Yesterday was scheduled to be another GORGEOUS Spring day, perfect for a quick adventure. So, Friday night, I looked at Googlemaps to determine where I would head. I decided to continue my theme of cities on the Eastern shore, and somewhat randomly picked Rockport, MA from the options. I need to make a post soon that goes into my ridiculous decision making process, but suffice it to say that places called “Bearskin Neck”, “Motif #1”, and various and assorted galleries on the strip called to me.
So, I woke up Saturday and decided to forgo breakfast intending to eat after the hour long drive to get there. For some foolish reason, I also decided to listen to the message on my phone telling me to update my system and that it would only take 20 minutes! I was smart enough to glance at the directions first and so decided to head out sans GPS once I had showered and made coffee for the drive.
I hadn’t quite realized just how much of a safety net my Googlemaps lady had become, but I was confident that I could make it to Route 128 without her while she studiously updated my apps. You will be pleased to know that Highway signs still work, and so I was well on my way by the time she came back to be my navigator. This was far more thrilling than I think it should have been, but there you go.
As seems to be my norm, I decided to spend the extra 5 minutes going the route that skirts closest to the ocean, so took 127A up to Rockport. Oh man, it was so pretty. I kept finding myself wanting to turn right and go down little roads that seemed to end directly in the ocean. Finally, I could take it no more and turned, patently ignoring signs that loudly proclaimed “Residents Only. No Outlet”. The Lawful part of me fussed, but the Neutral part of me assured her that if we were quiet and respectful all would be well. Well, Ms. Neutral was right because the road ended in a “Public Way” to the beach that was clearly well trodden though it crossed in back of a few people’s lovely secluded homes. And then I found myself on the pristine rocks, with a view of the vast ocean, a few Lobster boats, a lighthouse in the distance and nothing but the sound of waves and the chatter of birds hanging out in the sunny cove. Beautiful, Wonderful, Perfect. I envy those people that live there just a little.
After spending a little time there, I went on to Rockport. First stop, Bearskin neck. Only…what is this? This town? Oh, my God, you guys…this perfect little spot near the wharf, a maze of narrow streets flanked by all of these amazing little independent shops in lovely historic buildings. Galleries galore, quirkly metaphysical and clothing shops, potters, restaurants, Helmut’s Strudel shop with the most AMAZING cinnamon rolls (cue belated breakfast here), starfish and sand dollars and everything that I ever wanted a New England port town to be. And just like that, I am madly in love with this place.
I finish up my cinnamon roll (and take a photo of a nice couple as is my sacred duty as a single traveler) and walk out on to the breakwater that protects Rockport Harbor. The word Idyllic does not go amiss here, but neither words nor photos do it justice. There is a little red fish shack dubbed Motif #1 which claims to be the quintessential New England coastal view, more often painted than any other building in the US, and possibly the world. It was the only thing that seemed underwhelming to me in the town. I mean, it’s a cool building and all, but honestly I was a little more taken with the little sheds that seems to have just been chucked onto the boulders with little more than a concrete block here or there to level them and with the fishing boats floating beside them. I wander down side streets, take several paths down to the smaller wharfs, inlets and beaches and I feel myself relax into the life of this small working town.
When I stop for a lobster roll, I am surprised to see a fellow dragging a crate of lobsters straight off the boat and through the restaurant to chuck them in the tank of live lobsters that are being made into my lunch. The folks here are friendly and genuine. I compliment several artists on my strolls through galleries and they look legitimately appreciative that I take the time to say something nice. Everywhere I look are picturesque views of darling houses, little gardens, benches, reminders that this place isn’t just here for my entertainment…it’s here because the people who live here love it here.
My brain goes crazy imagining a life here in Rockport. A life of art, and beauty and community in this little town. A life lived in a little cottage, friends coming to visit and write novels in my guest room, the occasional trip out on a fishing boat just because…and I realize that’s one of the things that I love about finding new places that I enjoy. I love imagining the kind of life that I would have in that place and what kind of person I would be if I lived there. Having a glimpse of that “other me” gives me insight into who I am now and who I could become. For an afternoon, I can explore that other life of “what if” and that, my friends, is pure magic.
