The neon lights will turn off for the winter as Four Seas concludes its 75th year of serving some of the New England's finest ice cream.

Even though we are already waist-deep into September, summer only truly ends for me the day Four Seas closes its doors for the season. And today, my dear friends, is that sad day when they hold their annual closing sale where, in order to empty out their inventory, they sell pints and quarts at a 15% discount. The store will remain open until all their ice cream is sold out, which usually happens by 5 p.m. at the latest.

I arrived at Four Seas around 11 a.m. today to what I can only describe as a mad and desperate feeding frenzy. Four Seas had all of its staff on hand, so the service was as swift and cheerful as ever, but there was a true seriousness to be found in the faces of the customers. Stockpiling ice cream, it seems, is nothing to be taken lightly. Almost everyone left the store with large paper bags full of quarts of their favorites to get them through the long winter. I imagine that by the time of this posting, with just a couple hours left of the sale, Four Seas resembles something like End Times meets Lord of the Flies, so if you are brave and want to bid summer adieu properly, the time to get to Four Seas is now.

But, as the old saying goes, when Mother Nature closes a door, Tom Brady opens a window. Or something like that. So, as of today, ice cream is out, but football is in and so Cape residents will just simply swap one addiction for another. Go Pats!

Four Seas was packed. It was a slightly terrifying, sun-filled feeding frenzy.

Inaho is housed in a sweet little spot on 6A in Yarmouth Port

It is a sad truth that a girl cannot live on fried seafood and ice cream alone. God knows that during Cape Cod summers I sure have tried. And yes, with my high level consumption of both clam chowder and Black Raspberry ice cream, I’m definitely getting enough calcium, but occasionally I crave something that won’t make it impossible to fit into my jeans. And when this time comes, my first destination is the wonderful and elegant Japanese restaurant Inaho – located on Route 6A in Yarmouth Port.

The perfect way to begin a meal - a martini and miso soup.

For dinner, I had what I almost always have: a martini, miso soup, and a dragon roll. This is a perfect way to enjoy Inaho without emptying out your wallet as this meal comes to a little over $30 per person. But I can also recommend the light-as-air tempura, the eggplant miso (which is a half of an eggplant broiled in a miso sauce), (multiple) double dragon rolls (which are maki rolls with both salmon and tuna and topped with fish roe) and always, always, check out the specials they have written on the chalk boards over the sushi counter. The night I went they had a toro dragon roll that I would like to eat for breakfast, lunch, and, dinner until, like Jeremy Piven, I too am felled by Mercury poisoning.

This picture is making my mouth water! The toro dragon roll is a visual delight and an utter gastronomic sensation. Most of the pieces of sushi are topped with a different type of fish roe and are slightly drizzled in a light mayonnaise-like sauce.

And I wish I could safely say that Inaho is a good choice for those out there who don’t like sushi, but I can’t. Whenever I’m there, I’m there to eat sushi, so I haven’t checked out the cooked options. I would assume that whatever the kitchen turns out is of good quality and high on the yumminess scale, but you know what they say about assumptions.

It is always fun to sit at the sushi bar. Not only to check out the sushi chef at work, but to also get an opportunity to see what delicious dishes the other patrons are ordering. "I'll have what she's having," is not just a line from When Harry Meet Sally, but a smart way to find a restaurant's best dishes.

This time of year, Inaho is packed, yet I managed to get a seat at the sushi bar without a reservation, but I would strongly recommend anyone with a large party or anyone planning on journeying to Inaho on a weekend night to call ahead.

And one of the sad truths about sushi is that enough is never enough. So, though I was sated with my one lonesome toro dragon roll, I think I could have had at least one more. As I exited the restaurant, I saw three glorious dishes innocently sitting at the sushi bar, waiting for the waitress to deliver them to their lucky recipients. It did cross my mind to grab the plates and make a mad dash to the door, but I managed to restrain myself. I do, for better or worse, live in a civilized society in which such behavior is not looked upon favorably. Too bad.

Oh, baby, I like it raw. These exquisite dishes sitting on the sushi counter made me want to get grabby and renegade. The picture is even slightly blurry, which perfectly captures my devious and unstable thoughts.

If the 80s are back in fashion, then the Ice Cream Cafe's sign is really in vogue

As I sat on the porch at Ice Cream Cafe in Orleans, greedily demolishing my cone of Peppermint Stick, I wondered to myself if I had been too quick to declare, as I had done on this blog two months earlier, that Four Seas serves the best ice cream on Cape Cod.

When I visited the Ice Cream Cafe, I did so with a bit of childish skepticism. I knew my favorite ice cream place, and this wasn’t it, so why was I here? And when I saw the woman in front of me in line receive her ice cream in a chocolate dipped waffle cone with a topping of gummy bears (making her cone look more like a Pop-Art installation than a delicious dessert) I questioned the sanity of both the scooper and the customer. Gummy bears on ice cream? Is nothing sacred? But it was my turn to order, so I stuck with a standard that I’ve been ordering at Four Seas since the age of three – Peppermint Stick in a sugar cone, and, for the love of all that is holy, please hold the gummy bears.

I was delighted and surprised to find out that the Ice Cream Cafe’s Peppermint Stick was superb. Creamy, cool, sweet, and delicious. I was with some of my family, so I was happy that, if I asked nicely, I’d be able to take some bites of their choices too. So, besides my own cone, I tasted the Ginger, Black Raspberry, Pumpkin Pie, and Rum Raisin. They were all phenomenal. The Ginger was a true stand-out, which I highly recommend.

The inside of the shop is a small and sweet. There are a couple of tables inside and many more seats on their large wrap-around porch.

