The Canal

From the Sandwich Jetty to the Sagamore Bridge, this piece of water occupied so much of my world growing up.

So many summers spent fishing, watching boats, and exploring the rocks along the jetty and rip-rap from that particular stretch of water... So many years that this was the dividing line between the constraints of childhood home and the greater world beyond. And, more than nineteen years later, it doesn't feel as large or mysterious as it all once did. 

This of all trips reminded me of that cliche that you can never truly go home again. Everything was smaller, quainter, even quieter and more laid back than I remembered. Yeah, it was the off-season and Tulip and I were spared the hordes of out-of-state plates choking the Mid-Cape Highway and Route 6A, acting like they owned the place and we were the seasonal help there only to fulfill their summer beach adventures.

And, don't get me going again on the politics of the area...

My parents are elderly (and all of us hate to admit it) and the lives of my siblings, nieces, nephew, and grand-niece are all rolling along back here without me. My brother's family is set to grow by one more next spring and I find an ache in my heart to think of another growing-up with the stories of crazy old uncle Pat lost up there in the wilds of Alaska; just another voice on the phone, late birthday card or quick text during any of the important games.

The distance seems as insurmountable as swimming those swift currents in the canal. My uncle had warned me about this so many years ago (he'd lived in Alaska since before statehood) and, in my immortal youth, had thought the price well worth it. For the first time in my life, I wonder if I now have a sort of buyer's remorse?

For the first time in so long, Tulip and I find we're not ready to head back to Juneau after a visit. For the first time in my life I find myself homesick.