The Turkey Came Out of the Closet

A couple weeks ago Derek and I were in his hometown.  Besides how kind, thoughtful, and loving Derek is, another gift he has brought into my life is sharing the beautiful areas of Stonington and Mystic, Connecticut and Westerly, Rhode Island. 

Derek grew up in Stonington Borough, one of four peninsulas in the town that stretch into the Atlantic.  The Borough, as it’s called, used to be the “downtown” of the village when Derek was young in the days of soda pop shops, candy stores, and barber shops.  It was mostly a Portuguese fishing village on the ocean.  The Portuguese Holy Ghost Society, with an atmosphere wonderfully frozen in the 70s and allowing smoking inside, still serves up drinks, Friday fish and chips, and conducts the Feast of the Holy Ghost every year for nearly 100 years.  Every now and then we absorb the culture with a beer or two, some pool, darts, and music from the jukebox

But Stonington dates back to pre-Revolutionary War days with grand, Federal architecture homes built in the 1600’s.  It had an economic boom when it made much of the armory for the Civil War.  It is a place that George Washington once slept and Truman Capote came to write.  

Mystic is the next town south.  Its modern day fame comes from the movie Mystic Pizza, which was based on Mystic and filmed in the area.  We usually have a slice at the restaurant where screens throughout play the movie over and over.  But Mystic had it's own economic surge during the colonial days, using the many trees in the area as lumber for ships producing much wealth in the ship industry.

 

Both Stonington and Mystic retain the essence of quintessential, coastal New England towns.  I time travel back and feel a mini-Derek running around playing as we drive through The Borough.  It’s like a scent coming from a baker’s oven that has all the right ingredients of a charmed spot and era to hear stories.

Westerly, R.I. is where Derek’s father lives and just north from Stonington over the border of Connecticut and Rhode Island.  It is near Watch Hill, a beautiful neighborhood of Westerly on the coast that retains a sliver of a period from the early 1900s.  It has one of, if not the last remaining majestic Victorian hotels—The Ocean House—that used to line the Atlantic seaboard for the wealthy New Yorkers and Bostonians to summer.  Days that consisted of beach time before changing and walking the lawns above with parasols, playing croquet, followed by dinner with live entertainment.

   

There are also many mansions built decades ago that have been passed down through the same family for generations.  These beautiful estates at the ocean that Derek said are used maybe a month or two a year in the summer.  There’s a quaint, yet posh yacht club and an adorable little main street with beach shops, food, and ice cream.  Watch Hill also has the oldest carousel at the end of the street that still plays the brass key game.  I didn’t realize that is where the phrase, “To catch the brass ring” originated as a sign of being lucky.

 

Watch Hill’s most recent neighbor is Taylor Swift.  She swooped in a bought the biggest mansion on the tallest hill on the coast.  It was the same one I pointed out the year before to my parents, while having a drink on the expansive covered porch of The Ocean House; the one that, if I could pick one to live in, that was The One.  Good for you, Taylor, I’m happy for you great taste!  But I’ve heard she’s contributing to the community and has been a pleasure to those that have bumped into her.  Welcome to the ‘hood, neighbor, I’m available for tea anytime we're in town.

 The area not only has the water but there are also many winding country roads through hundreds of acres of protected forestland that we travel along through each town.  Along most of the roads are miles and miles of stonewalls, a few feet high, that the colonial settlers built with all the stones in Stonington that add to the unique New England experience.

Nowadays Stonington is the last working fishing town in Connecticut.  Gentrification has made the whole area from Westerly to Mystic pretty with a make over and drawing in more tourists and people like us escaping from The City.  

Going “up north” has become such a special escape from the people and craziness of Manhattan for Derek and I.  It is an easy trip; we simply walk to the end of our street, jump in a cab, a straight shot 12 blocks up 8^th Avenue to Penn Station.  The train ride is only 3 hours, and goes along coastal Connecticut.