So, alas, the homemade ice cream at Ice Cream Cafe is incredible, but is it better than Four Seas? I really can’t say. When I think about Four Seas, my childhood nostalgia makes any attempt at objectivity impossible. So, instead of picking one over the other, I would recommend people to try both. I mean, this world is big and vast with many variations of excellence there for us to enjoy, right? So, what’s the harm in sampling a few different and delicious ice cream joints throughout the Cape? Why must there be only one #1? But, don’t ask me, I’ve never been that good at math.

The Hot Lips Hilda Birdfeeder, which hangs on a tree by the cafe's porch, is just one of the few small comic touches around Ice Cream Cafe. My personal favorite was the sign on the quick-to-close screen door that reads "Attack Door"

T-Shirts, Ice Cream, and Candy! Oh, My! And look at these lovely homemade signs!

When Claudia was asked what flavor she wanted, she said, "Purple."

So, after filling up with cream and sugar at the Ice Cream Cafe, we drove down the always beautiful 6A to mosey our way home. And there in Brewster was the most beautiful roadside stand that I have ever seen. We quickly pulled the car over to check out this perfect stand.

Farm Stand of Dreams.

Exquisite hydrangeas, delicious tomatoes, wild flowers, and other garden delights were all arranged at the farm stand with an artist’s eye for color, symmetry, and beauty.

We bought one of those blue-green hydrangea bouquets and a paper bag full of incredible bite-sized yellow tomatoes. We then drove home so happy to be full of surprisingly excellent ice cream, surrounded by the historic perfection of 6A, and lucky enough to stumble upon the farm stand of picture book perfection. Ah, just another day on Cape Cod.

Ice Cream Cafe is located at 5 South Orelans Road in Orleans, almost exactly where 6A and Route 28 meet. The farm stand is on 6A in Brewster, diagonally across the street from the arts and crafts shop The Spectrum.

The beautiful green-hued light that comes from the boggy bits of Punkhorn Parklands drew me in like a siren's song.

You know those visualization exercises where you’re supposed to conjure up a safe and happy place? Well, mine goes something like this: I’m walking through some obscure patch of woods on Cape Cod. No one is around. It’s quiet. It’s beautiful. I’m filled with peace. Then I see a small, unmarked trail and, after deciding to follow it, I stumble upon a perfect, people-free, undiscovered pond where I have a leisurely swim in waters as sweet as honeysuckle and as gentle and inviting as an old cotton t-shirt. So, that’s the pinnacle. That’s what I’m searching for when I incompetently bumble around these conservation lands, and national parks, and random patches of shaggy scrub pines. But, that happy place is pure fiction. What I tend to experience instead is a bit dirtier, more comical, and a lot less placid. It always involves mosquitoes, getting lost, getting found, and getting lost again, yet, sometimes, just sometimes, I get a brief encounter with the happy place I’ve settled on in my mind. And so it was yesterday, as I battled my way through the endless maze of trails in Punkhorn Parklands in Brewster. With my sneakers blackened by bog gunk, my dog about to collapse from dehydration (and resentment) and only the GPS on my iPhone to guide me, I found my way to that perfect pond, took a serene swim, and snatched a moment from time where my real matched my ideal.

I kept on mistaking the bogs for the ponds (d'uh), and often ended up in these mucky, but beautiful swampy areas.

I decided to explore Punkhorn Parklands when I read about it in the wonderful book “Walking the Cape and Islands” by David Weintraub. The book details 72 different walks and gives very specific instructions on where to go and what you’ll see when you get there. I chose the Punkhorn walk because a. I had never been there before; b. at 5.6 miles long, it seemed to be a bit more challenging than the walks I’d been taking recently; and, c. most importantly, Weintraub wrote that the walk “visits a variety of habitats, including the area’s two largest kettle ponds, a freshwater marsh, and a serene forest.” Ok, great, I thought. This sounds perfect. So, I set off.

To get to the Punkhorn Parklands, you take Stony Brook Road off of 6A in Brewster to Run Hill Road, where, about a mile in, there’s small parking lot for those visiting the Parklands. I had my dog, my book detailing the path I planned on taking, my iPhone, some water, and, in hopes that I would find one of these kettle ponds, a towel. Of course, yet again, I forgot to buy and bring bug spray, which is moronic given that I was planning on spending three hours in a boggy forest in August. But, alas, my ill-planning is epic and, once I realized my grave error, I was more than willing to risk a little West Nile exposure for a nice walk in the woods.

It is a frequent experience while I made my way through the woods, to come upon arrows of the exact same color pointing in opposite directions. And, if you notice, an orange arrow is on the opposite side of the tree pointing in yet another direction. How is this helpful?

Though the “Walking the Cape” book has minutely detailed, specific, and clear directions for the walk, I managed to get lost in a little under a minute. Punkhorn has many trails – both marked and unmarked – and I after giving up on following the trail recommended in my book, I decided to wander around on my own in hopes that I’d make it to those kettle ponds…eventually.

It took my dog, with her thick black coat of fur and a halo of mosquitoes constantly hovering around her, about twenty minutes into the walk to become really overheated and annoyed. A dog can smell fear, it is true, but they have an even keener ability to sniff out incompetence. And as I walked around, backtracking, questioning one choice and then making another, continually going off the marked trails, and putting us both up to our ankles in black muck, my dog’s faith in me waned. And because a dog’s faith is ever-bountiful, to see it actually run out is quite a disturbing experience. So, being totally lost, and having my only companion turn on me, I excitedly remembered that my iPhone has GPS. And, so, forgetting about the book and the Alice-in-Wonderland usefulness of the trail markers, I used the GPS to guide my dog and myself down a series of car-accessible dirt roads, and then to a little unmarked path and finally to Walker Pond – a totally deserted, undeveloped, gorgeous kettle pond. That it was mostly deserted because it was previously closed earlier in the summer due to a toxic algae problem was not something I knew at the time. But given how damn hot my dog and I were, and how long it took us to get there, I doubt poisonous algae would have kept me from that swim anyway.

