Welcome Home, Julia Whately Prep p. 40

dee

I was on the riding lawn mower when Julia returned.  I thought she was going to be gone for the weekend, so I was surprised to see her black Saab pull into the short drive off of Swamp Road.  

The Head’s house has a barn out the back door of the house.  It was renovated sometime in the seventies.  The 1970’s.  It has an apartment upstairs. A set of stairs hang somewhat perilously off the outside of the barn.  The door opens into a small studio apartment with amenities, including a washer and a drier.  Below the apartment is room for their two cars and a small workshop/shed that Declan uses pretty regularly.  He is a neat and methodical man in all things.  No place you see it as plainly as in a man’s workshop.  

I chose to mow because it helps me learn the lay of the land, literally.  The weather has been threatening all day.  The clouds have been gathering in an ominous fashion.  A sensible man would take cover.  I am waiting for the first, fat drops of rain to herald the deluge that is bound to follow.  I pride myself on the straight lines I leave behind me as I mow the grass to a perfect 2.5 inches.  As tempting as it is to go shorter and reduce the time until the next mow, if we go much shorter, it is bound to burn. I like the curiously mindless nature of this task.  It’s a lot like driving.  You can do it on autopilot and have absolutely no recollection of having driven to your destination.  

Each time I pass the Head’s house, I see another installment in the drama of Julia and her guests arrival.  Julia emptying the trunk of a few things.  Julia leading a woman and two girls up to the guest quarters. Julia entering the back door of her own house.

Julia in running clothes. Julia gone.

I circle in on the very last strip of lawn that requires cutting on the common and .... plop.

The first, heavy drop of water falls.  I head the mower toward the service garage on the back of Whately Prep’s property.  Within one hundred feet of the garage, the skies open and the rain falls in a torrent.  Welcome home, Julia.

Rain Whately Prep p. 39

Rain    Whately Prep  p. 39

Day 311

8.12.12

dee

The rain started last night. Sarah and I will travel home today.  Our trip to Whately will include the most of the Scotts -- Ingrid, Kendra and Kayla.  We are leaving on the 10:30 boat. The rain is coming down as if to punish us. Hard, furious, unrelenting.  Could so much water be stored overhead?  If it continues to rain like this the whole way, it’s going to be slow going.  The transfer from boat to bus to car when we arrive in Woods Hole is always cumbersome.  It is even more difficult when there is torrential rain.  I wonder how much rain Ingrid and Marcus see in California. One of the charms of New England is that after the worst Nor’Easters, there are days of piercing clarity and breathtaking beauty. The worst serves to underscore the best. 

To make the trip, I have only my shoulder bag and Sarah’s diaper bag. She has a small country in her diaper bag; there are toys, food, cream, medicine, change of clothes, and, oh, yes, diapers. She has plenty of snacks and beverages to last the trip.  I pack a snack-bag for the car, certain that we will all want food along the way. There is always the rest stop along the Mass Pike,

We gather at the front door at precisely 9:50 a.m.  That will allow us ten minutes to get to the ferry. We need to be at the terminal half an hour before sailing.  I stop short when I see their luggage. The Scotts have packed one bag each.  The problem is that each of their bags is HUGE.  They are coming for two nights in Whately, and they each appear to have packed more than my entire wardrobe... in both houses.  

“Hey, guys?”

They spin around, all three of them with their blond hair and high cheekbones looking inutterably lovely, and slightly alarmed.

“I hate to tell you, but your bags won’t all fit in my car that’s over in Falmouth.”

“I thought the boat gets in at Woods Hole. Why is your car in Falmouth.”

“I told you we have too many clothes.”

“Our time is very short, so here’s what would help.  Each of you pull out two shirts, another pair of pants, a sweater, a bathing suit, a nightgown, a pair of flip-flops or sandals, another bra, three panties and your toiletries bags.”

While they unzip and sort, I move through to the kitchen and grab three cloth shopping bags, bright and colorful.  I hand one to each of them.  In four minutes, we have rezipped their suitcases and shoved them over to the corner of the room.  Julian and Marshall lift their heads from the movie they are watching just long enough to say, “Bye.”

Declan and Marcus are out. They said their goodbyes before they set off on their adventure. The trip to the Polly Hill Arboretum had to be scrapped, they adapted.  

And so did we.  Sporting a Thayer’s Market, a World Eye Bookstore and a Gazebo shopping bag, the Scotts women are ready to roll.  I allowed ten minutes to get to the ferry, it will take us less than two. Once a mother, always a mother. These small calculations and prevarications are all in a mother's toolbag.

I grab some extra umbrellas.  With a little bit of luck,  the rain will let up before we get to Whately in five hours.  With a great deal of effort, I consciously switch off my worry switch and head out the door with my row of ducklings following in close succession.