The trouble with sharing weekly column duties (beside the obvious issues of ego) is that one can’t depend on one’s colleague not to hog all the good stories. What more can be said about the closing of the breach or the ferry that hasn’t already been written by Peter? Not much. And without those two topics, I’m left with what follows:

Annie Heywood stopped by the house to drop off possibly the most adorable hand-knitted fisherman’s sweater of all time for Baby E. I’m afraid I might have stretched it out a bit trying to fit into it (no one ever gave me anything hand-knit). As you might expect, Annie was rife with good stories, but I was sworn to silence. But oh the things that I now know!

I bought a ‘71 VW as shuttle transport for the golf course this year. It now sits parked behind the kitchen of the Big Camp, just as the last ‘71 VW bus once did as property of Dorothy and Northam Warren. Same color, same year, just minus two enormous St. Bernards in the back. I’ll see what I can do about that. Those were good old days, and though I’ll never bring them back, I do like that some relics of the past still exist to shade the bright light of life with some soft memories.

Speaking of old VW buses, if anyone sees Roger Becker out and about, send him my way — I think I may have some work for him this summer. The bus is running like a top now, but it had its issues on I-95 on its way down (frightful place to stall — brings out the best in humanity). I have a suspicion that a few dozen trips up and down North Neck may not do its health any favors.

I came across a deceased seagull in the road by Caleb’s Pond. It wasn’t particularly damaged but definitely not okay. I started to drive around it, but there were three other very distressed looking seagulls tending to their friend, and I couldn’t stand to have it left there to possibly be hit by another car. So I found a piece of plastic blown off a construction site, and wrapping the bird in the plastic, moved it to safety. It was a really big bird in person, and very handsome. I see that he’s still on the roadside now — think maybe I need to give him a proper burial. I’m surprised really that more seagulls and crows don’t meet a similar fate — they appear to dare traffic in a dangerous game of chicken with their roadkill. Still, one would really have go out of one’s way to actually hit these birds. Perhaps if one first held a dead seagull in construction plastic, one would be more inclined to use extra care when approaching these birds on the road. Rest in peace seagull friend. Weather has been nice. What once was brown has now turned green. Good news for lovers of spring, bad news for those matching their outfits to the browns in the color wheel.

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