The Smuggs Chronicle, Part Seven
Seventh Day: August 24, 2013
Mira and I wake up exhausted from lack of sleep. She, from multiple awakenings, and I, from an insomnia fueled by obsessions.
We postpone our day trip to Montreal.
We soon stride down the paved Stowe path. A brief visit through downtown with him — including the missed steeple — and he forgives us coming here without him.
Then it’s on to the Waterbury Reservoir, a 15-minute drive south of town. We eat a picnic lunch in the shade, sitting on a railroad tie around the bend from the waterfront. A walking tour leader asks if we’re joining. Mira — in a rare display of inattention — answers “Yes.”
We return to the waterfront after lunch. I rent us a fiberglass canoe. Mira kneels in the middle, our Cleopatra, out for a reservoir ride. Frankie paddles on and off. Gentle currents guide us past an island and several landings — natural and artificial. We pass a large outcropping from which several young people jump. Somehow, none of them injure themselves in the shallow water.
Too soon, we head back.
rippling wake —
the finality of that
thump on the beach
“Would your son like to play?”
The woman smiles. Her daughter holds a pink floaty and offers a blue one.
“She’s an only child.”
Frankie accepts. He and the girl — Laura — swim and play in the res. Then they find me.
And find a way to blow water through their floaties at me.
mouthfuls of mountain water
across my face
Downtown Waterbury Center has a rustic charm. Prohibition Pig, the Reservoir and another Restaurant Grill occupy one side of its principal street.
We eat at the Reservoir. Dark-wood interior, neon signs, small windows — it has a typical pub/tavern décor. I have a tasty Fish-and-Chips dish that I wash down with a Vermont pale ale that perfectly complements dinner.
a bitter sip
first bite of beer-fried cod
and steak fries
read from the beginning: Pre-Smuggs Insomnia, the Prequel
more by FRANK J. TASSONE
photograph by Steve RichardsonHire An Editor
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