 

Derek will recite the usual tour, as we go over the river that Katherine Hepburn lived on, the one Mark Twain based Huckleberry Finn on, and the one with the old WWII submarine docked as a museum.  But most importantly, I am pointed out every time the first home Derek bought in Stonington and then the most recent one he sold.  I endearingly listen and finish the sentences like most relationships of length. 

Sometimes when arrive to Westerly, we have the house all to ourselves.  It is such a drastic change from the tiny studio we share in The City; an ecstatic joy to have space from literally bumping into each other.  He gets a floor.  I get a floor.  We smile and laugh when we actually have to ask, “Where are you?”  What a concept, to be home, not see the other, or know where they are.

On this particular escape, Derek was a steam pot ready to burst and I was craving a massive injection of Autumn.  I Love, love, love Autumn.  I’m always ready to pull out the warmer clothes and light jackets.  We had been having a late summer in New York.  Before we left I went to Central Park, hoping to see colored leaves, but very few of the trees had turned.  I needed to see, feel, and smell Autumn.  My chances were better up north where it is usually 10 degrees colder.

 

It seems the last few years I missed Autumn because I was traveling often to where it was warm, or because there was an early freeze, big storm, or hurricane—Sandy—that brought all the leaves down in one swoop.  But I also missed it because it seemed the day after Halloween, the costumes and decorations for sale in Rite Aid or Duane Reade or many other places were cleared out and replaced immediately with Hanukah and Christmas decorations and colors. 

No!  Where are the fall colors?  The leaves?  The Multi-colored dried corn and corn stalks tied into bundles for decorating?  I understand it is a business decision by Corporate America to perpetuate consuming, creating and feeding the addiction of consumerism to the American people, but do we really need to eliminate Thanksgiving!?

Don’t get me wrong I enjoy the holiday season…when it begins…after Thanksgiving.  I know many people who must decorate for Christmas before Thanksgiving.  They are all wonderful people with big hearts filled with excitement for the giving season and coming together.  But I simply prefer enjoying all that...after Thanksgiving.

Needless to say I was expired and overdue for a good dose of fall.  My only request on this particular trip was to do a day trip somewhere new, some little, Rhode Island town along the ocean.  It is The Ocean State after all.  The day turned out to be 11-11, Veteran’s Day.  The place:  Wickford Cove, R.I.

 

We spent the first few days at a friend’s beautiful home on a salt water cove surrounded by nature in Mystic.  The fall colors were out putting on a fantastic show.  There were so many different shades of red, orange, yellow, and gold lining the inlet and all along the curvy roads of forest and stonewalls.  It was Autumn in all of it’s glory.  Nature’s beauty, so healing and welcoming to her womb. 

When we arrived at the house in Westerly, I opened the front closet to hang my coat.  As I looked up on the shelf above me I saw a large ceramic turkey staring back at me. 

Yes! I thought, "You must come out of the closet Mr. Turkey." 

I brought him down with excited hands and placed him on the center of the coffee table in the living room.  It warmed my heart to have such a lovely Thanksgiving decoration.

    

The next day we headed north on Route 1 as the fall colors continued the entertainment before turning onto a long dirt road that led to the ocean.  It was Moonstone Beach.  Back in Derek’s single and mingling days he found fun in the sun at the gay nudist beach on the northern end.  It’s a beach local Rhode Islanders know and it isn’t usually very crowded because the parking along the dirt road is limited.  After Derek’s reminiscing and sharing we headed back to the car to continue north. 

“Any dirt road is a good chance it will bring you to the ocean.  We’ve got to take it,” he said laughing.

 

When we came across one called Beach Street, it was a no-brainer as we turned onto the dirt road that was canopied by trees and led to a public beach.  Nobody was there, summer was over, the lifeguard's chair was empty, and the boats were all dry-docked.

But a light sense of romance filled the air.  It was an overcast, cloudy, autumn afternoon at a beach on the coast of Rhode Island with orange trees meeting the sand and a Lovebug.  We had a moment and carried on, asking a local walking by on the dirt road how to get to the main street of Wickford.  We weren’t far, just a bit further, over a little bridge, and to the right. 

