fish sandwiches and Cape Cod chips, peaches, brownies, and two bottled waters.
We take the Shining Sea bike trail out to Woods Hole, through a shady treed area with lots of wildflowers, out along a beautiful strip of the coastline, past Nobska Lighthouse standing tall.
Woods Hole is a cool town. Scientists from all over the world come here to conduct ocean research. We lock our bikes on a rack in the center park area and walk through town. They’re feeding the harbor seals at the research aquarium at the end of the street. I remember Nana taking me here during summers when I was little and would come to stay with her while Mom was busy with her wedding planning business. There’s a “please touch” water box inside the building. I’llnever forget the first time I picked up a live starfish, a horseshoe crab, and a lobster, all slimy and wriggling in my hand.
We walk back to the park, check out the old sundial in the center. JFK takes a long drink from the orange bottle with the black top he has hooked on his belt loop. We find a grassy spot in the shade and I take out our lunch.
“You should get a reusable water container,” JFK says, holding up one of my “Only the best for Bramblebriar guests” bottles and turning it around in the sun. “These plastic bottles are wicked bad for the planet. I did a science project at my old school in Minnesota. Americans buy, like, thirty billion of these a year.”
“At least they get recycled,” I say.
“Actually, only about one-fifth of them do. The other eighty percent end up in landfills. The plastic never breaks down. It’s awful for the earth and animals, especially birds. They ingest it and choke and die. Not to mention the oil.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think I remember it takes something like fifty million gallons of oil a year to make these plastic bottles, just here in America alone. And then there’sthe carbon dioxide pollution made during the manu-facturing.”
I have excellent taste in boyfriends if I do say so myself. Not only is Joseph handsome, kind, poetic, and smart, but he thinks about bigger issues like stopping the war and saving the planet. I hold up my bottle: Only the best for Bramblebriar Guests. “Bad, bad bottle,” I say in a stern voice. JFK laughs. “No, seriously,” I say, “I’m going to get a refillable bottle like yours, Joseph. Do they come in green?”
He laughs. “Yeah, they come in lots of colors.”
“Mine will have to be green, for Bramblebriar, of course.”
After lunch we get ice cream and sit with our legs dangling off the pier, watching the boats come in and out. I turn just as Joseph is pointing to something and his cone bumps into my nose. He wipes off the ice cream, then kisses my nose.
I feel like I’m going to cry. “I’m going to miss you.”
He smiles so sweetly. “It’s only a month, Willa. I won’t forget you.”
We bike home, wind sailing through my hair, sun beating on my face. It’s a perfect date on a perfect summer day. Neither of us mentions Florida. Bad, bad baseball.
JFK has to go somewhere with his family. I bike into town to tell Nana about the taffy tags I’ve come up with so far. Dr. Swaminathan and Mrs. Saperstone are coming out of a restaurant. They are laughing, all happy about something. Dr. Swammy opens the door of his car and Mrs. S gets in, just as I’m pulling up behind them. I don’t call out. “Let those young lovebirds alone” is what Nana would say. Dr. Swammy has a bumper sticker: T HINK GLOBAL . S TART LOCAL. I think about that for a minute.
Nana loves the taffy taglines. She writes them down. “I’ll get these printed up right away,” she says. I get some mints for Mom, chocolate walnut fudge for Sam, and me…I’m in the mood for fish. I “remember the scoop” and shovel up a bag of those yummy red gummy guppies.
Back at the inn, I help with the cocktail social hour. I cut veggies and scoop out fresh dill dip into a bowl. I light little yellow
We take the Shining Sea bike trail out to Woods Hole, through a shady treed area with lots of wildflowers, out along a beautiful strip of the coastline, past Nobska Lighthouse standing tall.
Woods Hole is a cool town. Scientists from all over the world come here to conduct ocean research. We lock our bikes on a rack in the center park area and walk through town. They’re feeding the harbor seals at the research aquarium at the end of the street. I remember Nana taking me here during summers when I was little and would come to stay with her while Mom was busy with her wedding planning business. There’s a “please touch” water box inside the building. I’llnever forget the first time I picked up a live starfish, a horseshoe crab, and a lobster, all slimy and wriggling in my hand.
We walk back to the park, check out the old sundial in the center. JFK takes a long drink from the orange bottle with the black top he has hooked on his belt loop. We find a grassy spot in the shade and I take out our lunch.
“You should get a reusable water container,” JFK says, holding up one of my “Only the best for Bramblebriar guests” bottles and turning it around in the sun. “These plastic bottles are wicked bad for the planet. I did a science project at my old school in Minnesota. Americans buy, like, thirty billion of these a year.”
“At least they get recycled,” I say.
“Actually, only about one-fifth of them do. The other eighty percent end up in landfills. The plastic never breaks down. It’s awful for the earth and animals, especially birds. They ingest it and choke and die. Not to mention the oil.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think I remember it takes something like fifty million gallons of oil a year to make these plastic bottles, just here in America alone. And then there’sthe carbon dioxide pollution made during the manu-facturing.”
I have excellent taste in boyfriends if I do say so myself. Not only is Joseph handsome, kind, poetic, and smart, but he thinks about bigger issues like stopping the war and saving the planet. I hold up my bottle: Only the best for Bramblebriar Guests. “Bad, bad bottle,” I say in a stern voice. JFK laughs. “No, seriously,” I say, “I’m going to get a refillable bottle like yours, Joseph. Do they come in green?”
He laughs. “Yeah, they come in lots of colors.”
“Mine will have to be green, for Bramblebriar, of course.”
After lunch we get ice cream and sit with our legs dangling off the pier, watching the boats come in and out. I turn just as Joseph is pointing to something and his cone bumps into my nose. He wipes off the ice cream, then kisses my nose.
I feel like I’m going to cry. “I’m going to miss you.”
He smiles so sweetly. “It’s only a month, Willa. I won’t forget you.”
We bike home, wind sailing through my hair, sun beating on my face. It’s a perfect date on a perfect summer day. Neither of us mentions Florida. Bad, bad baseball.
JFK has to go somewhere with his family. I bike into town to tell Nana about the taffy tags I’ve come up with so far. Dr. Swaminathan and Mrs. Saperstone are coming out of a restaurant. They are laughing, all happy about something. Dr. Swammy opens the door of his car and Mrs. S gets in, just as I’m pulling up behind them. I don’t call out. “Let those young lovebirds alone” is what Nana would say. Dr. Swammy has a bumper sticker: T HINK GLOBAL . S TART LOCAL. I think about that for a minute.
Nana loves the taffy taglines. She writes them down. “I’ll get these printed up right away,” she says. I get some mints for Mom, chocolate walnut fudge for Sam, and me…I’m in the mood for fish. I “remember the scoop” and shovel up a bag of those yummy red gummy guppies.
Back at the inn, I help with the cocktail social hour. I cut veggies and scoop out fresh dill dip into a bowl. I light little yellow
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