Ava and I never did find that rock, but we found an abundant natural habitat that can take even the bluest downer out of the pits.
Granted, it is just a park. But it has a good chunk of a relatively pristine forest and fields and fields of what once was cultivated land now given to field flowers, low shrubby flowers, native grasses and countless numbers of bees, crickets and of course birds. The beach is completely empty and quiet. Across from the sound Connecticut looks distant and pastoral, like an 1800s oil painting.
I had the feeling that large owls and hawks live up the trees, but we did not see them.
Instead, we saw a big dead crab on the sand, tiny crabs that burrow in the sand, seagulls, a certain bird whose flock is in the hundreds just on one tree sitting alone in the field, Eastern meadowlark (nesting!), horses, geese, a single rooster and the prettiest array of butterflies.
Soon, we were different. The place had transformed us.
Something about no walls, tall trees and space, it takes you away from you and gives you something back, impalpable and big, like a fresh breath of sense.
And I start to see the wild one awake. She twirls and climbs, my gaze relaxed, she throws stones, looks out onto the water and the far away distance and thinks how's that for a playground?
What must have it been like to be the first human to come here? To hunt for survival and to look at this land as if one's life depends on it?
What must it have been like to be the Colonizer arriving? And estimating the wealth of the land and tasting the pleasure of owning it, of fighting for it, of having it all.
But for now, we shrink into in order to open up, for it is the last piece standing of anything even remotely close to wilderness. In. One. Of. The. Most. Densely. Populated. Islands. In the whole wide (not wild) World.
Within a few seconds I forget all existential worries and we are at play with a bunch of stones, throwing them in the water, scaring the fish, watching the circular ripples disappear, digging holes to look for the tiny burrowing crab. There are hardly any shells on this beach. The sand is very coarse. Time stops or speeds and I am no longer bored or scared of the direct sunlight hitting my skin.
On the way back we meet a mysterious lady. I am pretty curious about the people who live around here and some of my curiosity has been indulged. She is her late 70s but walks alone for 8 miles having come into Caumsett on foot- that means she lives right next to it in what cannot be a house worth less then a few million but can go well above ten. She is tastefully decorated with what looks like very expensive jewelry. She is incredibly fit and from a distance can appear to be my age and smartly wears one of those asian face protecting hats. She has a brief nice conversation with is and Ava shows her her shoes and then she takes one look at me and probably reads right through me (the not combed hair, the abandoned body, the spider veins). Yet she nicely complements me having come out here with a toddler. I sigh as I follow her with my eyes.
We also meet a father with his adopted Korean son age 5, who has a brief excited conversation with me about nothing. He looks like a lost Frenchman who is also a sailor and perhaps is quite cultured too.
Ava stops to draw in the sandy road and I stop to listen to birds and plot how to get her to sit in her co-pilot seat.
Someone shows us the fish they have just caught. Baby blue tuna. I debate briefly in my mind whether that that ok or not, then realize maybe it is better this way, because the fish I eat very occasionally has probably suffered more than this one. I watched how the fisherman was pulling the bait out of their mouths and it looked like an awfully long struggle. I am not sure why we humans always have to take and take and take. The fisherman's wife was a bit overweight (as was he) but with a nice smile. Maybe they don't realize they can give the sound a break and just go on a diet?
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