Old Kids on the Block

Great Salt Pond

We finally made it to Block Island. The last time we were here was three years ago, one year into the pandemic, and things appear to be mostly unchanged since then. Oh there are small things that are different now; the ice cream place at the Maritime Institute is no longer (Damn!), and the cute little farm store called the Depot appears to be permanently closed. There are no more weekly “Bingo Nights” advertised on homemade signs at the volunteer fire department. But everything else seems like it’s just the same as we remembered it. The crowded anchorage, the tooting of horns at sunset, the beautiful crescent beach, and of course the tourists. And yet, it feels different to us. Not quite so charming. Not quite as much fun. Something rather basic has indeed changed and I’m pretty sure I know what it is.

It’s us.

We’ve gotten old.

Okay, that's not us... Yet.

Going to the beach used to be an every afternoon occurrence, one we both looked forward to. We would bring beach chairs and cold drinks, read, swim, and walk the entire beach together. Now… Rick’s knee bothers him when we do too much walking. And do we really need to drag those heavy chairs with us? I’m not even sure I want to get all sticky with sunscreen and salt water. Again. That necessitates a shower, particularly when you have long hair. Couldn’t we just stay on the boat today? Take an old lady nap and don’t bother with the shower?

Which is older, the slipper socks or the man wearing them?

To be fair, the weather has not been great since we’ve been here. A few nice days, yes, but more rainy ones, wet and soggy with somewhat low temperatures. Also, I ate something that didn’t agree with my tummy and I didn’t feel like doing much of anything for a few days. But even so…

Our friends Rick and Lynne arrived a few days after we did, and they got us out of our doldrums. They took us birding one early morning, and we shared dinners on both of our boats. Chef Rick (Lynne’s Rick) made us an unforgettable bouillabaisse using fresh clams and mussels he had harvested himself, all the more impressive because he made that heavenly concoction in his galley kitchen on their boat. They joined us on the beach a couple of times as well, bringing their little dogs Ginger and Louis. No time to feel old with these two around!

At the Bird Beach

But there are other signs that we are a bit behind the times. And I’m not just talking about the whiteness of Rick’s beard. Our dinghy, the Yalma Kan, is an old lady herself. Hard dinghies were already on their way out of fashion when we bought her seven years ago, but they weren’t an unheard of anomaly. Now, we are the only hard dink at most dinghy docks, the lone traditional boat among a sea of inflatables.  

From our anchorage in the Great Salt Pond, one can dinghy in to the beach, or going the other direction, you can land at Payne’s dock and be within walking distance of town. Either way, you need to dodge all the boats on anchor or on moorings. It’s a pretty crowded place, especially on weekends. As you pass by, the semi-expected protocol is to exchange silent hand waves with any inhabitants on these boats. One afternoon we are headed in for dinner at Deadeye Dick’s, and we pass a large sailboat on a mooring. A little boy, maybe eight years old, shouts out, “You have a COOL dinghy!!!” 

“Why thank you!” we reply, sharing a laugh or two with his parents. That kid has spent his entire life in the age of ugly gray inflatables, so I wonder if he’s ever even seen one like ours before. Our dinghy is obsolete, going the way of the Model T, black and white TVs, typewriters and pay phones. And we are going right along with it! But of course, it is very nice to be called “cool”.

🎵"One of These Things is Not Like the Others" 🎶

Lynne and Rick have sailed back home on their boat, leaving us to enjoy one last dinner at The Spring House. We may be old, but we still know how to have fun.