My hometown is like any other in that there are places within that not everybody knows about. Sure, locals are aware of the essential topography—to include primary roadways and the crucial cut-throughs that come in handy during the summer traffic season. But beyond the respective neighborhoods, once you turn right or left out of that area, one’s grasp for precise detail drops significantly. The developments surrounding John’s Pond are intimately understood by some…but the Mashpee River located less than two miles away presents an unknown—yet equally magical environment.
This is how I saw things as a kid when the world was pretty much contained within my town…and this is how I still see it now that I’m an adult with many more neighborhood road maps laid on top of my brain.
I grew up occupying a space in the southeast quadrant of John’s Pond. I say “quadrant” like it was some cardinally-oriented Midwest community—but it wasn’t like that at all. The quadrant was more squiggly-shaped at the edges, and all of the roads running inside were just as random. Whether we roamed on bikes or on foot, my friends and I would spend hours refining our expertise of each street for its quality in both velocity (for speeding down) and difficulty (could we get to the top without stopping to walk our bikes?). We’d spend equal time exploring the wooded areas and especially the frog pond where it was easy to sight painter and snapper turtles. It was a great way to grow up, and I’d like to think that my memory remains pretty sharp about that little piece of Mashpee.
“Remind me your address? My memory is not amazing!”
I texted this to a friend I grew up with— one that lived a few neighborhoods away. Outside of school, our lives did not intersect that much because our houses were not an acceptable bike ride away. But as an adult I can now recognize that she was not that far from John’s Pond. Using a vehicle and modern technology, I can now see that she lived only 9 minutes away from my Mashpee house.
Once I had her address in hand, I made it to her house with little trouble at all. Still, in following Google’s directions like a trained monkey, I recognized that I would not have reached her had I tried to rely upon my own memory. Even if I could visualize her road when she told me the address. My memory—whether it was as a kid or as an older person—simply didn’t hold that level of know-how for that part of town.
What is nice about growing older is learning that the town you grew up in is not as big as it once seemed. If you are keen to make the effort, then you realize that everything is accessible and there is so much more about the place than you ever could have imagined. Sure, the old neighborhood will always hold an unchallenged place in your heart, but at the same time, it’s like your older eyes give you a fresh chance to rediscover something you already thought familiar.
My friend grew up—and still lives—on the Mashpee River. What a lucky girl. When I got out of the car and looked at the familiar house, I marveled at where she lived. The river is right there and bends in a way that makes you feel as though you’re standing in a postcard. The woods around this place. It’s alive. I think about the time she and her family must have spent on the river. The adventures they must have had. The adventures that I know they still have. What a lucky family.
The reason that I find myself writing about my own neighborhood and hers (although I’d say she grew up surrounded by woodlands), is that I’ve been thinking about her father a lot lately. He passed away this month, and while the man was an irreplaceable figure in Mashpee’s history, his death has still managed to inspire so much joy even in a time of great sadness. I’m thinking a lot about his obituary—how it said so much but still didn’t nearly capture everything. But if you knew him, you already knew.
Amongst all of the accomplishments that were mentioned, there was this one paragraph that I thought stuck out the most. And I could hear his voice in the words:
To honor his legacy, go for a walk, ski, sail or any other outdoor activity to live life to the fullest. Eat the cookies and chips, enjoy your friends and family, make sure to tell your loved ones that you love them every day just as he did. Sing and whistle often. Don’t buy what you can find for free.
My friend’s family and ours were kind of the two large Irish-American families that were known in Mashpee (or at least the ones that. my tiny brain knew about). We were each also known for doing things a bit unconventionally…in a good way for sure when I think of their family…and hopefully in a good way as well when people think of my own. But irregahdless of our family’s details, I do know that growing up—and even now— we share a special connection. Mashpee kids who lived on two different ends of a Mashpee earth. Mashpee families that grew up with our fingers in that earth, building stuff and always on the lookout for the extraordinary in the ordinary. Even if it meant doing things that seemed really simple.
I know that this entry is a bit all over the place and is rather devoid of a unifying theme. In my head I have been trying to write it for a few days now, and each time I try to start I feel like it’s just too much of a mess. Maybe it is because I am back home. Maybe it’s because I have revisited my old neighborhood. I have visited an old friend and sat in the house where she grew up and was so kind as to invite me to her birthday parties. Maybe it’s because her family has lost a larger-than-life patriarch and I too am thinking about my own larger than life Dad who is fortunate enough to still be with us. And maybe after all, the minute details distinguishing each neighborhood don’t really count for much at all. Because at the end of the day, no matter how big or how small our family is, we’re all just tending our own gardens with as much love as we can take in and give away. I don’t know.
The one thing I do know is that I am grateful for my childhood friend, no matter how seldom I see her. If you are lucky, you get to count yourself a handful of people who knew you from the early days, and even as you move through the world, at times you will drop back in and find that the parallels from growing up in the same orbit really mean something. It means that you don’t need to explain so much, and that you share the same kind of wonder about the world and what it means to move through it all.
In accordance with the obituary, in the past few days I have made an effort to carry out her dad’s wishes. This weekend I went out to Surf Drive for a sunrise run—because I know that he logged at least 40 Falmouth Road Races and I loved seeing him when I got to run as well. I remember the guidance and I tell my family that I love them every moment I remember. I am reminding myself not to buy things that I can’t find for free because he is totally right. This guy taught me a lot about a joyful life while he was still with us, and I feel confident that this will continue in the years to come.
My neighborhood sure was great going up, but the larger community was even greater. Not only the unique pockets but also the people and the customs that helped make me who I am. It’s a bittersweet way to be reminded of all this—when you have to say goodbye to someone special. But even while he is gone, somehow I feel like we all still stick around in some small way. On the river, around the frog pond. Woven into our town’s way of doing things. Even as I type this, I continue to feel emotional about it. Because despite all of the joy, I know that Mashpee will never be the same without this once-in-a-lifetime kind of guy. What a lucky community.