In January of 2011, there
was a story in the Cape Cod Times about a cottage in Wellfleet that had
partially fallen onto the beach far below after a bad storm. It was at the end
of Nellie Road…a place I’m familiar with. The story inspired me to write a
poem, “Cottage at the End of the Road.”
This past week there was
another story, same scenario, only this was just a bit north of Nellie Rd., on
Cliff Rd. The owner of the Cliff Rd. home was never told the cottage had
already been moved back twice before she bought it 15 years ago. She moved it
back once, herself, thinking that would be enough. It had to be enough, she had no more
room to move it again. And now, another storm has taken another cottage.
Every year, for the last
20 or more years, I have vacationed for a week in mid-September in this area.
Every year I have driven past these cottages and wondered how much longer could
they hang on. I wonder no more.
My heart goes out to these
cottage owners. I can feel the emotions they must feel when a place they loved
so much, a place that has been so healing, is now gone. The void in the heart
is vast. And the cottage is no longer there to heal the pain.
Yes, it’s a material
thing. No, it’s more than that. There is a magic that is Cape Cod and being on
the edge of the dunes, watching the storms come in and weathering them for
years, it is unthinkable that one day it will not be there any more. It’s
unthinkable that Mother Nature, whose strength and beauty I have admired and
loved for so long, would do this to me.
I have personalized
someone else’s pain.
What of all the other
owners whose cottages are facing the same fate…sooner rather than later. I
feel their emotions in my gut…first the denial, then the anger for having been
betrayed. Then sad realization that the end is inevitable.
Cottage
at the End of the Road
The last cottage
on Nellie Road
was built within
half a mile of the dune’s edge
and steep
descent to the beach.
It was part of a
summer community
where children
ran free.
They came to the
cottage as babies
and would never
sever their ties—
returning year
after year,
bringing their babies to grow strong
and berry-brown.
Spring 1938 was
the beginning of its first year.
In September, it
was on the outer fringe
of the Long
Island Express
that battered
its way north into New England.
When the sun
came out, those who came to look
were amazed at
the sight of trees stripped of leaves
roads washed out
and dunes undercut by the vicious
onslaught of an
angry ocean.
The cottage
withstood many storms,
standing strong
in the teeth of every storm—
hurricanes
Carol, Diane, Bob,
Blizzard of ’78,
Halloween storm
of ’96.
and countless
storms inbetween.
Every one of
them insidiously
ate away at the
dunes.
Homeowners along
the dune line
knew for years
their summer places were doomed,
especially when
Nauset Light was moved back
before it could
tumble onto the beach below.
It wouldn’t have
been the first time.
As 2010 came to
a close,
the dunes were
assaulted by another winter storm.
The old cottage
couldn’t hang on any longer.
The porch hung
over the abyss
created by
mammoth waves slamming into the dune
causing deep
undercutting and collapse.
The beach below
was strewn with porch furniture
and splinters
that used to be the porch floor.
The cottage hung
there, defying gravity, clinging to life.
Seagulls cried
in despair
as the landscape
of their sand cliffs
was rendered
unrecognizable.
So many lost so
much that day.
The demolition
order was issued.
Yellow tape went
up on the beach
to keep human
scavengers at a distance.
It was a crime
scene.
A construction
crane lumbered down Nellie Road
to finish the
job the ocean started.
Dump trucks
lined up to receive the wreckage
from the
clamshell’s maw
as the family
and the seagulls looked on.
Beverly
R. Titus
01/07/11