Walker Pond in all its loveliness.

So, we cooled off with a long, leisurely swim in Walker Pond. The only sign of life besides us was an osprey who flew onto a branch to check us both out before going off to find his breakfast in one of the ponds. We then, thanks again to my GPS, took a brief walk over to the adjacent Upper Millpond, which was also lovely though not quite as remote feeling (maybe because it lacked toxic algae).

This small entrance to Walker Pond is off of Archie's Cartway, a small dirt road in the Punkhorn Parklands. You can walk, bike, or drive to get there.

After my swim, I headed back to my car. I avoided getting lost once again in the many trails by sticking to the wide, dirt, car-friendly roads that can be found throughout Punkhorn Parklands.

Both Walker Pond and Upper Millpond can be reached, in a much less circuitous fashion, by car. There is a large landing for Walker Pond off of Slough Road. And Upper Millpond can be accessed from Run Hill Road. But, really, it was fun to get lost, to get mucky, and to have the (completely wrong-headed) feeling that I had discovered these perfect swimming spots for myself (with more than a little help from GPS).

Punkhorn Parklands was mostly empty – I ran into one guy on a mountain bike (which looked like fun) and five young women riding around the trails on horses (which seemed like even more fun). The Parklands are full of pitch pine, black oak, black cherry, and red maple trees – to name a few. I saw a million robins, a couple cardinals, one osprey, and one downy woodpecker.

You can get a thorough amount of information on trails here.

Now that I have the first visit under my belt, and a much better understanding of how to negotiate this vast and beautiful bit of land, I’ll be sure to visit frequently and (here’s hoping!) much more gracefully  - but I’ll always be sure to have my iPhone in my pocket, just in case I find myself lost yet again.

Cars beware! On Commercial Street pedestrians and bikers rule. So, to all those drivers out there, roll your windows down, go 3 miles per hour, and, for goodness sake, park your car as soon as possible, and get out into the action.

In “Land’s End,” novelist Michael Cunningham’s must-read book about Provincetown, he writes,

Provincetown is, has always been, an eccentrics’ sanctuary…It is the only small town I know of where those who live unconventionally seem to outnumber those who live within the prescribed boundaries of home and licensed marriage, respectable job and biological children…Among strollers and shoppers [on Commercial Street] on a summer afternoon, it is not unusual to see, within a fifty-foot radius, all of the following: a crowd of elderly tourists who have come for the day on a tour bus or have disembarked from a cruise ship anchored in the harbor; a pack of muscle boys on their way to the gym; a vacationing mother and father shepherding their exhausted and fussy children through the shops; a pair of lesbians with a dachshund in a rainbow collar; two gay dads in chinos and Izod shirts pushing their adopted daughter in a stroller; a dread-locked and ostentatiously tattooed young woman who works at the head shop; a man dressed, very convincingly, as Celine Dion; elderly women doing errands; several closeted schoolteachers from various parts of the country who come to Provincetown for two weeks every year to escape the need for secrecy; several weary fisherman coming home from their stints on a scallop boat; a bond trader with three-hundred-dollar sandals up for the weekend from New York; and a brigade of furious local kids on skateboards, seeing how close they can come to the pedestrians without actually knocking one over, a stunt that is usually but not always successful.

Throughout “Land’s End,” Cunningham perfectly and lovingly captures Provincetown in all of its strange and glorious beauty. And I couldn’t help but think of the above description chronicling the rich and vibrant street life found on the town’s main drag as I walked along Commercial Street for an afternoon of window shopping and practicing the underrated art of loafing around.

Now, first let me discuss the limited scope of this blog post. The rich gallery scene, the vast cultural offerings, and the incredible night life will be not be included here. Each deserves its own space – and I will be sure to get to them soon. So, let this blog post act as just a dip of the toe into the ocean of things that can be said about Commercial Street.

Norman Mailer wrote of Provincetown, “There could be no other town like it. If you were sensitive to crowds, you might expire in summer from human propinquity. On the other hand, if you were unable to endure loneliness, the vessel of your person could fill with dread during the long winter.” Besides making me look up the definition of propinquity, I love Mailer’s quote from “Tough Guys Don’t Dance” because it speaks to the mercurial nature of Provincetown – the quickness with which is can move between two extremes.

A shot of Commercial Street in the 1890s.

Though Provincetown was officially settled by the English in the early 1700s (the town was then known as Province Lands) and was settled by the Nauset tribe long before that (the town was then known as Meeshawn), there were no proper roads until 1835. Before that, most people used the waterways of the surrounding Bays to get around. According to the Provincetown Museum’s website the building of Commercial Street was a controversial one:

Many residents protested the building of a road, saying it was a senseless extravagance. Nancy Paine Smith in The Provincetown Book tells the story of one man, a doctor, recently moved to town, who felt differently and proposed a street or boulevard sixty-four feet wide. He was soon voted down for proposing such foolishness. The doctor offered a compromise of thirty-two feet, but this proposal too was voted down as just more foolishness from a foreigner. Twenty-two feet was finally chosen as a size that was wide enough for all general purposes, and twenty-two feet is the width of Commercial Street today. Once the street was laid out, extravagant citizens began to talk about the need for a sidewalk. It is said that the debate [about building a sidewalk] lasted for a week. Finally, after a very close vote, the sidewalk was built. Some people were so incensed they refused to walk on the sidewalks. It is ironic that many people today still refuse to walk on the sidewalk.

And the history of senseless extravagance can still be found among the shops along today’s Commercial Street. From feathered boas, to incredible paintings; from obscure Italian kitchen products to antique Chinese pickling jars; from assless leather chaps to used art books – the goods on sale in the shops on Provincetown’s main street tend to be of the non-essential variety (most of the hardware stores and grocery stores are found off Commercial Street). But this is what makes window shopping (or actual shopping if you are one of those rare creatures with some disposable income these days) so much damn fun.

