My last post left off in Ohio, where I said a sad farewell to the folks at the Mazza Museum.
As we drove along the flat lands, that part of the country slowly gave way to gentle rises and eventually heaved up into some lovely wooded hills of Virginia. These hills were covered beautifully in bare trees and dark angular conifers. The roads, by contrast, were a river of heavy trucks pouring along the highway toward the east coast.
I spent most of the journey spying into the woods, sketching and marveling at the wildlife; an eagle here, a fox there.
I even saw bears as the folk in Ohio had described … or perhaps I had just seen one too many bushes?
We pushed on until late in the evening with the happy thought that I would see the fabled Cape Cod lighthouse before turning in for the night. We found our way into Falmouth, glimpsing the main street as we drove on up toward the cape.
The houses became more sparse and the woods thicker as we drove along the narrow and undulating road.
Each little gully we travelled down was preceded by a din of frogs. As we bottomed out and began to climb, the trill reached a crescendo. This experience was repeated through a series of gullies; the real frog hollows.
The lighthouse itself appeared quite suddenly out of the thick night, the only real light was its own strobe. I should mention that the locals call this landmark Nobska Lighthouse as there are many lighthouses in the area, but this was the only one for mine. We parked and bundled up the path toward the gate which clacked against the gatepost in a fairly punishing breeze. The only thing for it was to stand behind the tower itself to avoid the wind and crane our necks up to see the loom. I touched the smooth white wall and then put my frostbitten fingers back in my pockets. I have always wanted to see this incredible piece of maritime history, and now I didn’t.
Cape Cod Light House will remain in my memory thus…
The next morning we woke in Falmouth which was still cold and wet … so of course, coffee and off to a bookstore.
I have always felt that the real beauty of a bookstore was the contents within and I must confess to being personally enamoured with more chaotic shop offerings.
However, if I were to seek a shrine to house books in then Eight Cousins Bookstore would be my first choice.
Entering the store through a breath fog, I stood in awe as light flooded in through the large windows at the front of the store.
And the books were beautifully, dare I say it, neatly shelved throughout. I met with Mary Fran Buckley (fiction buyer) and was delighted to know that a copy of my book was on hand. As I stood there signing and doodling away on the title page, it was heartening to be invited into conversations between the staff and buyers at the sales desk. I’m always up for a good book chat.