I find it very difficult to speak immediately about things that just happened. Having always kept a journal, I love to have time to construct a story, or at least a series of observations on events, however small. When I lived alone for a few years and was at times a little lonely, I realized I drew comfort from weaving humorous stories from the wacky, crazy threads of my life. In any case, this is all to say that I no longer feel guilty about not blogging about a trip or event the second after it happens. From now on you will get slightly-delayed observations, as is this one on Sag Harbor, a train trip we took 2 weekends ago for Memorial Day... :)
I always romanticize train trips. There's something about their rocking movement, the steady forward pace, the occasional lurch sideways as if you might derail, and the hidden things peeping out of the brush on the way. Sag Harbor is a quiet place, or rather there are quiet corners where you may not notice that every car that passes you is either a Jaguar, Ferrari, Rolls or glossy, souped-up extra rare vintage auto. But yes, it is popular with the people who don't have to check their bank accounts every day. (a club I am not a part of :) What I noticed first was the absolute quiet, then the bird songs.
We happened on a cute mallard couple with a record 9 baby ducklings swimming behind them. And when their alone time was rudely intruded upon by many amorous males, it became increasingly clear why there were 9 baby ducks. Poor mama.
What I love best about these quiet harbor spots are definitely the old houses and buildings. I love to think that a structure can survive so many successive generations of human lives, and that the things we make with our hands can outlive us by ages and speak to other people in other times...
There was, by the way, a cottontail running through this field when we arrived, nibbling on dandelions by the brick path...
I have a bad habit of sniffing almost every flower I pass which has resulted (numerous times) in a pollen-covered nose, nearly-inhaled spiders and near-misses with bees and wasps. I never learn my lesson, but I am frequently rewarded with sweetness:
On a long, lazy walk on our last day we happened on this building, a shared Jewish and Methodist(?) temple:
I like the idea of people comfortable enough to share the space in which they worship. There was an old cemetery in the adjoining field and we climbed the hill to look at fallen slate stones, with American flags marking the graves of Revolutionary War soldiers. We joked that a grave that had magically sprouted agave must be the final resting place of someone who really loved tequila. :)