WA

One of my favorite shops is Wa, located at 220 Commercial Street. Opened by Tom Rogers in 1996, Wa is a beautifully curated refuge filled with chinoiserie and other wonderful items from all over Asia.

Another shot of WA

Though most of the best stuff is way beyond my budget, I always stop in the store to check out their old, wooden Buddhas, their red-lacquered furniture, and their many other treasures. When I do buy anything there, it tends to be gorgeous little bowls (around $15 to $20 each) that make perfect homes for all the stones I’ve picked up on the beach.

Southstream Design

Another shop filled with a wonderful selection of hand-picked curios is Southstream Design (located at 200 Commercial Street) – run by Christian Sonderstrom, an interior designer with a strong eye for the beauty of found artifacts. It is a small place, but chock full of items for the home and garden. He also carries really expensive, really beautiful hand-woven scarves.

Cabot's Candy makes salt water taffy on site.

After stopping into store after store full of desirable items that I can’t afford, I stop by Cabot’s Candy (276 Commercial Street) where a couple dollars will get me candy fix strong enough to knock away my recession blues. Cabot’s Candy has been around since the 1920s and, as a child, it was my first stop whenever I found myself in Provincetown. They have an incredible variety of salt water taffy, fudge, and penny candy.

In the back of Cabot's Candy is a really honky-tonk store that sells all kinds of shells and the typical, rather crappy, stuff you find in many sea-side tourist stores.

And should you be visiting Cape Cod and find yourself in need of cheap souvenirs to bring the folks back home, a box of salt water taffy and a couple of starfish and shells could be just what your wallet is craving. Original? No. But is it a solution to an annoying obligation? Yes.

Shop Therapy: A Provincetown institution and a self-proclaimed "alternative lifestyle emporium."

Another of my childhood haunts was Shop Therapy (346 Commercial Street). Covered in psychedelic murals and stubbornly keeping the hippy aesthetic alive, Shop Therapy is the place for cheap sunglasses, cheap incense, cheap clothing, and, all other things necessary to making you look like you’ve just come from a week at Burning Man. When I was a kid, Shop Therapy prominently displayed a vast, colorful, and creative variety of bongs and other marijuana-related accessories, but now all that is offered is a small selection of what the guy in the store called “tobacco pipes.” It is hard to process that the Just-Say-No era of my childhood was more lenient about this stuff than they are today, but Shop Therapy has tangoed for decades with the federal drug paraphernalia laws and, you know how it goes – they fought the law and the law won.

So, with its bong business gone, Shop Therapy must survive on vulgar bumper stickers and Guatemalan sweaters. And, let me tell you, I think they’re doing fine. It was, by far, the busiest shop I visited that day – filled with swarms of out-of-town teenagers drawn to the counter-cultural, gently subversive products they’ve been selling for decades.

A selection of the bumper stickers sold at Shop Therapy. Thank God 12 year old boys don't own cars, otherwise, these would sell by the truck load.

Another gem on Commercial Street is Tim's Used Books. Full of hard to find, well-priced books.

Of course, any trip down Commercial Street is full of unique sights. Here are some more pictures from my day of browsing.

Karaoke Taxi. May I just say, "Oh, Yes!" to this brilliant idea?

Funny Balloon Hats and Face Painting are some of the best ways to keep the kiddies happy on Commercial Street.

There's always a musician or two or twelve busking in Portuguese Square.

I love how weathered some parts of Commercial Streets become.

And, be sure to take a break from the crush of Commercial Street and walk along the beach that runs parallel to it. Here's a picture of the beautifully weathered pier below Fanizzi's.

And here is one of the two martinis I had at Fanizzi's - an east end joint with spectacular views that is my favorite place to grab a drink after strolling the entirety of Commercial Street.

As I made my way back through the crowds on Commercial Street, with two martinis bolstering my ‘everything-is-beautiful’ state of mind, I overheard a gravely voiced man say, “Here it is, such a beautiful day and everyone’s wasting it walking up and down Commercial Street.” And, I guess he had a point. Perhaps we all could have done something different, better, more enriching with our day. But isn’t that act of being wasteful, in itself, part of the joy of frittering away the afternoon in mindless, ebullient communion with a crowd so diverse you’d think New York’s East Village had transplanted itself to a small sliver of asphalt pressed up against Cape Cod Bay?

Fredrick Law Olmstead said, “The enjoyment of scenery employs the mind without fatigue and yet exercises it, tranquilizes it and yet enlivens it; and thus, through the influence of the mind over the body, gives the effect of refreshing rest and reinvigoration of the whole system.” And, sure, he might have been thinking about walking in the woods and not about window-shopping amongst seven foot tall drag queens, but, still, what he says applies to the crush of Commercial Street as well. It is a place to be with people, to check out the scene, to relax, and to reenergize. And, plus, isn’t it nice to be on a street where the people rule over the cars, where the outsiders are the insiders, and everyone feels welcome?

And where even the traffic cop, with his graceful twirls and artful movements, transforms the quotidian into the transcendent?

This Provincetown traffic cop is a movement artist - full of twirls, swirls, and incredible catalogue of hand gestures. The man is poetry in motion. I wish I had a video camera.

Marconi Beach

The Cape Cod National Seashore waved their usual $15 beach entrance fees last weekend and the timing couldn’t have been better. After a rather chilly and wet summer, the weather has turned hot, hot, hot and I decided that there was no better way to cool off than to spend the day submerged in the bracing waters of the National Seashore. But settling on just one beach on such a perfect beach day simply wouldn’t do. So, yesterday I went to three out of the five beaches of the National Seashore (Race Point, Herring Cove, and Marconi) in order to conduct my own informal, unscientific survey of these incredible treasures.