Once over the bridge, we drove through the town without even realizing it and found ourselves at the water—small town America.  It was a nice mistake, as we found a Port-a-John—which we desperately needed—and it provided a scenic walk along the dock.  The local fishermen were out working amongst the boats that were lined along the water, with stacks of lobster cages pulled out for the season. 

   

We turned around and parked along the main street near some Pre-Revolutionary homes of bright red, yellow, and blue.  The street was lined with large, old trees filled with fall color.  We began walking into the center of town.  The street curved back toward the bridge in one direction and forked in another.  It could easily be walked in 10 minutes.  But we began slowly wandering like tourists, exploring the cutesy shops for the home decor as well as the metaphysical store. 

   

When we crossed the street where it curved we walked under a white wood arch with pumpkins on the ground on each side that led into the town square.  It was simply the corner of where the road forked with enough room for a paved pathway through the grass leading back to the street.  It had a few benches and a WWI memorial that was filled with American flags for Veterans Day.  One large tree growing from the grass near the road blanketed us in orange and yellow leaves.  My excitement grew as I noticed all the pumpkins on the ground on either side of the benches and around the tree. 

We sat on a bench and took in the town with the water to the right and absorbed Autumn.  There weren’t many people walking around which added to the romantic date afternoon.  But while sitting on the bench we did notice a family with young boys patriotically lower and fold the flags as the early dark of fall approached. 

“Awe,” Derek said.  “It reminds me when I was in Boy Scouts and we would do that on Veteran’s Day.”

“A perfect little small town, New England experience,” I replied.

 

“Thank you,” we both said to all the Veteran’s, our fathers, and grandfather. 

We carried on down the path through the park back to the street and explored a shop with local products and souvienirs near the water and bridge.  Before entering a beautiful lady greeted us, posing in her beautiful dress standing near a watering pale full of sunflowers with one in her hat (always a special sign of Joe to me).  I did a photo shoot with her excited to see such fall decorations and for my first female scarecrow. 

After picking up a wonderfully, silly Rhode Island souviner of the trip—I would tell you but it is a Christmas present for Derek—we crossed the street in search of food.  A large deck along the water had shops, galleries and led to a restaurant.  I discovered more fall and Thanksgiving decorations, a banner full of fall colors, pumpkins, and sunflowers.  Behind the banner was a very handsome scarecrow with a sunflower in his hat whom I had another photo shoot with.  I told him I met a sexy lady across the street he should meet, the one with the sunflower in her hat.

 

After discovering the restaurant was closed we took in the water and walked back to the street where we noticed dried corn stalks around the lamp posts.  Yes, there was another photo shoot.  I was so thrilled to see Thanksgiving and Autumn decorations that I found myself taking pictures or corn stalks.  I wanted to preserve and remember the day that Thanksgiving was resurrected for me by the little town of Wickford Cove, Rhode Island.  I burst with bliss for the perfect fall day with a sexy Lovebug.

We entered and explored an antique shop run by an eccentric, skinny, middle-aged woman with long frizzing salt and pepper hair and dark sunglasses.  The store was filled everywhere with old treasures from multiple eras that filled the homes and estates of decades passed.  The eclectic history of the lives the tchatchkes and the people who owned them was thick in the air as we breathed it in and felt it.

We had a romantic dinner at a little pizzeria.  A hamburger and a gyro, both with fries for $12.  $12!  That’s barely one meal in The City.  Afterward we headed home, stopping for a moive to end the date.  Another $12!  For Two!   Not even one ticket in The City.  A $25 dinner and movie date.  After returning home, I admired the handsome turkey on the coffee table before going upstairs to bed.  Upstairs! What a concept.

 

It was, a perfect day.

 

The moral of the story.  Don’t forget to give thanks!  And don’t forget Thanksgiving!!   Thanks for all of you!  Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!!  From us at B12.