THE ESCAPE HATCH TO LYME LIGHT

JULY 25, 2020 – My mother traced her roots to England—“Olde” and “New.” Landing in 1621, her forebears were among the earliest colonizers of this land. They grew deep roots in the place where I now sit—Lyme, Connecticut.

My exact location is the front verandah of “The Escape Hatch,” later renamed “Lyme Light” by two of my nieces, who, along with many other members of the family, have close connections to the performance stage. The porch overlooks Upper Bay of Hamburg Cove, which flows into Lower Bay, which runs into the Connecticut River, which empties into Long Island Sound—eight miles south of the house, as the heron flies. You can sail a big-sea sloop from a mooring in this cozy cove in New England, all the way back to “Olde” England.

I have fond memories of this place and its environs. Every Friday evening during my youth-time summer visits East, my New Jersey-based uncle and grandparents would drive to “The Escape Hatch” to relax in scenic surroundings.  Since then, little has changed in this quiet corner of New England. It’s as much a painter’s canvas today as it was for many previous generations of artists.

For my mother, uncle and their cousins, who also summered here, this was their childhood playground. It was where Mother learned to love the water—swimming and boating. Her memories, though, were bittersweet. Her favorite cousin, the family’s leading light of that generation, taught her nautical skills and encouraged them. She spoke of him fondly. He died a war hero, and I think thereafter, her visits here were shadowed by his untimely death. The most beautiful scenery on earth couldn’t bring her cousin back.

Now—mother, uncle, grandparents, are long gone from this place. For years, Lyme Light has been the retreat of my oldest sister, who lives outside of Boston, a two-hour drive east-northeast. She loved “The Escape Hatch,” and she loves it as “Lyme Light.” But now as the sole caregiver for her spouse, the Dean of Reading (See 9/16/19; 3/18/20 posts), she has been unable to venture this way since the onset of the pandemic.

The immediate draw of this place is the infusion of renewed vitality by our younger son and his wife—escapees from Brooklyn, a two-hour drive west-southwest of here.

Eschewing Covid cans (airplanes), my wife and I drove 1,300 miles to get here. It was a joy to be reunited with son and daughter-in-law and a delight to see how much they have embraced the old house and grounds and how the place has reciprocated. We arrived days after the departure of my oldest niece and her family—visitors here every summer, despite the long journey here. Our hosts spoke endearingly of their rare time with Johnny and Annabelle—my niece’s kids.  “How many six-year-olds do you know,” our son asked, “who entertain, as if on stage, by speaking with an Italian accent?” And Annabelle played her violin on this verandah.

What better name for this place than “Lyme Light”? What better place than an . . . “Escape Hatch”?

(Remember to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.)

© 2020 by Eric Nilsson