The views from Marconi Station are breathtaking

It was 48 years ago (plus a week) that President John F. Kennedy signed a bill, on August 7, 1961, authorizing the establishment of the Cape Cod National Seashore Park. When he signed the bill, Kennedy said, “This act makes it possible for the people of the United States through their Government to acquire and preserve the natural and historic values of a portion of Cape Cod for the inspiration and enjoyment of people all over the United States.” And in our present age, when the people of the United States are busy unwittingly acquiring and preserving less inspiring entities such as AIG and Citigroup, it is nice to visit a more tangible and enjoyable example of our tax dollars at work.

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Race Point

Race Point

If the Cape Cod pennisula can be understood as one that shares the exact shape of a curled arm positioned to show off its bicep, then Race Point Beach is located at the top knucle of that arm’s closed hand. Or, to put it in less obtuse terms, Race Point is on the northernmost point on the Cape – about a couple mile north on Race Point Road or Province Lands Road from Route 6. And let me pause here to praise these two roads. They are newly paved, surrounded by sandy dunes, beech trees, and pale blonde dune grass. They are really fun to drive, but avoid the (strong) temptation to go too fast because there are many cyclists relying on your good judgement not to run them over.

I arrived at Race Point Beach around noon and was happy to find plenty of parking still available in their large (though sometimes totally full) parking lot. To get to the beach, you have to take a small walk down the marked paths that have been cleared through the grass-covered dunes. There is no handicap access to this beach, but for those able to make the walk, the rewards are endless ocean views, a long, wide, largely stone-free beach, clear waters, and the occasional spotting of whales and seals. The beach was the least busy of the three I visited on that day. And as I put down my beach blanket, I saw two large seals swimming about 20 feet out along the shoreline and one swimmer frantically trying to steer clear of them. Not one for sitting on the sand, I jumped into the water right away. At around 66 – 68 degrees, the water is definitely cold at first, but it doesn’t take long to acclimate (or maybe the proper word for it is numb) to the temperature. After a few feet out, the bottom drops away and the water became very deep and extremely clear – allowing you to see to the bottom. I love this, but if I were a parent, it would make me incredibly nervous. So, for all those with little ones, be mindful that Race Point’s waters are not the friendliest for the less experienced swimmers.

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Herring Cove

My apologies for what I think may be the ugliest picture ever taken of Herring Cove. Though aesthetically disheartening, this picture does show that the beach is much more narrow and rockier than Race Point.

With my bathing suit still damp, I headed off to Herring Cove, which is just a short drive/bike southwest from Race Point. If I may beg you to continue thinking of Cape Cod as an arm, then Herring Cove is located along the fingers of the fist. Now, there is only one Herring Cove beach, but there are numerous small socially distinct ecosystems that operate along these sandy shores. At its southernmost point, Herring Cove is mostly occupied by gay men who park their bikes along Province Lands Road at a spot by an entrance to the beach. But if you walk north along the beach, the scene changes from gay men, to a mix of men and women, to a predominately lesbian scene. Then if you keep walking north, you pass a concrete monolith that has a couple of picnic tables and restrooms, and from that point to the end of the beach, there are (mostly) straight families and older couples.

Someone had flyered the bikes by Herring Cove with postcards advertising the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defemation fourth annual fashion show and live auction and Hedda Lettuce's show "Eat Me"

Herring Cove is much rockier, making a walk from your towel to the water a really tactile (slightly ouchy) experience. Though the upside of all those rocks is that many hours of cheap fun can be found searching for some of the most beautiful stones around. The waters tend to be less aggressive here and have a more subtly graded floor, which makes it a nice place for kids that wish to not be rocked by the monster undertow that is stronger at other National Seashore beaches. And for those with cars and a more limited ability to walk long distances, Herring Cove is a good choice. A single row parking lot abuts a large amount of the beach, allowing you to park, walk a couple of feet, and be at the beach.

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Marconi Beach

At low tide, I could walk far out from the shore and still be at my waist.

Next up, I drove down from Provincetown to Wellfleet to check out the Marconi Beach. When I think of the National Seashore, I think of Marconi. It is where I used to come as a kid and I have decades worth of memories that are connected to this place. If I were forced to conjure up just one image of what would be my own personal quintessential Cape Cod picture, it would be the wooden boardwalk and steps that connect the parking lot to Marconi Beach. With the ocean on the horizon, the weathered, rickety fence, the dunes, the sand-covered walkway, and the smell of the sea mixing with bayberry, sweet fern and beach plum bushes, this brief stroll down to the beach holds for me all the things I love best about this land of ours.

The trek from the parking lot to the beach involves a bit of a walk and a steep staircase. Looks easy, but try it carrying a toddler, a cooler, and a beach umbrella.

Marconi was packed. So packed, in fact, that there was a very frightening “Lot Full” sign as I approached the parking lot. I saw the sign, and was crushed. So, instead of going to the beach, I drove to the historical Marconi Station Site, the place where the Italian inventor (and fascist apologist) Guglielmo Marconi sent the first transatlantic wireless signal from U.S to England. There is a wooden platform at the Station Site where you get unbeatable views of the Outer Cape, so unbeatable, actually, that, as I gazed at the turquoise waters and white sands way down below, I made up my mind get to the beach. A full lot would not stop me!

Lucky for me, the lot was very crowded, but nowhere near full, so it was easy to find a parking spot. By the time I got to the beach, it was low tide, and the surf was gentle. I have had so many encounters with the undertow at Marconi – an invisible force strong enough to steal my breath, knock me to and fro, and stuff an unthinkable amount of sand in my bathing suit – so I was very pleased to find the water to be as docile as a kitten. There were numerous surfers, though, that did not share my joy at the lack of rough waters. But they remained out there, along with many people on body boards, riding waves as small as the ones you making when exiting a bath.

