by Robert P. Barsanti We got lucky. My son graduated high school on an electric blue sky day that some father of the bride bought with his soul and a platinum American Express card. The lilacs had popped, as had the irises. The ducks have grown and are waddling across …
by Robert P. Barsanti I passed through another birthday recently. It all went well; everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. My wife took me out to dinner, my fellow teachers signed a card, and eight members of the student orchestra showed up with violins and played Happy Birthday to me …
by Robert P. Barsanti After heavy wind, thunderstorms, and two rounds of cancelled ferries, we were sitting in each others laps on the boat headed back to Hyannis on a Sunday night. The weekend had risen, crashed, and washed up the beach with most of my fellow passengers. They had …
by Robert P. Barsanti The trucks are backing up on Old South Road: roofing trucks, plumbing trucks, landscapers with trailers, the ubiquitous UPS brown truck, and a truck with a wooden Chris Craft on its way down to Children’s Beach and the ramp. We all crept forward. It wasn’t raining. …
by Robert P. Barsanti In the rest of the northeast, spring means a gradual thaw and warm up. The ice melts, the puddles dry, and then, on one golden and dappled afternoon, the sun burns through and things go bloom. Not so out here. The sun appears like a student …
by Robert P. Barsanti The clouds washed away before dawn, and the sun looked over us for once this April. Spring visits, but leaves the engine running. Winter remains in the front bedroom, although he has worn out his welcome. Almost every Winter morning begins under the racing clouds from …
by Robert P. Barsanti One must have a mind of winter to live year-round on the island. To stand in the driveway of a rental house in Madaket, watch the gulls high overhead, and then see the clouds of starlings descend from a power line to the grass, and then, …
by Robert P. Barsanti I spent the weekend in New Hampshire, a long way from home. On the way up, the swamps and wetlands were punctuated with burst of red and yellow, but once at the lake, the hills and mountains remained a deep photosynthetic green. Sailboats crossed Winnipesaukee while …
by Robert P. Barsanti When you mow a lawn in September, you mow for yourself and the hawks. Perhaps not for the voles and the mice. The grass that once hid them has been mulched and they have to take their fuzzy chances in the open. Around us, the neighbors …