For you I'd dive into a treacherous sea
For our eleventh anniversary and our first as a married couple, ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rushthatspeaks and I found some really good sea.
Our original plan had been to accompany it with dinner from our traditional restaurant, but much to our surprise they were no longer doing takeout—dine-in only—and neither were our first two alternatives. We ended up with Bronwyn, not at all disappointed by the largesse of crisp pork schnitzel with lemon and dill crème fraîche, curry-pickled eggs dyed like Easter with beet juice, huge soft bretzels with horseradish mustard, a trio of sausages over bratkartoffeln of which I was able to identify only their spectacular currywurst, and apfelkuchen with a kind of decadent apple cream on top to finish. We packed it into the back of the zipcar and headed water-ward.
The destination was Coughlin Park in Winthrop, which looked close enough to reach even through Friday traffic and sea-surrounded. The route took us zigzagging through Charlestown, around a loop of the Lost Half-Mile and over the highway-green cantilevers of the Tobin Bridge, at which point I began to wish I had brought my camera for the rough mirroring blues of the Mystic River and the late-glowing sky and the sea-stacks of clouds not yet sunset-lined. We cornered the edge of Revere Beach and began to pass other small beaches—Short Beach, Winthrop Beach—where we figured we could fall back if the park was not suitable for picnicking after all.
It was perfect. The entire park is a promontory curling up from what used to be Point Shirley before the hurricane of 1938 filled in the channel between its mainland and Deer Island; it encloses a span of the harbor whose western shore is Logan Airport. I said to my husband that I love discovering these pieces of sea in the city. There were some dog-walkers, some beach-walkers, some kids playing basketball in the chain-linked court; there was free street parking and picnic tables in that steel-mesh style, the scuffed ground around and underneath them scattered with worn white fragments of clam shell. There was a small island to the northwest that looked like a clump of salt marsh fringed with trees. There were planes on constant approach directly overhead, every now and then at an altitude we were unconvinced would have actually cleared a roof. Everything smelled like salt and the wind was stiff enough that we staked out our meal behind heavier objects like our glass bottles of soda and the windbreaks of paper bags and it was delicious as the sun set and the blocks and tines of the Boston skyline turned black against an astonishing tiger-lily, bird-of-paradise gold-smolder, reflecting in little gilt ripples on the mussel-darkening waves. When we were done, we picked our way down the slope of saltgrass onto the shell-litter of low tide, clams and snails and scallops and barnacles as dense as a midden and crawling with tiny green crabs and gulls stretching their wings as they disagreed. We walked a little way up the seaside curve of the road where the beach ran to boulders and watched the evening star come out below the crescent of the new moon. It had turned as low and copper-orange as a hunter's moon by the time we drove back; the skyline was a photonegative of flicked-open lights. Following the water, we managed to get sufficiently and satisfyingly lost that we were wondering if we had somehow backed ourselves into Fort Point when we passed a sign for the East Boston Farmers' Market. We came back over the Zakim which we had seen earlier from such a striking, oblique angle on Rutherford Avenue; its cables and cradles were lit spring-green tonight. I'm still not sure how my phone got out of my pocket into the front seat of the zipcar, but at least when Rush circled back to return it to me, it gave me the chance to kiss him again.
Many more, my sea-wedded husband.
rushthatspeaks and I found some really good sea.Our original plan had been to accompany it with dinner from our traditional restaurant, but much to our surprise they were no longer doing takeout—dine-in only—and neither were our first two alternatives. We ended up with Bronwyn, not at all disappointed by the largesse of crisp pork schnitzel with lemon and dill crème fraîche, curry-pickled eggs dyed like Easter with beet juice, huge soft bretzels with horseradish mustard, a trio of sausages over bratkartoffeln of which I was able to identify only their spectacular currywurst, and apfelkuchen with a kind of decadent apple cream on top to finish. We packed it into the back of the zipcar and headed water-ward.
