West Mystic

Going home is always bitter sweet. New England is where my peeps are. Family. Friends. Roots. It is a beautiful place filled with memories and experiences that shaped me. But it is also a place I left so that I might find happiness. I miss Katie, Cooper, cool nights, the mountains, the rivers, and the town of Crested Butte. But I am happy and content to be here.

Breakfast with my father at Kitchen Little. He knows everyone and they all know him. Days spent either cruising the Fisher's Island Sound - and a shot out to Block Island - spinniing around town on my bike, reading through the muggy afternoons, or hanging with family. Evenings full of family and friends. The lush forests are filled with deer, mosquitos, poison Ivy, and shades of green like a jungle. It is a walk down memory lane and a pleasant place to be in the moment. Driving the winding roads all covered by the forest canopy fills me with nostalgia and meloncholy. Some times its a laugh out loud memory and sometimes its just thinking that this is where I am from - where little Johnny was molded.

Less than 24 hours before I load my plane at T.F. Green in Providence. I fixed my Schwinn Homegrown so that it has flat pedals and the seat is low enough to accomodate my father. I hope he rides it, because it is a sweet bike and this is bike riding territory. The days at Haley Farm and Bluff Point have been sweet. Especially riding with my brother and sister. It is time to wrap it up, pack the bags, and wonder if I did everything I should have while I was here.

Maybe I should have made more of an effort to surf - there was swell. But it is too hard to ponder all that should have happened when you are busy living. When I get home I will have had a good week mixed with relaxing, exercise, quality time, and soaking in New England.

Time to start thinking about diaper changes, cradles, and circumcision or no.