Look at the Birds of the Air!
Mark 6:
7 - He summoned the Twelve* and began to send them out two by two and gave them authority over unclean spirits.
8 - He instructed them to take nothing for the journey but a walking stick—no food, no sack, no money in their belts.
Of course it all started with a woman, but you guys are young, so we'll save that part for later .... and in the end, all women lead to a broken heart, and broken hearts open us to God and so really, it was all about God.
I had just watched "Brother Sun, Sister Moon" and as I watched the scene where the community was gathered around the altar adorned with the baby lamb and ducks squawking and everyone singing, "If you want to live life free, take your time go slowly" I began hyperventilating .... crying and breathing intensely, nearly passing out from the power and the joy. This did not happen to me .... it was odd and rare and overwhelming. I had been working on a joint grad degree in Education and Theology while coaching the Harvard Lacrosse team. My biggest dilemma was whether to spend my summer at her Island home off the coast of Maine or at my family's beach cottage on the shore of Rhode Island, fishing for Bluefish and Stripers. I had worked hard and I had a pretty perfect life, and then St Francis hits me over the head .... "Look at the Birds of the Air, they neither sow nor reap, yet God feeds them .... Look at the lilies of the field, they neither work nor toil, yet even Solomon in all of his splendor, is not clothed in their glory."
It is a funny thing when you have it all .... all changes .... what if I were St Francis? Does the fullness of my life come close to the peace and joy that "Brother Sun, Sister Moon" portrays? This was not an intellectual question .... it gripped me .... ripped me .... I turned to her and said: "You know I love you and what we have is magic, but my heart is with God .... If I don't figure this God thing out, I will eventually leave for Him .... let me go .... I will be back!" And she did and so I gave everything I owned away .... which wasn't much, but I did leave my '76 Caddy with my brother Terry and he drove me to the point at Lloyds Beach at the tip of Sakonnet Point, Little Compton, and I started walking north.
The rules were simple .... Trust God .... Spend no money .... keep your right shoulder to the ocean .... walk and trust and see if Jesus meant it .... if I throw myself upon the mercy of God, will She care for me?
The first day, I walked till sunset .... munched on a granola bar or two and drank my water and walked. I was putting one foot in front of the other, happy to be moving, but not sure exactly what I was doing. The pack was heavy .... way too heavy .... clothes and fishing gear and cooking stuff .... a tent and sleeping bag .... wow - this is heavy. As the sun began setting, I began looking for places to sleep .... New England is not like California .... there are not miles and miles of flat straight beach with huge parking lots .... most of the beach is in front of people's homes or small inlets with community parking lots .... by sunset, the beach was empty and I could tell that I could easily set my tent up in the dunes out of sight and that I would be fine .... I hadn't really worried about this ahead of time, but looking back on the journey, I slept every night, right on the beach and never got hassled .... Thank you God!
By the way, according to ancient Maritime Law, no one, not even in Malibu, can own the beach below the High Tide Line. That means, that you can literally circle America on the shore as long as you stay below the High Tide mark. I always slept way above this mark in the dunes, but don't let anyone tell you that beachfront is private property .... it is God's property and you are welcome there. (Just last year, an oceanside community north of Santa Barbara took this to court and though they think they won, God will have his day!)
OK .... Dinner? I set up the tent and walked to the water and started thinking about what to eat .... I didn't see any fish activity, though I had my rod in hand and honestly I was pretty tired .... more from the emotional energy of actually doing this .... but as I approached the gentle surf, I noticed a rectangular shape in the water gently tumbling against the rocks .... from years of walking these beaches, I instantly knew that it was a Lobster (Lobstah - if I was in Mass.) trap washed ashore by the latest storm and more for the curiosity than anything, I waded in and pulled it to shore. We sort of made a hobby of collecting old traps when I was a kid, and in college, my dorm room coffee/beer table was a lobster pot with a sheet of plexiglass over it .... very cool. But to my surprise, this one had live lobsters. Small ones - "chicks" they called 'em .... too short if I was selling, but I was hungry .... Thank you, God .... look at the birds of the air and God gave me Lobstah. A little buttah would have been nice, but I fired up my camping stove and enjoyed one of the best meals I have ever had!
