Okay, so I have been here for three days already, but much of that time has been devoted to, well, decompression after the events of the past year. Aside from flying here from Where I Used to Live -- for once, a singularly uneventful trip, if you ignore having to get up at the ungodly hour of 2:30 AM to catch a 4:00 shuttle to the airport for a 6:20 flight, which is a time when I'm generally not breathing, much less awake and functional -- the settling-in process has begun, which is never speedy.
But it has been better than my high expectations, One of the important matters was adjusting to a major dose of culture shock. I am, though I consider myself a worldly-type guy -- I've thought of changing my name to Mr International Man, and you may call me that if you wish -- essentially a child of the West: Los Angeles area, where anything built before, say, 1950, is seen as rivaling Stonehenge age-wise and, more recently, Texas, which in the area I lived in seemed approximately of the same vintage as suburban L.A.
Conversely, Where I Am Now feels closer in age to Colonial Williamsburg and Plimouth Plantation. It's my contention that, if one were to erase cars and pavement from downtown photos, there would be precious little difference between April 7, 2011 and April 7, 1811. Or 1751, comes to that.
I like that. It speaks to the part of me that appreciates the comforting combination of small towns and history.
Consider this photo, which I took this morning whilst we were out for a stroll (this is a walking kind of town, bless it):
Despite my photographic ineptness in this instance -- and I will deny ever saying that I am somehow less than a veritable Matthew Brady or Ansel Adams, so you didn't see it here -- the "Central Garage" at the right looks as if the snout of a 1937 Ford should be pointing from one of its doors. Or a 1909 Model T. And the town, the whole area for miles around, is just dripping with Colonial-style houses and buildings you would see in pre-photographic illustrations. Many are sure to be livening up more future posts than you can imagine.
PARENTHETICAL I-WILL-BE-A-TOURIST-IF-I-LIVE-HERE-THE-REST-OF-MY-LIFE NOTE: The one who invited me here, and makes this home instead of just place to exist, is a long-time resident of this town and region. I live in constant fear of her rolling her eyes every time I, like Toody -- or was it Muldoon? -- of Car 54, Where Are You? fame, look at some old building, historical plaque or cemetery and say "oooh! Ooooh!" Can't help myself....
Okay, so the neighborhood-type photo above is only the first of what is sure to be a torrent of photos of Home Port. In time, most all y'all (yes, I'll still say that) will know where I am. I'm a latecomer -- I wasn't here when the first resident set up some sort of housekeeping in 1690, and in this part of the country, length of residence is everything -- but I intend to get deeply into the lore of this place, which seems, so far, to have many features that make it perfect for me.
PARENTHETICAL I-COMPLY-WITH-THE-LAW THOUGHT: From what I've seen and have been told, I'm sure the town has an ordinance on its books requiring any photographer to shoot this building. Why else would it be called "Motif #1?" Ordinarily, I would ignore any structure that had to do with fish unless it was made of metal and said "Star-Kist" on the side, but who am I to ignore a building that has apparently been seen on postcards, photos and paintings around the world and probably on several neighboring plants? So here it is:
The ocean's on the wrong side of the land -- I'm used to seeing it in the West, not East -- and the weather is a bit more rugged than I'm used to, but I'm kinda thinking I belong here. All I have to do is convince the natives.
More to come, and soon. I'm enjoying this place....
21 hours ago