If there is one observation I have about the East, it is this: There sure are a lot of trees here. In Wyoming, go for a drive and you’ll see vastly more prairie goats than trees. Prairie goats are more commonly known as antelope, and there are more of them in Wyoming (512,000) than people (480,000). They sprint at high velocity across the plains, unimpeded by trees or much else. You can routinely spot them at a distance of a mile or more, and the reason for this is, unlike the countryside of New England, there are no trees to block the view.
I’m not anti-tree, you understand. I hear they’re good for the environment, and in places where the sun shines more than occasionally, they make good shade. Growing up, I primarily knew trees as existing in neat windbreak rows. One such windbreak of pine trees stood next to the farmhouse where I grew up. The wind soughing through those pine branches was the lullaby of my childhood.
We had an old swing set out there. In between chores, there’s often not a lot to do out on the farm, so I spent a lot of time out there, swinging by the pine trees. Wondering where that vast horizon went.
Here in Marblehead, I walk to the ocean to get a horizon. Now, there are a lot of ways to get to the ocean in Marblehead. A reader recently alerted me to the Marblehead Conservancy’s “Secret Passageways” page. I decided to walk to Gingerbread Lane on the way to the goal of my ramble, Crowninshield Island. I appreciate the quotes around “secret,” all the more appropriate because when you get to Gingerbread Lane, someone has posted a helpful map on a street sign. I’d say the secret is out!
Gingerbread Lane is a lovely short walk off Norman Street down to Beacon Street. For a moment it feels like you are walking into someone’s backyard. I kept walking, hoping I wouldn’t get yelled at. I didn’t, and soon I found myself on Beacon Street. From there, it was on to Crowninshield Island, a place I’d been informed can be reached on foot during low tide.
My tides app told me I was pretty close to that time. I figured I had a little give in the timing. How punctual can tides really be?
Plenty, as it turns out. I got there maybe half an hour after the peak (nadir?) of low tide, and found the water already running back in and terra firma quickly vanishing. It occurred to me, too late, that people have been closely tracking the Marblehead tides for at least 400 years. Low tide means low tide. Undeterred, I plunged on, albeit at a hustle.
The larger, northern side of the island has a trail that took me on a nice walk through the woods. (You just never can get away from the trees!) The trail makes a loop under the canopy with a few spurs out to water views. I’d have liked to stop and contemplate them, but time and tide wait for no man, and I had to keep moving.
I crossed a narrow spit of land to the smaller southern portion of the island with a nervous glance back to my rapidly disappearing crossing spot. There I found some wider views of the sea and of Gerry Island to the south. And then, suddenly, I came across the last thing in the world I expected: a glade of pine trees. Tide or no tide, I had to investigate.
Under those pines, the sea breeze created that same soft lullaby I knew from my childhood. More unexpected still: a swing hung from a pine branch. I had no choice, really. I had to try it out. I swung on that swing and listened to the trees sing and looked out on the horizon. It reminded me of home, true, but these days I’m a lot less curious where that horizon goes. I’ve got plenty to see and do just across the water in Marblehead.
Speaking of, by the time my reverie was complete, low tide was very definitely over. The channel I had crossed over had vanished entirely. With no dry way back to dry land, I waded into the ankle-deep water. I had on improper footwear for wading, true, and the seawater was icy, but at least I didn’t have to swim! As I walked back up Gingerbread Lane, the water squishing out of my sneakers reminded me with every step that I ought to respect the timing of the tides. I’ll bear that in mind when I next head out to Crowninshield Island for a pine glade reverie.
As always, if you’ve got an idea upon which I can embark for a Marblehead First Time, drop me a line at court.merrigan@gmail.com.
Court Merrigan
Wyoming transplant Court Merrigan is a new Marblehead resident. His column “My Marblehead First Time” appears regularly in the Current.
