Last Friday, something about the landscape east of Charlottetown reminded me so acutely of Cape Cod that seemingly out of nowhere, thoughts of Poppa flooded my head.
There were memories of camping (occasionally at an actual wooded campsite, but more often than not, it seemed, either in the yard of Twin Chimneys or the overflow lot at Nickerson Park). Memories of Pop shuttling us around Brewster, Orleans, Falmouth, to and from Monument Beach. And most oddly heart-rending of all, memories simply of sitting in Gommy's kitchen at dusk and watching Poppa walk up from the berry fields for dinner.
I wanted so much to cry, but didn't, somehow couldn't. All I could do, it seemed, was just watch out the window as the land rushed past us and slowly, almost imperceptibly, turned into the city again.