The second and third nights were fairly uneventful except that I was astonished by how friendly people were. It was June and I was often walking along beaches, and people would just come up to me and walk with me and ask what I was doing. It seems like such a simple thing, but I guess nobody really did this Coast Walk thing. I enjoyed the company and was very moved by people's kindness and interest.
If you can remember the first scene in "Wild" where Cheryl Strayed is trying to stand up with her over-weighted backpack .... well, I found that I too had way overpacked and bit by bit, started shedding stuff. It is funny to have given everything that I owned away only to find that now even my backpack was too cluttered. As I passed by the Lost and Found at each beach, I would drop a couple of things in the bin, most of it fishing stuff, but an extra pair of boots and jeans and cooking utensils that I clearly didn't need. It is incredibly liberating to see how few things we do actually need to get by, and at the end of this, I am going to ask each of you to come up with a list of "50 Things" that would make the cut, if you had to pare down your possessions .... https://www.farbeyondthestars.com/57-things/
If you look at the map below, the numbers represent the spots where I slept each night, starting as you may remember ....
"Straight outta Little Compton!"
What I didn't have on the second and third days was food. The Lobstah was great, but no more food, and walking six to eight hours a day and I was getting hungry. I had intended to survive off of the ocean and I even had a little book on edible coastal foods that a friend had given me, but I hadn't really thought through the idea of surviving by catching fish. In an ideal world, Bluefish and Striped Bass come right up to shore in schools trapping bait fish against the beach and are easily caught from the beach. Back in Little Compton, I knew when and where this was likely to happen and most of the time was chasing schools of fish in our beat-up old Boston Whaler. During the early days of the walk, I saw no schools of fish and though I could have caught some smaller fish, I was too stubborn to lower myself to eating "junkfish" and so I kept my eyes peeled looking for signs of schooling Stripers and Blues.
By the fourth night, I had hit a crisis point. I hadn't eaten in three days and I was starting to feel light-headed .... I reached the mouth of the Westport River that night and set up my tent and then walked onto the rocky beach and began picking muscles. Muscles are a great hors d'oeuvre, but it takes a lot to make a full meal, but I picked as many as I could get in my pot and cooked em up and that settled my stomach enough to get to sleep.
The next morning I woke with hunger cramps and real stomach pain and I reached over to the pot of muscles and ate a couple which overnight had been mixed with sand from the wind and I gagged. It was not good and my plan of not spending any money and trusting God was definitely being put to the test.
As I got myself together, I also hit the first major topographical hiccup in my plan. I had vowed to keep my right shoulder to the water at all times. As I looked up the coast, I realized that there was no way with my heavy pack, that I could cross the mouth of the Westport River. In California, there are few if any rivers and most of them when they hit the coast are pretty easily crossable at low tide. New England however, is littered with rivers and streams and my casual stroll along the beach just turned into a long five mile walk inland to the nearest bridge .... which would then require another five mile hike back to the ocean. Oh well .... here we go .... no food but a few muscles in four days and a ten mile hike ahead of me, what could I do but start walking .... and so I did.
It was a sad day .... even though I was walking on a beautiful country road, I felt like I had broken my vow to stay on the coast and I was terribly hungry and wondered how many more rivers would drive me inland and where was I going to get food. Eventually, I started to recognize the town of Adamsville where we would visit Stonebridge Dishes, on rainy days when I was a kid, and is also the home of the oldest little country store in the US (Pic below) and I remembered that there was a seafood restaurant across the street. As I reached the restaurant, almost unconsciously, I walked to the dumpster near the outdoor patio and my eyes lit up as I saw plates of half eaten fish and chips. I was so hungry that I didn't even think about the fact that I had just crossed the line into dumpster diving, but those were the best fish and chips that I have ever had .... a little cold and I prefer malt vinegar on my chips, but I was so happy to finally have some food.
I wandered through the tiny town and took the first road heading back to the ocean and I was now happy as can be .... I was going to be ok. The human spirit is a funny thing .... down and dreary one minute and skipping along in perfect joy the next .... this was a good lesson for me! Things will be ok!
