When I moved to Plymouth a little less than a year ago, the Independent asked me to write a series of columns. The charge was to explore the town from a newcomer’s perspective. From Buttermilk Bay in the town’s far southwest corner to Saquish, its most northeasterly point, I wandered through preserves and along paths, ate at burger joints, and walked the jetty. I visited ponds, parks, and points, including in Manomet and the northern tip of Long Beach. It was a great way explore all Plymouth has to offer.
On Halloween morning, sunny and mild, I took my dogs, Salina and Tot, to what has become my usual coffee spot, Plimoth General Store, where everyone now knows my name, largely because they can’t resist the dogs and because I’m there nearly every day. They also know what my drink of choice is – a mocha latte, whole milk, with cinnamon on top. I hardly need to repeat it anymore.
We then walked to one of my favorite viewpoints in town, the top of Coles Hill, and I began to wonder: when will I no longer be a newcomer?
There are people who have lived in town for decades and whose ancestries go back 400 years. From that perspective I’d still be newcomer if I lived to be 125 or even 200. On the other hand, I know people who have been here much longer than I who are surprised by my knowledge of the town and who tell me they haven’t been to half the places I’ve written about or even heard of many of them. From that perspective, maybe I’m practically a townie.
I’ve now seen Plymouth in all four seasons. One novelty, for someone who has always lived a bit inland, is observing the harbor from Coles Hill throughout the year and catching one of the rhythms of life unique to harbor towns.
When I first arrived late last year, there were few if any boats to be seen in the harbor (the Mayflower II excepted, of course). As spring came, little by little, the harbor started to fill up as boats put in winter storage were gradually returned to the water, like birds flown south for the winter coming home to roost. By July 4th, the harbor was filled with boats coming, going, and moored. There was the thrum of constant activity. As October approached, the boats started to disappear like wedding guests, until only a few stragglers remained, and the harbor was once again a blank slate. Next spring, in addition to the first robin and crocus, the reappearance of boats in the harbor will be a harbinger of the new season.
Before moving to Plymouth, I’d never spent much time here but had friends who had moved to the Pinehills, which got me to thinking of it as a place to live. I wasn’t fulfilling some long-held dream of moving here, but I have no regrets.
Seeing the ocean almost every day, even if for only a few minutes, is a great joy. I have a spot – not well known, it seems, and I’d like to keep it that way – with an utterly magnificent view of the bay and Cape. It’s where I like to read and contemplate nothing in particular, a place that gives me perspective when things occasionally seem out of joint. I get a kick out of the fact that I share the town with whales, seals, and seabirds. Downtown has a few rough edges, but you have the sense of a place slowly reinventing itself. There are some great dining options, too. And despite the reputation we New Englanders have for being somewhat brusque and aloof, that hasn’t my experience at all in Plymouth. (Well, I’ve had a few cranky comments from readers about my columns, but that comes with the territory anywhere you go.)
As much as I’ve seen and done in my first year in Plymouth, there’s more to explore. On my to do list? See the Plymouth Philharmonic, visit the National Monument to the Forefathers (can’t believe I haven’t been there yet), and take the Captain John Boats ferry to Provincetown and back. What else do you recommend?
Peter Zheutlin – a freelance journalist who has written frequently for The Boston Globe, The Christian Science Monitor, and many other publications – brings the perspective of a Plymouth newcomer to the Independent. He is the author or co-author of nine books, including the New York Times bestseller “Rescue Road: One Man, Thirty Thousand Dogs, and a Million Miles on the Last Hope Highway.” Zheutlin can be reached at pzheutlin@gmail.com.