Letter No. 36 [Newport in Autumn]
Dear Friend,
I’ve been thinking a lot about my business, and things I might change. I don’t want to be drastic, but I do know one thing—I want to start adding more personal stories to my blog. More creative writing. Here is something of the sort.
When my dad was in the Air Force, we lived in Newport for a year (2009-2020). I feel really old saying, “ten years later,” but here we are, ten years later, still drawn to Newport and the ocean around it.
The drive is almost three hours, but sometimes you just have to make it. When you get close enough to the islands, you start to feel like you’re entering a jungle. There are the smooth, dark new roads before you reach the first island, the ones you drive slower on because the cops always nab people there, and then—over the hill—and the ocean spreads out before you.
We pass over the first bridge onto Jamestown, our eyes drawn to the anchored sailboats that look miniature out on the water. In the summer, giant cruise ships sit in the harbor, but it’s Autumn now, and the skies are cleanly overcast, seagulls drifting over the bridge and water.
We go to our beaches. There’s First Beach; the tourist beach, lined with out-of-state vehicles and usually smelly with red tide; and Second Beach, where the locals go. The wild roses grow on the dunes around Second Beach and make the air a blend of salty, musty sweetness in the summer.
There are other favorite haunts—Brenton Point, where you can overturn the black rocks and reveal nests of crabs that scuttle away to new cover—the Cliff Walk, the Breakers, downtown Newport. It all feels like home. And of course, we usually have to stop by our old house. Has it changed? Can we get a glimpse of who’s living there now?
The town and beaches, usually bustling in the summer, are quiet now. That’s just the way I like it—when the wind is sweeping and powerful and the tourists are gone and the houses look cozy—when the beaches are yours. During the winter, giant shells wash up along first beach and litter the sand. There’s something wonderfully freeing about Newport in the off-season. It’s your town again.
The wind and sun leave us tired and happy at the end of the day, and we find ourselves at the Newport Creamery for Awful Awfuls, no matter how cold it is. “It’s tradition!” my sister would say. I accept it in this case.
The drive home is quiet—everyone is worn and peaceful, our fill of the ocean met for the time as we head back to resume our lives.
Tara
p.s. I took a mini photo-shoot of Grace during our trip, and collected the photos here if you want to look at them.