As I got back to the sea, I reached Goosewing Beach a very popular family spot .... having crossed the line into dumpster diving, I checked out the beach trash cans. Do you realize how many people throw entire lunches away at the beach? I guess intending to feed the whole family, people pack tons of food, only to be pressured by the kids to buy treats at the snack shack .... Anyhow, I found a fresh looking bag with a couple of tasty looking ham sandwiches and I walked to the dunes to eat dinner while watching the sunset. As I sat there soaking in the ups and downs of these last few days, I hear a guy yell .... "Hey - Think Quick!" and I instinctively reach my hand out to catch the first of two beers he threw to me. He had just been walking by with a cooler and somehow knew I needed a beer. This was the first of many little acts of God or kindness or luck that just seemed to happen on this trip .... they are small and maybe random, but the effect on someone in my shoes was immeasurable .... an affirmation or confirmation .... the universe is on my side .... Thank you God!!
After a good and peaceful sleep, I discovered one other thing about beaches that I had not anticipated .... they had showers .... yippeee .... five days without a shower is a bit much .... even the mosquitos were staying away from me. Clean and fed and happy and I was off again up the coast!
The next three days were again uneventful .... I probably should have grabbed a couple of more lunch bags from the beach because I didn't find any more food for the next two days, but the walking was healing and I was getting stronger and leaner and a kind of rhythm emerged. I was still frustrated that I wasn't seeing schools of fish on the beaches, but I kept my eyes constantly on the water, looking for signs of fish. Finally, on the eighth night, after setting up the tent in the dunes, I walked to the beach to throw a few casts and to my great joy, there were fish breaking on the surface everywhere. It had again been three days since my last meal, so this was hunting not recreation, and so I started casting and catching .... fish after fish .... it was a blast .... as much fun as fishing can be .... a full moon glowing on the water and fish after fish taking my lure. Unfortunately, these were schooly Stripers, each one was four or five pounds, but not big enough to legally kill. As I look back on it, I am pretty sure the Fish and Game Wardens, not that there was anyone in sight, would have given a pass to a guy who hadn't eaten in three days, but I was a bit like Javert and a law was a law, so I kept letting them go, hoping for a keeper. Then, as it was getting late into the night, I hooked a Monstah .... it took off .... straight out to sea .... peeling line off the reel with that joyous scream of the drag .... finally, he slowed and I gained a little ground before he took off again .... this was the fight of a lifetime and I was in absolute bliss .... nirvana .... this is what I had dreamed the trip would be and though it took a week to find fish, here I was in heaven .... I really can't describe it and am tearing up as I write this. It was the great fish .... the one fishermen lie about until they catch it and then, they say little .... nothing left to lie about .... and it took what felt like an hour to get him to shore .... Clearly, this was a legal Striper and if I could find the energy to light a fire and get him cleaned, I had the meal of all meals ahead of me .... but as I got him close to the beach, I was shocked to see that it was a Bluefish .... a beautiful majestic twenty pounder .... a hell of a fish, but my heart sank .... While Stripers are lean white meat .... the kind of fish you can't stop eating .... Bluefish is oily and thick and hard to eat, especially when they are bigger than a couple of pounds. I smiled at God's irony and pulled the hook, then set the fish into the surf and watched it swim into the glow of the full moon.
Though my stomach was rumbling a bit, I slept like a baby with a big smile on my face .... tomorrow was another day!
When I woke on the eighth day, I pulled myself together and set out, soon turning a corner where the beach took a hard left turn and my heart sank again .... no food in three days and I hit another river. This one, Slocums River, was smaller than the Westport, but equally unpassable and I lowered my eyes and started walking inland for what would likely be another ten mile day of drudgery. On his Vision Quest, Crazy Horse didn't eat or drink for four days, but he wasn't walking ten miles a day--and I hadn't eaten for six of the last eight. I trudged along mumbling to myself about what I was going to do and I was genuinely worried. At the outset of this trip, I had challenged God .... St Francis gave everything from his privileged life away and put his trust in you and you cared for him. I am going to do the same and you better come through. Jews are more comfortable challenging and confronting God than Christians. Jacob, the one who wrestled with God was rewarded with the name Israel and wrestling with God is kind of a Jewish pastime .... I was trying to tap into this here, and God was letting me down.
