"I went out with lanterns, looking for myself."
Emily Dickinson, Henry David Thoreau, Rachel Carson, C.S. Lewis & Wendell Berry
I went out with lanterns
looking for myself
— Emily Dickinson
In these exhausting times — at least here in the United States — stress is everywhere. Our country feels so unmoored, a therapist friend predicts a deep, country-wide mental depression. Heck, some of us are already fighting smothering sadness and angst. It’s one of the reasons the three of us have taken up residence here at the ‘end of the world.’
I love that Henry David Thoreau, who walked the Outer Cape three times from Orleans up to Provincetown, wrote of the beach in Provincetown, “A man may stand there and put all America behind him.”
This is not the first time I’ve adapted a little HDT to guide me through life.
Truro has been good to us, and good for us. The quiet is astounding.
Samwise, Emily, and I came here to do just that, to finish two books in two winters, to eat simply but healthfully, to walk and pray and laugh and wonder at the sea and the twisted forests. We came for the whales, seals, rays, sea turtles, sharks, coyotes, foxes, deer, and now the otters, too. We came to walk with dead poets, writers, and artists. We’ve even taken to visiting a local cemetery at night, when the foxes’ barks sound like strange spirits lurking in the shadows of the trees.
Poetic, historic, vibrant, diverse Provincetown, a longtime welcoming base to the Pilgrims, to fishermen, artists, writers, poets, Portuguese, the LGBTQ community, and now Brazilians, is right next door. Even in deep winter, when there are not many visitors, it buzzes and hums along. It offers hope as a corner of America where different walks of life come together. I can never get enough of observing openly gay men walking the aisles of the local grocery store with wind-blown fishermen and raw-faced, rough-hewn laborers in utter harmony. The contrast is a thing a glorious gift for this writer and amateur sociologist.
Here in Truro, it is ghostly quiet and still. It agrees with solitaries like me. The fact that most of this community's landmass is within the Cape Cod National Seashore makes it feel wilder than I expected. Empty beaches and trails abound. If it weren’t for our visits to the post office, I could almost believe we are the only ones in this most New England of towns.
Cormac McCarthy once wrote about America, “At one time in the world, there were woods that no one owned.” That’s what Winter Truro feels like.
In summer, this town blooms and bustles. It goes from 2,000 folks (feels more like 200) in winter, to 23,000 in the three months of summer.
That’s when we’ll be away, of course, off on one of our grand coddiwomples, traveling 20,000 miles, visiting National Parks, friends we’ve made through the years on past travels, sights we’ve yet to see.
How different it will be to travel in the summer months. We’re used to being on the road from December through April. This year, we’ll take our Great American Road Trip while almost everything is green and brilliant, and roads closed in winter will be fresh discoveries for us. I long to see cottonwood trees in bloom in Utah and visit the bison and wild horses of Theodore Roosevelt National Park, romping on the colorful landscape along the Little Missouri River.
After all that adventure, we’ll return to Truro for the autumn, winter, and spring, when we’ll fall in love with this town and the land and the beasts who roam it, all over again. (Yesterday, I was thrilled to learn of some local river otters! I know where we’ll be hanging out when spring arrives.)
For those who are feeling hopeless, please figure out what nurtures your soul. Reach out to those who are members of your tribe, those who ‘get’ you. Enjoy whatever lifts your spirits.
I know we are not at war — although the people of Minneapolis might feel otherwise, and Greenland and NATO are preparing for an insatiable and mad as a hatter attack — but C.S. Lewis had grand advice for facing the uncertainty of evil.
“If we are all going to be destroyed by an atomic bomb, let the bomb, when it comes, find us doing sensible and human things—praying, working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint and a game of darts—not huddled together lijke frightened sheep and thinking about bombs. They may break our bodies (a microbe can do that), but they need not dominate our minds.” ~ C.S. Lewis
Samwise, Emily, and I came here to do just that, to finish two books in two winters, to eat simply but healthfully, to walk and pray and laugh and wonder at the sea and the twisted forests. We came for the whales, seals, rays, sea turtles, sharks, coyotes, foxes, deer, and now the otters, too. We came to walk with dead poets, writers, and artists. We’ve even taken to visiting a local cemetery at night, when the foxes’ barks sound like strange spirits lurking in the shadows of the trees.
Humanity may not feel very civilized these days, but we’re feeding our souls and making the most of the darker months. I pray that you can find ways to lift your spirits as well.
The other day, I announced a brief flash sale: all annual subscriptions are 20% off, and all proceeds go to a rescue in New Hampshire that focuses on senior dogs. I do my best to give where and when I can, especially when I’m feeling less hopeful about the state of the world. This sale ends tonight, and I’m just putting this out here one last time for those who want to give a gift subscription or to gift yourself a subscription.
We run our sales always to benefit those in need. It is a way to run this site to help brighten the world. I was not planning on another sale until we announced our summer travel plans, but I wanted to do something positive. So here we are.
