As summer passes...

Summer's Glory painting by Judi Getch ©

Since I'm spending most of my time editing three books, I thought I would share a forward that I wrote a number of years ago.  It might explain why I always seem to center my stories around my "happy place."  And I'll also add that in recent years, my love of this special spot has been passed on to the next generation... I couldn't be happier!!

Keep writing and I'll return after my travels and editing are done :-)

Till,
Judi

" FORWARD

At the farthest tip of the ‘Cape’ (Cape Cod, Massachusetts) lies the quaint, but rural town of Wellfleet. This town, about eight miles long and three miles wide, is found near the top of the arm of the Cape, approximately 75 miles into the Atlantic Ocean.

As a child, I spent summers at my Aunt and Uncle’s cottage in Wellfleet – an antique white shingled house with green shutters which had been floated up from Provincetown a century or so ago. It sat on a cement patio that surrounded it on two sides. A long winding driveway hid the cottage and barn from the road.

Every day began with us raising the American flag over the barn, a tradition that ended with my father and uncle’s generation. A game of horseshoes played in the sunny, sandy yard filled the rest of the morning. Afternoons, when the tide was low, found us digging shellfish from the muddy bottom of Chipmans Cove. On warm evenings, we cooked hotdogs and marshmallows over a driftwood bonfire on the beach while basking in the bright crimson sunset. Back at the cottage, we entertained ourselves with concerts played on the mesmerizing and magical player piano. And of course, there was the lowering of the flag. Bedtime meant the long steep climb up the stairs to a single, large, often hot and sultry dormitory style bedroom.

In my twenties, I managed only a few stolen summer weekends at the cottage with my family. As the years flew by, time in Wellfleet became a luxury until finally, it disappeared altogether. But somewhere in the shadows of my mind, somewhere in the depths of my heart, at the edge of my being, Wellfleet always lingered.

Years later, on a warm August day, my sister and I decided to drive to Wellfleet to revisit our childhood places. Our first stop was up the overgrown driveway to the cottage that now stood in total disrepair – all life gone from it for many years. We sat on the warm concrete patio, welcoming the feelings of the past – sweet memories filled with those who were gone, but who thankfully brought us to this very special place.

My sisters and I, with our husbands, now return to Wellfleet every year spending precious weeks making new memories, but never forgetting to stop by and visit with the old ones. My Aunt’s cottage is gone now, but the memories, ghosts, and echoes of laughter will forever live on that land. The bobwhites still sing – not the same ones, but the descendants of those who sang for me as a child – or so I believe. This historic village by the sea heals me, lightens my heart, and refreshes my soul. I find my life’s rhythm by the water when I’ve lost my way. I sleep contented here – like one who has come home.

My hope is, as you read this story, that you will develop a fondness for Wellfleet and my “Lemon Pie Cottage.” And, in the end, I wish that each of you will find a place of your own that lightens your heart and refreshes your soul – a place that you can come home to."