After a long morning of walking, I saw a bend in the road and a bridge in the distance. I said to God, if I don't find some kind of food by the next store that I run into, then I am pulling the credit card (Did I tell you that I brought a credit card? .... I'm not stupid you know!) out of the inner pocket of my pack and am buying something to eat. As I approached the bridge, I saw a man standing on it looking down at the river. I literally started doing Jedi Mind Tricks on him .... "Feed Me! Feed Me! God put you here to Feed Me!" .... and as I approached him, I nonchalantly said hello, hoping he couldn't hear the rumbling in my stomach. He was the sweetest man ever and started asking me all kinds of questions about what I was doing and we had a wonderful chat. After a bit, still starving, I casually asked if he knew where I could fill my water bottle. He jovially said, of course .... I live right over there (His house in picture below), come with me .... at this point, I am picturing his sweet wife taking me by the arm into the kitchen, turkey sandwich .... apple pie .... I must have been drooling, but as we got to the front door, she looked at her husband with disbelief and with horror at the strange man--that was me!--standing on her porch. Reluctantly, she filled my water bottle and all but shooed us away. (I think there is a whole nother story about this man and his marriage, but who knows?) He came with me though, and as we walked and talked, he began telling me about when he had returned from WWII .... how he had planned to do a trip like mine and how awed he was by what I was doing. It was very sweet and I was very moved by this dear, dear man. Then we hit the road that would take me back to the ocean and we warmly said goodbye and I thanked him for his kindness and headed towards the shore. After about ten paces .... he yelled my name "Tim!" I don't remember telling him my name, but I turned and he motioned for me to come back and when I got to him, he handed me $40.00. I was shocked and I tried to thank him, but he immediately cut me off and said .... "Nope .... not now .... Thank me when I see you up there." As he pointed to heaven and walked back towards his home.
With the way I had not been eating and $40.00 in 1989 being worth a bit more than it is now, I was set .... I stumbled across a country fruit stand in a mile or so and ate a healthy simple meal and stocked up enough for the next couple of days and was on my way back to the beach. I don't know if it was luck or my Jedi Mind Trick or just a sweet old man, but God had come through .... Look at the Birds of the Air! I cannot describe the sense of security that this experience left in me .... I will always be ok .... I know this means little to those who truly are starving, but it is a certainty that I have carried with me since that day.
It is funny, the highlights of this story seem to come every three days, but again, I spent another three just walking and humming and singing and, now with no worry of food, I was enjoying myself immensely. I remember just sitting in the sand and reading with my feet in the water .... enjoying the incredible views and just taking in life. There is nothing quite so awesome as doing nothing.
However, as the novelty of the journey wore off a bit and the hunger of the first few days and the fear of whether I could do this thing subsided, I began asking the obvious but until now avoided question: WTF? What the hell was I doing? I had a perfect life. A woman who loved me, a team that respected me, I had been enjoying Grad School .... two years ago, I had traveled throughout the Far East, I was at the peak of my lacrosse career, having just turned down an offer to tryout for the US National Team .... I loved teaching and coaching and I had all of the comforts of life, and here I was throwing it all away .... all because of a damned St Francis movie.
As the weight of these questions hit, I also hit another river. This one was the worst .... the others had easily accessible river side roads that I could walk on, but by the time I realized that I was half way up another river, and that getting to the road would be more work than just trudging it out, to make matters worse, the river turned into tall eel grass and mud and each step was a process of pulling my foot up and placing it down and then grabbing the other leg and doing the same. It was hell and while fighting through this muck, the weight of it all hit me and I started crying .... it felt like I cried for a whole day .... at times yelling at myself, "What are you doing, you idiot? Just go home .... people love you .... enjoy your life! You have everything anyone could want .... Go home, you idiot!!" But something inside pulled me forward .... I didn't completely understand it at the time--lots of years of therapy have helped a lot--but essentially I was walking away from a "perfect" life that was not my life; it was the life prescribed for me. It was my parents' goals and dreams for me, and I had loyally fulfilled every one. I did what was expected and I did it with excellence and I had reaped the rewards, but it just didn't feel real. It felt like the "Into the Wild" scene where McCandless sees the young guy in the bar who then looks like him and points at him .... I was on my way to being some phony Ivy League loser and I ran like hell. The temptation to go back to that life was real that day .... in the muck and the loneliness, I wanted out but I trudged on and on and, finally, I got to the bridge.