The destination was Coughlin Park in Winthrop, which looked close enough to reach even through Friday traffic and sea-surrounded. The route took us zigzagging through Charlestown, around a loop of the Lost Half-Mile and over the highway-green cantilevers of the Tobin Bridge, at which point I began to wish I had brought my camera for the rough mirroring blues of the Mystic River and the late-glowing sky and the sea-stacks of clouds not yet sunset-lined. We cornered the edge of Revere Beach and began to pass other small beaches—Short Beach, Winthrop Beach—where we figured we could fall back if the park was not suitable for picnicking after all.
It was perfect. The entire park is a promontory curling up from what used to be Point Shirley before the hurricane of 1938 filled in the channel between its mainland and Deer Island; it encloses a span of the harbor whose western shore is Logan Airport. I said to my husband that I love discovering these pieces of sea in the city. There were some dog-walkers, some beach-walkers, some kids playing basketball in the chain-linked court; there was free street parking and picnic tables in that steel-mesh style, the scuffed ground around and underneath them scattered with worn white fragments of clam shell. There was a small island to the northwest that looked like a clump of salt marsh fringed with trees. There were planes on constant approach directly overhead, every now and then at an altitude we were unconvinced would have actually cleared a roof. Everything smelled like salt and the wind was stiff enough that we staked out our meal behind heavier objects like our glass bottles of soda and the windbreaks of paper bags and it was delicious as the sun set and the blocks and tines of the Boston skyline turned black against an astonishing tiger-lily, bird-of-paradise gold-smolder, reflecting in little gilt ripples on the mussel-darkening waves. When we were done, we picked our way down the slope of saltgrass onto the shell-litter of low tide, clams and snails and scallops and barnacles as dense as a midden and crawling with tiny green crabs and gulls stretching their wings as they disagreed. We walked a little way up the seaside curve of the road where the beach ran to boulders and watched the evening star come out below the crescent of the new moon. It had turned as low and copper-orange as a hunter's moon by the time we drove back; the skyline was a photonegative of flicked-open lights. Following the water, we managed to get sufficiently and satisfyingly lost that we were wondering if we had somehow backed ourselves into Fort Point when we passed a sign for the East Boston Farmers' Market. We came back over the Zakim which we had seen earlier from such a striking, oblique angle on Rutherford Avenue; its cables and cradles were lit spring-green tonight. I'm still not sure how my phone got out of my pocket into the front seat of the zipcar, but at least when Rush circled back to return it to me, it gave me the chance to kiss him again.
Many more, my sea-wedded husband.
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Thank you! I hope you had a suitably radiant celebration yourselves.
Many more, indeed, and that phone was only doing its ordained and pre-destined part. You know, love and honor and glory and smooching and all that.
And hello to all that.
*hugs*
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Mow! Thank you. I think they are very important things.
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Thank you!
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Thank you!
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Thank you!
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We have more married now than not as of this year- 14 unmarried and 15 married! :o)
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Thank you!
We have more married now than not as of this year- 14 unmarried and 15 married!
Congratulations on that ratio!
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Thank you!
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Thank you! It was lovely.
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Thank you!
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Thank you! It really was.
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Thank you!
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Thank you!
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Thank you!
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Thank you!
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Winthrop has treated me and
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Nine
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Thank you! I like that progression.
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Thank you! They were an excellent combination.
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My wife and I visited Deer Island the previous weekend. We enjoyed the saltwater smell in the air, the egg-shaped processing plants, and gulls, ducks, and cormorants (?). A number of gulls separately found crabs around the size of my hand or bigger, and ate them with apparent relish. The huge, green dragonflies didn't stay still enough for us to take any pictures.
We went to D'Parma Restaurant beforehand, and enjoyed a leisurely lunch outside.
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Thank you!
I am glad you had such a good visit yourselves. I don't remember the dragonflies; we'll have to go back.
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When we were done, we picked our way down the slope of saltgrass onto the shell-litter of low tide, clams and snails and scallops and barnacles as dense as a midden and crawling with tiny green crabs and gulls stretching their wings as they disagreed. GOD. So beautiful.
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Thank you!