I’ve been thinking of the 1970’s lately, not exactly sure why. Although I was born in the 60’s (albeit in the final 3 weeks), the 1970’s was my first real decade. I was a youngster, too young for much of the fun and frenzy but not too young to miss its new vibe. This was the decade in which I became aware of the world: the music, the television, the politics, the people, the fads, the crises, the cultural tensions. The chaos of the sixties spilled into this decade: Watergate, ‘Nam, gas shortages, ERA, nuclear weapons proliferation, airplane hijackings and conflict in the Middle East… tumultuous times indeed.
But as a kid what I remember the most was the popular culture: America’s glittering face and glowing body during these years, those soaring sounds on the radio, bold fabrics scratching our skin, heavy cars in the streets, extravagant colors ablaze on toys, television and t-shirts, a powerful exhale for equality (now voiced by women and gays), the unsettling and seductive sexual revolution, a new concern for protecting our environment, our patriotism on display at the nation’s bicentennial birthday bash.
There was a collective energy and emotion during these years that I find myself yearning for lately. Yes, the 1970’s were in many ways hard years and there was a lot of silliness too. But despite the insecurity and disruption, America was beaming.
Today I see none of that express enthusiasm, America is bitterly divided and the toxic politics of “No We Can’t” rule the day.
Maybe that’s why the 1970’s are on my mind; I want that smile to return.
As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said “No Trespassing”
But on the other side it didn’t say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.
Our good friend Roberto visited this past weekend, returning after moving to North Carolina. With clear skies but a chill in the air, we headed to Fort Foster on Gerrish Island. It was a pleasure to catch up with him, reminisce about old times, and enjoy the setting sun and ebbing tide with a Havana Sidecar cocktail in hand. Nothing like spending time with old friends and new (in this case Lily, the Sheltie puppy who eagerly introduced herself).
It took some convincing after weeks of sub-par temps and chilling rain to finally accept that spring was winding down. After an extra-long and extra-warm Memorial Day weekend, I was ready to face June by shedding clothes and lathering on the sun screen.
Winter was snow-packed and long but relatively mild and so the home gardens put on a pretty good show as it does every year. But after 4 or 5 years of setting and spreading roots and bulbs, springtime in the gardens is pretty amazing.
An uneventful spring, busy with work as usual but I did find time to spend with family and loved ones. Here’s a collection of random pictures from my post-winter goings on.
I enjoyed an early spring visit from Mom and Ray, freshly returned from hot Mexico only to face the April chills of New England:
Mom and Ray at Fort Foster overlooking Whaleback Light and the Isles of Shoals
Today a gift of 66°F. One of the last moments of waning winter with the effects of a cold, snowy winter melting quickly away. This Friday afternoon: sunshine, clear skies, a balmy breeze.
So I hopped on my bike and shed work’s stressful load. I pedaled on empty roads, past patches of white tucked in the woods still reflecting the furious nor’easters of December and January. Along the estuary I saw the tide low and the sea stretching far, the salt marsh hay soaking in the surprisingly strong sun, resetting roots and working purposefully towards its gold-to-green renewal.
My mind abandons project worries and mounting tasks, tedious 10-12 hour days at my desk, my mind and body tired after months of burdensome work, little exercise and the normal winter sluggishness. Yet this spring air enlivens my lungs, my eyes and heart race to keep up with the stimuli around me, my legs straining to keep up with my unleashed spirit. No poems to read this time; my senses consume the lyrics of this rare warm afternoon and its goings-on.
Wafts of pine emerging from the brown woods, vacant roads warn and grit-strewn from the harsh cold of months past, lawns matted heavily not yet finding strength to lift its sinews upwards, the beach! oh the marvelous beach! always a sight! waves and salt air and sand and shoeless people, pant legs rolled up, arm in arm, sitting and staring, meandering dogs sniffing with eager tongues and wagging tails, puddles of melting show trickling onto the road, spritzing my bare legs as I speed over, four New York guys in a rental car with NH plates stopping to snap photos of Nubble Light, closing their eyes and faces stretching skyward, boarded up homes, silent and still but full of promise of the joys of the seasons to come, the hibernating dairy bar crowned by its unlit neon cone, “see you in the spring!” in shop windows, sounds of sawing and hammering emerging from the Liquid Dreams surf shop — first sign of life along this commercial stretch — its wave devotees getting a jump on the season, an old dog glad to have survived another winter trotting ardently away from its beckoning owner, a young couple in a white-armed embrace, their toes in the sand and bare arms absorbing each others warmth in the warmth of the sun, their shorts and polo shirts will bearing definitive creases after months folded at the bottom of a drawer, a small Latino dropping a quarter in the binoculars to get a haze-free look at distant and solitary Boon Island Light keeping watch offshore with granite strength and towering attention, diminished in stature by the miles between it and us, shirtless teenagers playing basketball their bodies pale but buffed by the sinking sun, the deserted main drag in York Beach, its store-front windows absent of the tacky t-shirts yet to debut, the taffy machine at Goldenrod Kisses covered in canvas, a lone car parked on the block that in sticky months is burdened with steady traffic, somewhere I smell fresh brick-oven pizza but I can’t place the source — not Paras and not Woody’s (both boarded still) but somewhere the locals know, the Ferris wheel at the Wild Kingdom sleeping and still, happy hour music at the Guac-n-Roll cantina welcoming the Friday happy hour (small) pre-season crowd, a young punk with a prominent mohawk holding hands with his gal and me wondering how his doo stays so erect in the gusting wind, an ambulance racing by with lights a-glow and siren a-screaming — what misfortune has befallen this fine afternoon?, bothersome bumps and cracks and potholes causing me to weave and hop along my path, construction nearing completion on the jumping bridge such a happy development since it means I can ride unobstructed this summer through the tidal marsh as Route 103 nears its end at one of my favorite stretches, my right knee straining and sore after 20 miles and facing two more over the three hills along Brave Boat Harbor Road as I approach home.