Again relieved by simply surviving such a day, my spirits lifted some and though I was still very much fraught with inner turmoil, the satisfaction of having beaten that damn river muck put a hop in my step. As I walked along the bridge, looking down at where I had just trudged, I kicked something and it flew to the side of the road. "What the hell was that?" I thought .... and I walked over and picked up a cassette that someone must have thrown out the car window. And sure enough, it was not just any cassette, it was Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" album. Yippee! .... I loved that album .... well everybody loved that album, and so I popped the cassette into my Walk-Person and started rocking along down the road. Soon, "Stairway to Heaven" came on and I listened like I had never listened before and even though Robert Plant claims that there is no intended meaning in that song, it perfectly described what I was going through. This is the root of the music project that you are doing at the end of the Semester; I usually do a whole class talking about this song, but I will do an abbreviated version below.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xbhCPt6PZIU
There's a lady who's sure
All that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to Heaven
When she gets there she knows
If the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for
Oh oh oh oh and she's buying a stairway to Heaven
Most of us live lives of material acquisition thinking we can buy heaven!
There's a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings
In a tree by the brook
There's a songbird who sings
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiving
At different points in our life, we can tell that there is more to life .... our thoughts have misgivings!
Ooh, it makes me wonder
Ooh, it makes me wonder
There's a feeling I get
When I look to the west
And my spirit is crying for leaving
In my thoughts I have seen
Rings of smoke through the trees
And the voices of those who standing looking
My spirit was crying for leaving .... I had a great life, but it was not filling my spirit .... I could see the smoke in the trees and I was hearing the voices of those who had chosen real lives!
Ooh, it makes me wonder
Ooh, it really makes me wonder
And it's whispered that soon, If we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason
And a new day will dawn
For those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter
There is hope .... follow the piper to the truth!
If there's a bustle in your hedgerow
Don't be alarmed now
It's just a spring clean for the May queen
Yes, there are two paths you can go by
But in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on
And it makes me wonder
There was a huge bustle in my hedgerow .... but "There are two paths you can go by .... but there's still time to change the road you are on!" This hit me like a hammer!!
Your head is humming and it won't go
In case you don't know
The piper's calling you to join him
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow?
And did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind?
The material stairway blows away in the whispering wind .... it is not real .... has no substance!
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll
And she's buying a stairway to Heaven
My shadow had been taller than my soul .... it was time now to put my soul first and bring it to its full height!!
I know .... I know .... I read too much into things .... but really .... I kick a cassette tape while crossing over a bridge after a day of trudging and tears and the Cassette is "Stairway to Heaven" and this song explodes in my mind!! Thank you God!!
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Once I rocked my way back to the water, I had another quiet couple of days until I got to the town of New Bedford .... in many ways my journey started in New Bedford .... or at least it was rooted in the opening lines of my third favorite novel, Moby Dick, which is set in New Bedford. I also have a family descendant who lived there and Captained a whaling ship back in the day .... anyhow .... the opening:
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
My heart was happy as I approached this legendary town, but I was a little intimidated .... until now, I had been entirely walking along small beach communities with little urban feel. New Bedford is a bustling fishing town with real industry and ships and the city runs right up to the water. For the first time, I couldn't even walk on the water, but I had to join an oceanfront road that ran right along a breakwater with waves crashing on it. I actually had to cross a real city intersection in order to get back to the beach and as I did, a car full of knucklehead kids like you guys, rolled their windows down and yelled: "We don't want your kind around here .... go away you loser!" This had simply never happened to me before .... "Your kind?" I had no idea what to make of this, but I imagine that I looked like some burned out homeless hippy or something .... it was kind of startling .... oh well, maybe we should all feel like outcasts at some point in our lives.
