Two weeks
after Hurricane Sandy and a few days after a nor’easter, my husband and I sit
on the picnic table at Fogland State Beach.
“Most of us
have inner barometers; certainly I do,” wrote New England author Gladys Taber
in “Country Chronicle.” “During an autumn storm mine is very low. My movements
slow, and I have a tendency to sit by the fire and just wait for the rain to stop
even if what I had planned to do, does not involve going outdoors. I listen to
the wind, and I think melancholy thoughts. A three-day nor’easter induces me to
disbelieve in the blue of the sky above the black clouds.”
Bundled in a
wool coat and boots, I am comfortable in the bright sunshine, light wind and
forty-something temperatures. The Sakonnet has gotten over its temper tantrum
and now at low tide is as tranquil as a freshwater pond rippling gently in the
breeze.
It is so
peaceful here.
Looking back
over these last few weeks, I think we are all in need of a well-deserved break.
Along with
the wild weather, we had to weather the presidential election, which wore us
out.
“I just wish our elections had more dignity,”
wrote Taber in her 1967 book “Stillmeadow Calendar.” After all, it isn’t the
party with the most balloons and buttons, the loudest cheering sections and
biggest signs at conventions that may provide responsible government. I think
we should educate children from the first grade on to have more interest in
political affairs. And our whole system of electing a president should be
studied and changed, if necessary, so that elections can take place in a
practical, economical manner.”
Forty-five
years later, the American voter has been bombarded with over $6 billion worth
of robocalls, Super PAC TV ads, and political cards stuffed in
mailboxes, and we are exhausted.
No matter
whether our candidates won or not, we breathe a collective sigh of relief that
it is over.
We drive
along Neck Road and Seapowet Avenue, stopping every once and a while to watch
animals grazing: horses wrapped in blankets, wooly sheep wearing winter coats
and a lone burro in his pen.
A flock of Canada
geese congregate in a sheltered duck pond. Common residents of southern New
England, the pale gray geese have long black necks and a large white chinstrap.
Most often sighted overhead flying in a V-pattern and making a honking sound,
the waterfowl are content to drift soundlessly on secluded waters.
Over the
past few weeks, these stately and majestic birds have battled hurricane-force
winds, heavy rains and freezing temperatures just like us. But today they rest.
We should
too.