In my mind, Marconi Beach is the most beautiful of the three, but it is by far the most popular. The sand is much finer than at Race Point and Herring Cove. The water is slightly colder (and the waves are usually much bigger). And though it can be crowded, the size of the beach is generous and its length is substantial, so if you are feeling in the mood for some isolation, a 15 minute walk will put you in fairly unoccupied territory.

So, all in all, each beach has its own unique charms and it is impossible to choose among them. Some are better for cruising, some for surfing, some for rock collecting, some children, but all are sure to please.

Click here for a detailed map of Cape Cod’s National Seashore.

A $15 beach entrance fee gives you all day access to all five beaches at the National Seashore.

All the National Seashore beaches have bathrooms and showers. But none have any food or drink of any kind, so come with lunch and snacks and drinks.

For two short, perfect summer days, from August 14 to Saturday, August 15th, over a hundred sweet white tents full of arts and crafts will occupy the gently sloping park that surrounds the Cotuit Federated Church and the town library. It is the 39th Annual CraftFest in Cotuit – a compelling combination of local food, local crafts, and local performances.

There will be several different musicians performing at CraftFest.

Upon arriving at the Arts and Crafts festival in Cotuit, I heard a couple of musicians beautifully performing the gospel classic “I’ll Fly Away” on the church steps. I set out to check out what was on display and found that down-home craftiness was the general flavor – there were many differnt variations upon the homemade handbag, belt, pillow, and headband.

Flying Pig Pottery has a booth at the CraftFest. Huzzah!

My newly beloved Flying Pig pottery has a stand at the CraftFest, so be sure to stop by there to check out the most charming pottery around. And, I was completely obsessed with Michael McCarthy’s hand-carved Waterbirds and Shorebirds. They are artful, elegant, while being thoroughly grounded in the folk art tradition. I loved them. I’ve been lucky enough to have a Green Heron hanging out on a dock by my house, and McCarthy has a brilliantly carved version of the heron that perfectly evoked his silly silhouette and his no-nonsense demeanor.

Michael McCarthy's Green Heron

Because I can't resist...More pictures of these great birds. Also, Michael McCarthy was at his booth, whittling away at a new creation.

Similar to the joy of talking to a farmer at a farmer’s market, the joy (and the sorrow) of attending a crafts festival is that the booths are occupied by the artisans behind the goods on display. I love the opportunity to talk to the people who devote themselves to their craft. But, the downside of such an intimate setting is seeing the person sitting at a lonesome booth. You can usually sense the disheartening resignation of the unsuccessful fair exhibitor hanging thickly around his or her shoulders. Here they are, their stuff all spread out in front of them, representing months of their time and lots of their love, with nary a customer in sight, as they are forced to watch other booths full of business. Oh, it pains me so!

Towns all over the Cape have very similar craft days and craft weekends during the summer months and they all kind of blend together in my mind – a girl can only look at so many purses made out of jeans before she (willingly) forgets the details of when and where. But, in my opinion, the best part of going to these Craft Festivals is not seeing the (sometimes extraordinary, and sometimes underwhelming) crafts, but getting the opportunity to check out the town. To see its church, its library, its park, its people, its food, its beach. This is the best part. And a craft festival provides a wonderful incentive to go to some town or some part of the Cape you’ve been meaning to check out. So, if you have the time, after you have feasted on lobster and purchased as many handicrafts as you can, head south and take a stroll down Ocean View Avenue to see some of the most classic, divine homes and ocean views around. Have a beer at the Kettle Ho. Take a swim at Loop Beach. Get local and have fun.

The CraftFest also has some delicious offerings to sate even the most voracious shopper. Polar Caves has a tent in which they sell a small selection of their ice cream. And there is a food section of the festival which offers lobster rolls, clam chowder, hot dogs, and burgers.

The CraftFest can be found at the corner of Main Street and School Street in Cotuit. It runs from Friday 10-5 and Saturday 10-3. Parking by the craft festival is a bit hard to find, but, if you don’t mind a bit of a walk around lovely Cotuit, street parking is ample.

My dog, following her bliss, at the dog-friendly Kent's Point Conservation Area. This clearing is the former location of the house of Charlotte Kent, who was the original owner of the property. She sold the land to the town of Orleans in 1988.

Most beaches become dog-free zones in the summer months, making Cape Cod dogs some of the few creatures living amongst us that cannot wait for October to roll around so that they may, once again, experience the simple pleasures of fetching a stick in the ocean without restriction or impunity. Because our usual walking spots are now the breeding grounds for piping plovers and (extremely noisy) least terns, as well as the playground of families from all over the country, my dog and I have taken to the woods, but, alas, the mosquitoes and ticks have simultaneously taken to feasting on our flesh. And there’s nothing like a pesky mosquito fanatically buzzing around your head to make you ache for the strong ocean breeze that is, as of now, strictly off-limits to my dog and me. But, while I was canoeing around Pleasant Bay in Orleans a couple weeks ago, I spotted something that excited me more than any of the other wonders I encountered that day; I saw four dogs (with three humans in tow), off leash, swimming in the ocean and running on the beach. Any dog owner will understand that a sight such as this is something worth investigating. I quickly found out that this puppy Valhalla is Kent’s Point, a 24 acre conservation land in Orleans, and, after my faithful companion and I visited, I am happy to declare it the best place for dogs on Cape Cod.