But this feeling changed quickly as I got to the beach right as two young college kids were rowing onto the beach after a day of sailing.
The girl, Amy, was incredibly friendly and curious and after I told her what I was doing, she asked if she and her boyfriend could walk with me. She was very sweet, and though the introvert in me felt a little stalked by her, they did walk with me and I found that they were High School sweethearts, that she was studying at UMass Amherst, and just about every other thing about her life that you could imagine. They tried to get me to come home with them and crash on their couch, but I was stubborn and explained my vow to keep my shoulder to the water and we hugged and parted. Almost as a punishment for my stubbornness, I then proceeded to get incredibly lost. New Bedford is a maze of bridges and neighborhoods and somehow, I walked through every one of them, eventually finding my way across the harbor and back out towards the water, more exhausted than I have ever been. (Later, I went back in a car and drove the route I took that day and found that I had walked almost twenty miles, but it felt like I had run a marathon! Ugghh!)
Finally, well after dark, I could see the glow of the water in the distance as I walked down an enchanting tree lined street (Picture below). Just as I came over a small hill, I heard my name. As I looked up, there were Matt and Amy running towards me, arms open. I guess I had told them where I hoped to spend that night and they had bought me McDonalds and come to meet me .... it looked like they had just about given up when I came walking over the hill. I was so tired I could barely speak and they poured me into the back seat of their car, ignored my objections, and took me to their home. Amy's Dad greeted me with a beer when we got in the house and he and I stayed up swapping war stories .... I could see where Amy got her warmth .... he was awesome. Eventually, I passed out on the couch and slept like I had really just run a marathon. The next morning, I woke to the smell of bacon and eggs and soon ate the most amazing breakfast that anyone has ever eaten .... these people were so nice! After breakfast, my $40.00 now nearly gone, the father took me to the basement and began loading my pack with military issue food rations. He had been in the Coast Guard and had an ample emergency supply stowed away. They looked and tasted as bad as they look in every army movie meal scene, but I had food for at least another week and once again .... Thank you God!!
After breakfast, pack full of K-Rations, they drove me back to the beach where we met the night before and sent me on my way. I got letters and postcards from Amy for years .... but then we lost touch .... she was literally an Angel .... thank you God!
Inspired by their warmth, in pretty good walking shape now and re-charged by my military rations, I picked up the pace a bit and fought my way towards Marion, Mass. Marion is the home of Tabor Academy, a Prep School that we used to beat in lacrosse when I was in high school. I was pretty good friends with the coach there now and kind of hoped I could crash with him for a night. The school is literally right on the water and PE class included sailing lessons .... pretty posh!
But when I got to the campus, Augie, my buddy, was out of town at a lacrosse camp and my heart sank. Marion was too populated to sleep on the beach and I had walked hard that day, so I snuck myself into one of the school's dorms, took a shower, hid my pack and wandered into town. For some reason, that night, I decided to take myself out to dinner. I pulled out my credit card and found a quaint little Italian restaurant and had a hell of a meal and couple of glasses of beer and I was happy as can be. I apologize for all of the superlatives in this piece, but when you deprive yourself as much as I had, every real meal just tasted like the finest food ever made. I wandered back to the campus and snuck back into the dorm room, slept like a baby, and was off first thing in the morning.
Now, I was on the doorstep of Cape Cod and you could feel the Boston energy, population increase, and it was hard to walk the beach because of homes built right on the rocks; at one point, I even slept in a campground. But even that was memorable. Because of the weight issue, I had ripped through a couple of books and gotten rid of them, but now I was lost in The Brothers Karamazov .... you will or just did read the short story "The Grand Inquisitor" from that book and it is just ahead of Moby Dick on my all time list. Anyhow, I sat in a campground, within spitting distance of the Bourne Bridge, up most of the night finishing this incredible work .... please, please, please read Dostoevsky!
The Bourne Bridge is one of two bridges that cross the Cape Cod Canal, built as one of the Depression Era New Deal Projects to allow ships to get from New York to Boston without having to circle the Cape, whose waters are quite treacherous and nearly killed the Pilgrims as they approached New England. You may remember this fishing video of the kid John B fishing for Stripers in the Canal.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_TvGNNui8cA
The next morning, with Dostoevsky circling in my head, I crossed the bridge and made my way back to shore. On the map above, we are at Day 18 which is the night I slept in the Campground.
