We arrived on Cape Cod yesterday at noon, took an afternoon walk in the witchy pine woods, and another this morning. But we were pulled by the salty air to find this lovely, lonely stretch of sand, sea, and dune this frigid afternoon. It’s one of the beaches Henry Beston regularly explored while living on the Outer Cape and writing The Outermost House (1928).
As you can see by the video, we had miles to ourselves while the tide crept inward.
It was a welcome change of pace, and I realized how much I’ve missed the Atlantic, with its rich scent and powerful frothy waves. Walking along the water with those towering dunes makes a person feel how fortunate yet tiny we are.
The beach is where Emily shines, and Samwise takes long moments to contemplate the coming and going of the sea.
Our bodies needed today. We had not moved well in over a month, and the spring through fall months were wet and wicked, and we never reached an easy walking or hiking rhythm. Give us two more weeks of this kind of movement, and we’ll be well on our way to returning to better fitness.
Brooklyn Tony, the Dent Wizard
We pulled into Whole Foods on the way to the Cape for a salad and fresh fruit. I parked far away from the entrance to stretch my legs after the drive. A dubious van pulled up next to us when I was preparing to get out. A sketchy fellow in the passenger seat rolled down his window and waved his arms at me. He was all teeth, hands, and whiskers, and he looked like someone from the mob. He pointed to my front driver’s door and the dent that’s four years old. Then, with a flourish, he pointed to the magnetic sign on his door.
“Hey, how about we take care of that dent in your door?”
I looked at him with his big teeth, much like I’d look at the Big Bad Wolf. I’m all for meeting people in the strangest places and circumstances, but I’m still a dubious newspaperman at the heart of it all.
“How much?” I asked.
He shrugged and said, “$400 is fair. Save you the deductible.”
He spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent, like a character in a movie. A bigger guy was driving, looking on, waiting for my response.
“Ha! Very nice of you, Santa. But do you think I’m a dipshit?”
He countered, “How about $200 then?”
The big driver studied our interaction and took it all in. It’s clear he’s not the talker in these deals.
“And maybe you throw in something for Christmas?”
I smiled and laughed, “Oh, you really are a player! How about I give you a hundred, but only if you get it out?”
“A man’s gotta eat, ya know?” Then said, “I’ll do $150.”
“Thanks, guys, but I don’t have time. I’m just running in to get a salad.”
“Oh, that,” he pointed to the dent, “won’t take me long.”
“A couple of friends have tried and had no luck,” I told him.
“They ain’t me.”
“Okay, so how long would this take you because we’re road-tripping?”
Brooklyn tossed back his head, laughing with those flashing teeth and waving hands, “A minute at most. That’s nothing.”
“Seriously? Only a minute?”
“Yeah, that’s an easy one.”
“You sound confident.”
“I’m the best.”
“So why would I pay you $400 for a minute’s work, like you asked? I’ll give you a $100 and no more.”
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