Bay was potentially unsafe for 39 days.
Connecticut: 81 of 113 beach sites sampled were potentially unsafe for at least one day. A sampling site at Byram Beach in Fairfield County was potentially unsafe for six days.
Across the country, 2,620 beach sites exceeded the EPA margin of safety at least once last year. Of those, 605 locations were potentially unsafe in at least one-quarter of the bacteria tests. All told, there were 871 beach closures nationwide in 2018.
The 46-page report includes several recommendations to prevent bacterial pollution and keep beaches safe for swimming. Rain barrels, rooftop gardens, permeable pavement, and urban green space can all absorb stormwater runoff and help prevent sewage overflows.
“Our analysis of nearly 200,000 sampling results reveals threats to public health at beaches in every corner of the country,” said Gideon Weissman, of Frontier Group, which co-authored the report. “It's no longer enough to warn swimmers when beaches may be unsafe, especially when there are steps we can take today to reduce the threat of bacterial contamination in our waterways.”
Llewellyn King: Guilt-stricken meat eater; review of train stations; our beaches are better
'They treat us like equals''
NOTEBOOK
Italian Veal Caper
Let me be out front about my hypocrisy when it comes to eating animals. I’m a shameless carnivore, but I hate to think of the herds of cattle, pigs and sheep that I've eaten.
In my heart, I’m a vegetarian, but my stomach has an hereditary attachment to the hunters who preceded me. So I eat meat and wish I didn’t.
The best I can do to atone for this sin is to avoid bacon, not because I don’t love it; I do, but I think, along with Winston Churchill, that pigs are pretty terrific creatures. Of course, I do gobble the odd pork roast and chop; so my hypocrisy flourishes.
In case you’ve forgotten, this is what Churchill had to say about pigs, “I like pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.”
Well, all of this is by way of a gastronomic enquiry: Why is there so little veal on the menus of Italian restaurants, which abound in New England? Rhode Island's numerous Italian restaurants just give a nod to veal, once the staple meat of the fine Italian table, north and south.
Now, I find chicken has replaced veal on Italian restaurant menus. Such standards as veal franchese, veal saltimbocca and veal marsala are mostly made with chicken.
Osso buco (braised veal shank) has almost disappeared from restaurant menus. You can't make it with chicken. My wife, Linda Gasparello, makes delicious osso buco. But buying the veal shanks for a recent dinner party involved perseverance.
Are we saving the calf and sacrificing the chicken? Looks that way. Eat up and leave the agonizing to me.
Train Trials: Amtrak Stations That Are OK, Great and Awful
In the main room of the Providence train station. On the floor is carved the lovely phrase from Robert Louis Stevenson: "For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move.''
As readers may know, I’m the fat man in the bow tie, so often seen on the Amtrak train between Providence and Washington, D.C. I take the Northeast Regional in times of low economic activity, as it's now for me, and the Acela when economic activity is robust.
The train is really pretty good or, at least, agreeable. But the stations are something else.
Starting at the head of the line, Boston's South Station has lots of places to eat, but few to sit and wait for your train.
Providence's Amtrak station is a train-rider's joy. A small rotunda with a wonderful sandwich bar – with possibly the best sandwiches in the state – Cafe La France
Going swiftly to my next alighting point: New York's Penn Station. It's just scary, with too much third-rate retailing, too many people squeezed together under a ceiling that’s too low. It's filthy, unfriendly, probably unsafe and everything that train travel used not to be. Even a Zaro's Bakery outlet can't redeem it.
Union Station in Washington, D.C., is an architectural masterpiece and the main hall has been fabulously restored. However, Amtrak, which operates the facility, which also serves commuter trains into Maryland and Virginia, seems to care more about rental income than people. There's too much retailing near the train gates, too little use of the glorious main hall. Worse, passengers waiting for trains have to hunt for the few broken chairs in the station.
It’s a pleasure to get on train just to sit down. I hasten say that Union Station isn't as awful or threatening as Penn Station, but it could use some passenger-friendly improvements.
California Beaches Versus New England Beaches
Recently, I found myself again in one of those arguments that won’t be settled and won’t go away: Where are the best beaches? This argument usually boils down to a contest between California and southern New England.
Let me be partisan: Our beaches are best.
The reason has nothing to do with the tonnage of sand per bather. Rather, it's our secret weapon: the Gulf Stream, which in the summer and early fall sends water that can get well up into the 70s to the southern New England coast, most noticeably into Buzzards Bay. It means that in summer, there's no beach that isn't bather-accessible. You can go in the water.
I've done some pretty thorough research on the western shores of the country and they do have great sand, surf and sunsets -- maybe the best -- but the water is cold. I once ran naked into the Malibu surf to impress an actress: It didn’t work and I froze. In fact, you have to go as far south as San Diego before the water is swimmable.
Sunsets and sand are nice, but you do want to run into the water? We win.
Llewellyn King (llewellynking1@gmail.com), a frequent contributor to New England Diary, is executive producer and host of White House Chronicle, on PBS. He’s also a veteran publisher, editor, columnist and international business consultant