It was an odd feeling to be on the Cape .... The Rhode Island coast was much smaller and calmer and wonderfully isolated. Cape Cod is where anyone who is anyone from Boston summers. The Kennedy's .... the Koch Brothers .... Provincetown (New England's Castro District) .... it was big time, and I was trying to stay small .... but the ocean is the ocean and once I got my shoulder to the water, all was well again. I walked and walked .... another couple of uneventful days and then it started raining.
Only when writing this did I realize how lucky I was with the weather. It always rains in New England, but on my walk, it hadn't rained at all .... maybe a little shower here or there, but I honestly don't remember getting soaked even once. But now, on day 20, it started pouring .... it was as if all the rain of the last three weeks had stored up and was dumping all at once .... and it came out of nowhere .... all I could do was quickly set up my tent on the beach and climb inside. And so I did and I put on some dry clothes and opened the flap facing the water and lay there looking out at the ocean .... I didn't know that my journey would take a huge turn the next day, but it was time to sit and take it all in and try to make sense of what I had experienced. I felt incredible joy and wonder as I sat in my little cocoon on the beach .... I wondered why no one was bothering me .... maybe it was raining so hard, the police or security dudes didn't want to get out of their cars .... who cares .... I just sat looking at the water .... listening to my walk person .... Bruce Springsteen's "Tunnel of Love," I think .... it was another blissful day of doing nothing .... Thank you .... yet again .... Thank you God!
The next morning the sun came up and the sky was clear and I headed back up the coast .... I really never knew quite where I was, but as I started walking, I realized that I was coming up on the first real point on the Cape .... Woods Hole. You may know it for its Oceanographic studies, but Woods Hole was a bustling academic center and Ferry spot for trips to Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard. It was civilization and I knew I'd have to get through it before I would be sleeping on beaches again. I eventually pulled up to a big harbor and found myself sitting down at a dockside Chowder hut, and for the second time, I pulled out my credit card and ordered a Harpoon Ale, a new brewery owned by some old lacrosse buddies and a warm bowl of Chowdah. As I sat there taking in the scenery, a Mako skiff with a large outboard motor pulls up to the dock in front of me and I look at the driver and yelled "Murph!" -"Pender?" he yells back and comes running up the dock to give me a hug. Murph was the Captain of the Harvard Lacrosse team that I was coaching and the first familiar face I had seen in three weeks. We had a beer and swapped stories and Murph headed off into the setting sun .... Thank you God!
Seeing Murph reminded me of the other life, the other path, and I realized that my relationship needed some closure .... I also knew that my original destination of Canada was completely out of the question .... I dreamed for a while of walking every inch of the US Coast, but that job will have to be completed by one of you guys! Anyhow, seeing someone from my other life was a jolt and I figured I may as well get back to reality .... at least for a little while .... and so I paid my bill and walked to the Bus station .... took a bus to Logan Airport and flew to DC to meet up with my girlfriend .... I know this sounds like an ending, but once in DC, we spent a few days hacking around the Chesapeake Bay and realized that we still weren't done .... she was heading to Tucson to spend the summer with her sister and so I told her I'd meet her there in a few weeks .... the next day, she drove me to the freeway and I started hitch-hiking to Tucson .... this story you will need to come back for another semester if you want to hear it! But I'll tell you this much .... I never waited even half an hour for a ride, met Patrice, the woman who took me to the Sweat Lodge, was picked up by an 80 year old oil tycoon, an 80 year old couple, a drug dealer, two kids who had stolen the car, two priests at different times (neither molested me :)), a soldier heading back to Pendleton, saw my first moon rise over the Utah desert, caught catfish with a stick on the Colorado River, and I met Johnny Cash .... Thank you God!!
Actually .... thank you Corona-Virus .... I had time to write it out too .... see the next page "To Seattle," but you don't need to read this for the assignment.
The story picks up on the next tab titled "To Seattle."
