Only the sea remains

Sea gulls gather along the icy Sakonnet River.

"The prospect of spending future summers by the sea ... is very delightful," wrote Jane Austen.

But alas, it is springtime; and the temperature in New England keeps plummeting.

Brrrr....

Leaving home, we drive to the summer house. The world around us is frozen in place. Steam rises from the Sakonnet, where the warmth is trapped beneath the waves. We climb High Hill Road, and the wind whips the windshield with airborne sand.

Taking the scenic route high above the massive stones by the water's edge, we slowly meander through the three tiny streets. Our yard is cluttered with discarded maple branches hiding under the waving boughs. Windswept grasses are an unappealing brown, clutching onto the soil.

Our boat, a Sea Pro Center Console, waits behind the house for its first outing. Plastic chairs tumble in the wind.

Suddenly, my husband hits the brakes, flings open the door and runs toward the stairs. The window in the small bedroom is missing, and the curtains billow. Finding the window on the floor unbroken, he replaces the glass in the track.

I hurry inside and immediately feel the intense cold. The oil burner refuses to roar into life, and the radiators no longer hiss and sputter.

The oil in the tank was used up, as the warm air rushed out the open window.

I call Quik Oil, LLC and order a hundred gallons of liquid gold.

Then I settle into my favorite chair, wrap myself in a blanket and grab a book off the shelf, while my husband grabs a beer, mutters under his breath and storms out the door.

 

Julie Klassen writes in "The Sisters of Seaview": "When evening falls, ... the beach empties, the fishermen return to their cottages, the tourists to their hotels, and refreshment sellers to their shops, like birds to their nesting places. Then only the sea remains, tides rising and falling but always there, as constant as their Creator."