By December 21st, the gaiety of revelers at the Fourth of July parade has faded to memory. The bustle of August is forgotten. Stunning September days bring the closing of Hatch’s, on the town hall parking lot. With one last hurrah, the town welcomes the end of the “season” by throwing a magnificent street party called Oysterfest, in its tenth year now. Twenty thousand people come to savor the sweet and succulent oysters that first made the town famous. After Oysterfest, the restaurants close, one after the other. Soon the Lighthouse, Wicked Oyster, the Bookstore and Finely JPs are the only options for lunch or dinner.
In December and January, even the restaurants may be closed. The pace slows even more. Most of the shops are shuttered and dark,
The beaches remain as beautiful, if not more so.
Somehow we associate sand with heat and sunshine.
When the temperature reaches 32 degrees, the shellfishermen return to the flats and go about their daily tasks, regulating their lives according to the tides. There’s something primordial about the constant harvest of shellfish. This finding subsistence from the land is part of what gives Wellfleet its soul.
“What’s it like here in winter?”
“The beauty and the silence,” he said.
No one passes on our road. In the distance the Congregational Church bell rings to mark time passing. Low tide announces itself by a strong musky smell that spreads up over the land.
Sometimes the wind makes it hard to walk on the beaches.
The appeal of winter reminds me of Thoreau, that is, a return to an era of simplicity, where people did not spend all day bent over a computer. They valued their neighbors and lived off the land. No cell phones or renegade car alarms disturbed the peace. It is an ideal people everywhere aspire to but rarely achieve. In Wellfleet, in winter, the illusion of living in Thoreau's time is still possible.
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Stan · 756 weeks ago
I spent many many years in Northern New England and know the pace of winter life well, but now choose to spend my time in the subtropics where soon winter will come and the hordes of tourists will descend upon us.
Here, as in Wellfleet, I am still able to enjoy my secret spots and solitude even when the crowds are thick. Being a "local" (of sorts) has its benefits... In this area the warmth and water make life overly abundant - urban development cannot stop thick walls of vines, spanish moss, bamboo, trees, and the ospreys, lizards, big cats & snakes from sharing the cityscape with humans. At night the stillness is often broken only by a frog chorus, the calls of owls, the hum of a distant boat, the cicadas. Some winters it feels like the one perfect New England autumn day that lasts from late October until May.
One day I'll get up to Wellfleet off-season to see the changes with my own eyes. But first I need to get some warmer clothes!
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