Whew! My life is slowly returning to normal – or at least normal for my new life. The new house is so much nicer than my old house that we are still trying to shake the feeling that we are just staying in this lovely colonial bed and breakfast and soon vacation will end. It’s hard to believe it’s real. Perhaps as I get through the mountain of change of addresses, it will seem more real. It’s funny to change the address because the only thing that changes is our address number – we still live on Great Rd, except now we live in Limerock.
Limerock has resisted the suburbanization with mixed success, but it retains some of the neat historical charactor. Across the street is a lovely creek that winds through a field of daylilies and underneath a stone fence. The fence continues up the hill and into dense woods. Right next door is an old barn that served as the stables for the Lincoln Fire Department at around the turn of the century. The nearest intersection contains a big concrete flower bed filled with sunflowers and a sign that says, “Please don’t pick the flowers.” No road goes strait and no intersection is at right angles.
The house was updated sometime in the 90s by the general contractor who owned it, and he must have been well-connected at the Department of Environmental Management, because the creek passes underneath the garage. He did a great job with all his improvements and the house is really well constructed with lots of neat features: a cedar closet, a master bath out of a design magazine, a hot tub, and (until we got there) a pool. We had the pool taken out and now there is a gaping hole that will soon become a garden with an outdoor chess set and herbs.
I’ve claimed a good portion of the backyard as the family soccer field and I’ve been successful so far enticing Sylvia away from PBS kids to play soccer with me. We bought a swing set this weekend and they’ll come install it in a few weeks. There is a fire pit and we’ve set up the plastic chairs around it and are planning our drum and guitar circle around the fire later this month. Let the Summer fun begin!
I’m writing what may be my last blog post from from this office. I am, in a way, graduating. Graduating from my starter house to my “all grown up” house. Maybe not immediately, but eventually. It should be fun. The house is true Cape, built between 1812 and 1820. It is in the rural part of Lincoln on a route where all the mailboxes are on one side of the street. Fortunately, the mailboxes on our side. A little bog is on the other side of the road and the stream runs underneath our garage, through the backyard, and down a steep hill into a grassy marsh. Beyond the marsh is a large farm with an equestrian school and an assortment of cows that I suspect are more for decoration than food. I’m really excited, but also nervous. All the anxiety of the closing on Monday has set me on edge. Hopefully everything will go alright, and my next blog post will contain a nice walk through of the new place.
I live in a pretty town called Lincoln near a state park that at some point was given by the Olney family to the State of Rhode Island. The park has a pond with a swimming beach, mountain bike trails, picnic areas, and an historic cemetary with Olney graves that date back before the revolutionary war.
I often make the excuse of going for a bike ride just so I can spend some quiet time in the Olney cemetary. I’m not morbid, but I love cemetaries. They’re peaceful, respectful, and so uniquely human – place to honor the memories of our loved ones. The time I spend in cemetaries gives me a chance to treasure my life, grieve for my losses, and ponder my own mortality - my own way of not going gently.
The gravestone in the picture dates 1871, but that’s not the oldest in the cemetary. I photographed another but it was too weathered to read in a photo. It says:
Sacred
To The Memory of Mr.
OBADIAH OLNEY
Who departed this life
March 12, 1798 aged
87 years, 3 months
28 days
Grandson of Thomas Olney
one of the fiſt founders
of the ſtate of Rhode Island
That funny “ſ”character is called the long S. Thomas Olney was one of the lucky compatriots of Roger Williams, “invited” by the Puritans to leave Massachusettes. I guess the Olney’s have been Baptists for a long, long time.
ps. a shout out to my cousin Kim! Thanks for the links! How’s the website going?