Here’s another charming letter from Dart, ripe with nostalgia and dreams for the future, all inspired by the fall-like weather he’s experiencing on Treasure Island. To get the full affect, I should probably quote the whole letter, word for word, but I’ll try to just pick the bests bits.
“The weather here today reminds me very much of autumn in Ohio. Brings to mind the football games, the picnics, the long drives in the country.”
“Boy, how I wish I could be there now. Put on my tennis shoes and heavy sox, my old baggy corduroy pants with off-color patches; cover up a ragged shirt with a heavy red sweater and leather jacket; pile some lunch into the car; include some stuff to play games with, then go. Nowhere in particular, but preferably somewhere with a nice view. The roads don’t have to be good – I can take the faithful green Ford through most anything.”
(Here’s my favorite part.) “Build a nice fire among some stones in a woods; cook hamburgers (and onion) over a rusty piece of tin; tramp through the woods (and maybe fall in some mud.) Can’t forget the cider, cool and refreshing. Must have apples too, and all the trimmings for the woodsy burgers. No matter how many ashes, how much smoke, even some sand in the burgers, they taste swell under conditions like that, with ketchup, or mustard on toasted fresh buns, with half-burned onions. Wish we’d brought along some lettuce and tomato for the burgers. Had ’em all ready to pack and forgot the things.”
“Hey, what happened to that gallon of cider we brought? Don’t tell me it’s gone already. I only had four glasses!”
“Play a game of catch while the dinner ‘sets.’ Sit around and talk while we keep feeding the fire. Then, as a big yellow moon comes up, drive home, too tired to talk about much.”
He tells Dot that dream includes memories from countless family picnics from the time he was sitting on his mother’s knee until he could pick the place and drive there. Somehow in these dreams he has now inserted a sweet, happy exuberant girl who is Dot. He wants them to have times like that, and very soon. For me, this letter conjures up the many breakfast picnics my parents favored when we were kids. Fall was our favorite time and the early morning hours practically guaranteed we’d have the great outdoors to ourselves.
After a little more strolling through his pleasant memories, Dart turns to answering Dot’s latest letter. He thinks junior college would be a fine idea and physical education is right up Dot’s alley. He asks her how a strong swimmer like her could have been frightened by a little wind on her lake. He asks if the route she outlined on the postcard was close to where her “summer lodge” is located. That choice of phrase proves he has not seen the Chamberlain’s place on Lake Sunapee. Think several notches down from “lodge.” In fact, go to “humble cottage” and you’re much closer to the truth. The only thing grand about their place is the view and proximity to the water. (Well, there’s also the scent of the air, the family history, the sounds of the woods…)
His head is pounding as a result of the cold which has taken a firm hold on him. He wants to grab a nap before chow, so he’ll close with love and kisses. He only wishes the kisses were as real as the love.
Neither Dot nor Dart wrote a letter on September 11, so I’ll meet you back here in a couple of days.
