A nature walk

One of my roommates had access to a car over Columbus Day weekend, and so we leapt at the opportunity to get out of Boston for a few hours. It occurred to me only as I was writing this that although I have my own car in London, I almost never go on jaunts to the countryside. It’s hard to channel Grace Kelly in An Affair To Remember when you’re driving a Volkswagen minivan I suppose.

Having lived in cities my entire life, I’m not exactly what you would call ‘outdoorsy’. But even as a fully-fledged town mouse, I was surprised to find myself hankering after a few lungfuls of clean air after a few weeks in the Back Bay. Aside from my eagerness to do some leaf-peeping (my new favourite term), I was most looking forward to some respite from the sound pollution in Boston - the road works, the whirring of seemingly omnipresent generators, and the near-constant traffic honking. After some deliberation, we decided to head out to the Stavros Reservation in Essex, MA - a coastal hilltop with some outrageously beautiful views. I could never be unfaithful to an English Autumn, but the colours of New England in the Fall are truly astonishing. (Top prize for original thought goes to me on that one.) We walked up and around the loop trail, did noble battle with some thorny thickets (thickets? I’m not sure I’ve ever used that word in a sentence before) and scrambled down again. Even though it was a beautiful day, and a national holiday, we didn’t see another soul. My favourite bit was the memorial plaque we found nestling in the shade underneath a tree. I’d love to be the kind of person who knew what type of tree it was, but evidently I can barely use the word thicket in the appropriate context. 

It read: 

This land is a memorial to James Niclis Stavros For the enjoyment of all who find renewal of spirit in nature- Mary F. Stavros 

This is probably my third favourite memorial plaque. After these two beauties in Primrose Hill: 

‘Alex RobinsonOn my bench, you must speak French’

‘In memory of Roger BucklesbyWho hated this park,and everyone in it.’ 

Roger Bucklesby aside, I made every effort to exist in the moment - even eschewing my faithful camera-phone. (!) I took the time to feel the slightly damp, almost unnervingly-soft grass underneath my feet;  and take in the green, woody, salty-skin scent of the air. And I really did feel the difference! I felt uncharacteristically calm and centered - somehow cocooned in the biggest space imaginable. Unfortunately my friends and I  didn’t have long to revel in our newly renewed spirits, as we stopped at a seafood shop on our way home, (I regret nothing!) and ended our trip with more fried clam strips than any three humans should ever have ingested.