Kent’s Point begins at the end of a little, unpaved road named Frost Fish Lane, which can be found off of Monument Road in Orleans. It has a good sized parking lot, a sweet trail map, and a handy bag dispenser for picking up after your dog. Surrounded by Frost Fish Cove, The River, and Little Pleasant Bay, Kent’s Point is bordered on three sides by beautiful views and access to two (somewhat mucky, hence dog-friendly) beaches, making it a safe, car-free place to let your pup run around off-leash. Now it is clear from the sign above that off-leash dogs are prohibited, but from a strictly empirical standpoint, all the dogs I encountered along my walk were happily untethered, so I let my dog run free, but I caution anyone following my renegade behavior.

There are four official trails at Kent's Point - the river trail, the point trail, the beach trail, and the cove trail. All are mostly unmarked on the property and no trail is a loop, but it is easy enough to find your way around.

The trails vary from wide dirt roads, to smaller pine-needle covered trails. There are plenty of benches that have spectacular views and there are numerous ways to get down to the cordgrass covered beaches. The conservation area is well-maintained and easy to walk. Though I saw very few people, I did run into several very nice dog owners who seconded my opinion that this was a great place to bring your dogs. My dog got to run around with new friends, take several dips, sniff to her heart’s content, and have a truly excellent time.

The one mystery of the walk was my discovery of a small seaweed covered fort built close to the tip of Kent’s Point. It was a ramshackle structure made out of tree branches fastened together with rope and draped in dried seaweed. If the Blair Witch had an evil sorceress sister on Cape Cod, this would surely be where she slept and cast her menacing spells.

The Blair Sea Witch Hut

I have no idea who made this slightly terrifying little fort, but who ever did left behind a sign.

The mystery deepens. Is this fort building a yearly occurrence?

So, now afraid of sea witches, and after another dip in the water, we headed back to the car. I have rarely seen my dog fall in love with a place so quickly. When my dog dreams, I know she will be dreaming of Kent’s Point. Oh, and I had a good time too.

Kent's Point is surrounded by gorgeous views. This is the cordgrass-covered beach on The River, a waterway that connects to Little Pleasant Bay

Click here for an excerpt from the invaluable book Walking the Cape and Islands, which has a more thorough set of driving directions and walking instructions for Kent’s Point.

My dog indulges in her third hard-earned swim at the end of our walk.

The large number of unripened blueberries at the Taylor-Bray Farm's blueberry patch means that they'll be be berries to pick for the next couple of weeks - at least!

We are thick into blueberry-picking season and I don’t know of any pick-your-own spot more beautiful than the one to be found at Taylor-Bray Farm - a gorgeous, 22-acre working farm in Yarmouth Port that dates back to 1639. I arrived at the farm early in the morning – tupperware in hand – ready to do some serious picking. As I walked the verdant fields toward the blueberry patch, with views of the Black Flat marsh stretched out ahead of me, I saw two cottontail bunnies hopping about and a multitude of swallows flitting and flying low along the grass. And then I saw the glorious blueberry bushes, standing at about 7 feet tall and heavy with both ripened and unrippened berries. Ah, yes, I thought. This is a perfect summer moment.

I got right into the patch, greedily picking all that my quickly working fingers could grab. My mind emptied and quieted. Much like a ninja (if a ninja picked his own fruit, which I’m sure he does), I was focused; I was quick; I was agile. As soon as my tupperware was full, I climbed into my car, my hands wrapped around my bounty. Then I looked at the time – an hour and a half had passed since I had arrived at Taylor-Bray Farm. Had it been that long? It only felt like a few minutes.

Taylor-Bray Farm is slice of well-preserved heaven.

Taylor-Bray Farm is centuries old and it is still around today because the Town of Yarmouth purchased the property in 1987 when the farm was going to be sold to developers. And thank goodness for that because this place is a true beauty and a wonderful example of what most of the Cape used to look like before modern man got our Purelled hands all over it. (The farm was listed in the National Register of Historical Places in 1993.) And a hearty thanks goes to the members of the Taylor-Bray Farm Preservation Association for keeping it in such beautiful shape. The farm has two Highland Cattle named Fiona and Scotty – both long-haired, long-horned, carmel-colored lovelies that were eating their breakfast when I visited, so I was only able to glance at their rumps as they chowed down in their barn. The farm has chickens, sheep, two donkeys, and some goats, a small vegetable garden (which made me wish the farm also offered a pick-your-own-squash-blossom option), and an herb garden. They also harvest salt marsh hay from the Black Flat Marsh that they feed to their animals.

Isn't this the most beautiful walkway ever? It provides a gorgeous view of the Black Flat Marsh. There was a little sign by the walkway saying that it was constructed by Americorps.

Taylor-Bray Farm is located at the end of Bray Farm Road, which runs off of 6A in Yarmouth Port. And some of the best Cape Cod driving is to be done before or after a visit to the farm along scenic Route 6A from Barnstable to Dennis, with its views of salt marshes and the Cape Cod Bay and through the old-growth trees, which canopy the road. This is where colonial Cape Cod is at its most exquisite – stone fences and wild flowers line the sidewalks and beautiful, perfectly maintained 200 year-old homes sit majestically on their manicured plots of land. I love to drive on 6A. And part of the fun of 6A, is turning off it, to travel the main road’s tributaries – get lost, or detoured at least, in order to find something new and beautiful. Most of my favorite things on Cape Cod were found by accident. And that’s how I stumbled upon Taylor-Bray Farm – a leisurely drive down 6A led me to this treasure and I was so happy to find it and even happier when I saw those blueberry bushes.

My freshly picked blueberries displaying their deliciousness.

Ain't nobody here but us chickens...and some cows, goats, donkeys, bunnies, sheep, birds...ah, forget it.

Picking is only allowed Tuesdays and Fridays. The farm is open from dawn to dusk. Everyone is asked to donate at least $2 per quart of blueberries picked. There are several donation boxes located on the farm that are hungry for your money.

And bring your kids. Not only are their small statures and clever little fingers good to greatly increase your blueberry yield, but they’d love the farm animals.

