Rocky Bound

One of the first places I ever felt at home in New England was Rocky Bound Pond.

In a tiny cabin with no running water, owned by P’s family, I smelled the dried pine needles, campfire and light lake-rot of summer for the first time on the east coast.

Without a car, I used to bus up with P to a park-and-ride where one of his cousins would come get us for a weekend, or if we were lucky, longer.

This weekend marks the third time I’ve been able to share 4th of July celebrations with his family, watch the antics of neighbors on the pond, and generally drink too much wine and then try to play board games (I vow that someday, SOMEDAY I will beat his aunts and mother at Scrabble).

Through their generosity P has also shared this place with our friends from Boston. Most pivotally our friends Kristin and DJ. On a hot August night in 2010, aided by PBR and a full moon, they started something.

I know with absolute certainty that we didn’t see recent events coming. Does anyone?

I guess if we all saw fatalistic markers ahead, we wouldn’t move to do anything at all.

Regardless, they kissed. They ran off. We laughed, we sang, we ate, we drank.

Although I was in New Orleans for that specific weekend, we shared many others together at the Pond – all times I knew were special, but now are even more so.

We wanted to do something to mark that weekend. For her, for us, for DJ, for the universe at large. So everyone could get at least a glimpse of an experience, of a community, of a feeling of freedom, that we were so lucky to share, and to embrace.

***

Dispatch this week to Kay!

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