There were Baltimore Orioles feasting on winter moths in the new leaves of the oak trees at Windrock, and weaving their nests on the outermost branches. The air was clean and bright and the lilacs still in full bloom, while ours in the Litchfield Hills have faded. There were osprey gliding like kites in the wind.
Children ran in the grass in their shorts, or tottered around on too big high heels and gowns from the dress up box. Drip castles emerged on a sand bar. Novel solutions were found to vexing mechanical problems, like using several small threaded lengths of pipe to make one large extender for a pipe wrench to fix the hand pump. We planted trees to screen us from the new construction next door.
I taught my daughter to skip stones. I watched my son give evidence of a deep love of dogs, where once he had been frightened of them. We joined my uncle and cousin for a glorious afternoon sail in his new yawl from Mattapoisett to its summer mooring. We saw lady slippers emerging in the woodlands, and wisteria twining up the side of the house. Emily swam, and Elias found quahogs in the cool waters of the bay. I felt my spine uncoil and my back straighten in what is the closest to heaven I know on this Earth.