Beginning in the summer of 1899, when the Cape Cod School of Art was founded, and continuing up to today, Provincetown has been one of the nation’s foremost artists’ colonies – a place where artists of all varieties could live, learn, and be inspired by each other and by their surroundings. Carrying on the tradition is one of Provincetown’s most honored arts institutions, The Fine Arts Work Center on Pearl Street. The FAWC has been around since 1968, making it the country’s oldest continuous artist colony.

For the entirety of the summer, The Fine Arts Work Center holds visual arts and creative writing workshops that are taught by some of the country’s most accomplished artists. And, lucky for us, the FAWC arranges for these artists and writers to give artist talks and readings to the general public. Last Monday’s lineup was irresistible: the poet Ralph Angel, the novelist Colum McCann, and the artist Peik Larsen were all scheduled to share glimpses of their most recent projects. I had been looking forward to going for weeks, yet, as I faced the hour and a half long drive from my home in Mashpee to Provincetown and then back again, my mind raced with any excuse available to cancel my much anticipated plans. Was an evening of highfalutin artsy entertainment enticing enough to justify spending over 3 hours in Cape Cod traffic? The answer, it turned out, was an emphatic yes.

Driving on Cape Cod during the summer months can turn even the most mild-tempered person into a teeth-clenching lunatic – and this lunacy can infect year-round residents and tourists alike. The locals grow embittered as congested streets transform even the tiniest routine errand into a mammoth undertaking, while visitors must suffer the unpleasantness of having a leisurely drive hurried or ruined by an aggressive local anxiously riding six inches from their back bumpers. I’ve been on both sides of this experience. Neither are pleasant, but such are the sacrifices we all must make to be in this spectacular place during its most busy time of year…or so I tell myself. And though there are plenty of downsides to getting around by car, there are always moments when it can be glorious. One of these moments occurred on my drive to Provincetown.

It happened while I was heading north down a little hill on Route 6 in Truro. After a long slog and a steady climb, I began my descent towards Provincetown and was rewarded with some of the most mesmerizing vistas Cape Cod has to offer. At the top of the hill, the tip of the peninsula revealed itself. The sea and sky melded into pure, wavering planes of reflection and light. Only the Pilgrim Monument, standing stoically on the horizon, seemed solid amidst so much surface glow. (The monument, modeled after an Italian bell tower in Sienna (why?) and erected in 1910, was built to commemorate the first New World landing of the Mayflower Pilgrims in November 1620. This rather meaningful moment in the country’s narrative was soon forgotten and replaced by the Pilgrims’ landing at Plymouth Rock, adding just one more example to the nation’s vast collection of historical misunderstandings.) As you drive, if you look to the left, you can see Cape Cod Bay and the tiny one room cabins that densely line Shore Drive. These cottages look like penguins: cute, tidy, proud. To the right is Pilgrim Lake framed by the rolling dunes that I used to fall, and jump, and run up and down as a child – before concerns about erosion made these gently undulating hills of fine sand something to be seen and not touched/joyfully trampled.

Last Monday, the setting sun made the bay looked as if it had been covered with luminous layers of gold leaf. The scene made me think of a poem about Provincetown by Michael Klein (a New York-based poet and memoirist who has taught at the FAWC since 1996):

You think, living in this town, no one’s at war
because of how we all respect savage flowerings
for instance, or the queer biker who walks a stranger
to the curb because the wind is lit up from some strange
cellar to make us late. We think we belong
where we are better known.

I ride my bike. I ride my bike through speeds
like flavors, unzip the mile-long zipper that cinches
the street and bay together.
Fletcher names it the Bay of Take What’s Left.
But I have seen mornings when all the bay could do
was give nothing but proof of gold
unwaving. Gold, going on without us.

- Michael Klein, “Proof Of Gold”

There was a full (and smiling) crowd in attendance for the reading at the Stanley Kunitz Common Room

Shaking off my poetic revery long enough to find a parking spot on Commercial Street, I then made my way to the collection of low-lying, gray shingled buildings that make up the FAWC. All of the readings and artists talks are held in the large and breezy Stanley Kunitz Common Room. Kunitz, a poet extraordinaire, a serious gardener, a Provincetown fixture, and a much-missed voice, was one of the founding members of The Fine Arts Work Center along with Robert Motherwell, Myron Stout, Jack Tworkov, and Hudson D. Walker.

The scene at the reading was inviting and casual. Dorothy Antczak, the Summer Program Director, cheerfully emceed the night, introducing the incredibly talented and accomplished artists who were being showcased.

First up was Ralph Angel, dressed elegantly in a white shirt and khaki pants, he read some wonderful poems, beginning with “Breathing Out” and “Half Circle” and concluding with several untitled and unpublished newer poems.

Next, Colum McCann (again dressed in a white shirt and khaki pants (the literary man’s summer ensemble, perhaps?)) read some excerpts from his new novel, “Let the Great World Spin”, which revolves around a day in August of 1974 when highwire artist Philippe Petit made his tightrope walk across the World Trade Center.

And lastly the artist, bookmaker, and printmaker Peik Larsen showed some slides from his new book, which is full of beautiful pencil sketches, scenic watercolors, and prints. His work is currently being shown at the DNA Gallery in Provincetown.

Before he started his reading, Ralph Angel said, “I love to be here. I haven’t figured out why.” It was a funny comment, and it got a laugh from the audience, but I was a bit puzzled. I loved being there, and I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out exactly why. In this place we sit together, we hear different voices, we see new things, we learn from each other. And on top, there is the rich aquatic light, there are the dunes, there is the vast ocean. There are the generations of people before us inspired by just the same things. There is, ultimately, the proof of gold.

Be sure to attend some of the readings at the FAWC. Here is the schedule. Most of the readings begin at 8pm and a $5 donation is recommended.

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