Labor Day holds a special place of nostalgia in my heart. When I was young, my parents annually packed the family van with tenting gear and squirming boys and set out for a weeklong vacation at Nickerson State Park in Brewster on Cape Cod. Practically, our end-of-summer camping escapades were less expensive and, with fall approaching, the beaches were more or less empty of peak-season tourists.
The days were cool and the nights were chilly. It was the perfect time of year for well-worn oversized sweatshirts and coffee boiled on a gas stove with an early morning fire crackling in the previous night’s coals. Aside from a few other intrepid campers, we had the place to ourselves. It was marvelous. Sometimes, we’d go on before-breakfast hikes through empty campsites and around Cliff Pond, the park’s centerpiece.
Vividly, I recall how the mist swirled up from the cool waters of the lake, rising to meet the sun like Icarus. I remember how a sweet aroma of vegetation mingled with the early morning dew and the way in which the call of waterfowl reverberated as it echoed across the untouched surface the lake — nature’s amphitheater, unrivaled in acoustic quality even by the greatest manmade creation. Every morning, sunlight hailed a new adventure.
Per tradition, at least once, we’d awaken early while the world was asleep and drive to Nauset Beach in Orleans to watch the sunrise.
Fond recollections like those are impossible to forget — they’re set into the bedrock of memory. Not even time can shake them loose; and I wouldn’t give them up for anything.
In more recent times, as a journalist, Labor Day has become synonymous with busyness: election season is in full swing; school is back in session; holidays are fast approaching; local government is spooling up for winter. Add on a 100-year pandemic and it’s already been an unusually stressful September (and we’re only a week in).
I was reminded of those quieter and more blissful Labor Day weekends on Friday while out for an early morning jog before work.
Perhaps the remembrance was triggered by the cool morning air; maybe it was because of the early sunshine; regardless, it was a welcome escape from 2020 — a year that’s been anything but easy so far. In this, the past has served as a source of peace .
I’m not the only one who feels this way. Lately, I’ve been receiving an influx of historically grounded articles from readers. (For example, I published a wonderful story on Saturday about high school assemblies, penned by local writer Janet Keyes.)
I’ve been enjoying these walks down memory lane, as I’m sure everyone has.
Happy recollections serve as a reminder that today’s challenges will pass — existence is siclical. 2020 can’t last forever. Brighter days l ie ahead.
Andy Castillo is the features editor at the Greenfield Recorder. He can be reached at acastillo@recorder.com.