I don’t remember when it happened. But one day the “powers that be” decided that there would be certain National Holidays celebrated on a Monday regardless of the calendar. Memorial Day would no longer be observed on May 30; but rather the last Monday in May.
Labor Day is always celebrated on the first Monday in September (so the authorities didn’t have to do anything with that Holiday). So we have two convenient bookends for the summer… Monday to Monday, so to speak… with the days of summer smiles and cookouts packed in between.
But it is the start and the finish to the season… the Mondays, the extra days… that fascinate me. Many folks work on Saturdays, so that a Monday off is a real treat… perhaps one of a handful of weekends over the course of a year that some can enjoy a real two day weekend… two days in a row.
What to do with an extra day?
Stay at home and chill? No. The place is too small to handle the extended family. Going to the Country Club is not an option (because we are not members of a club). Let’s take in a park. Go to one of our Public Places and share the day with family and friends. A place that offers open space to handle outdoor pursuits… a place that, for a variety of reasons, gives us more than if we remained at home.
Any number of spots in Connecticut would be perfect… it could be Calf Pasture Beach in Norwalk, Chatfield Hollow in Killingworth, or Southford Falls nestled between Southbury and Oxford.
A little bird told me to get to Southford Falls before noon on Memorial Day. And it was a good thing, the parking lot is tiny… probably appropriate for the size of the Park; but small nevertheless… Two of the available spaces are given over to a Sabrett Hotdog cart and a pick up truck with a freezer chock full of ice creams… the merchants are seated nearby in folding lounge chairs enjoying the sun. They don’t seem to be doing a lot of business. Most folks come to the park well provisioned for the day.
The Park is a small jewel… nature trails go off into the woods. The “Falls” are modest… a fraction of the size of Kent Falls in Litchfield. But no matter, the trail along the rocky site of the Falls twists in a gentle downward path, covered in shade trees with the bright sun occasionally breaking through and illuminating a rotting tree trunk or a moss covered boulder. The rush of the water racing thru the narrow defile covers most of nature’s other sounds; but the closeness of the path to the road means that a passing by motor cycle can interrupt the beauty of the moment.
We stroll amiably back towards the entrance and to the small pond and take up positions on a bench ready to survey the comings and goings of those folks ready to enjoy the sun of an extra day.
A sign on a nearby tree refers to the pond as a “trout park” and informs all anglers that the creel limit is two. On our way into the park we spotted the more serious anglers… the ones with suspendered waders, vests with more pockets than a billiard table & appropriate caps festooned with flies and such.
But by the time we had taken up our spot, the “serious” guys had well departed and now it was the turn of the fun and less serious.
I like what I see… two young boys I judge to be 7 and 13 are casting their lines with professional flicks of the wrist… their Mother also has a try & the father nearby seems to be coaching, or perhaps keeping an eye out for a more advantageous position for casting.
From a nearby bench the Grandparents proudly take in the scene, too. And soon they approach to put their two cents in. The younger boy is moved 20 yards further down the line. He has a strike; but the clever fish has made off with the bait and the boy has to return for “re-worming”. This latter task is done by his mother, who also murmurs some words of encouragement… and dad adds a ruff of the hair.
I know nothing of fishing… but a quick look around the pond shows that these boys are good… at the casting part anyway. A little girl across the way tries a cast and the line plunks 2′ from the bank… take heart little girl, that would be me, too.
But I am re-drawn to this multi-generational family. The boys begin to argue about 18″ of the bank that both consider to be the best from which to bag a trout. The matter is adjudicated by the dad and the older boy is sent 20 yards further down to the site of the original strike… meanwhile, his younger brother again casts his line far out. And re-casts, and yet again another time.
A strike! He plays the fish a bit, and then begins to bring him in. Sure enough. First of the day! And now the Grandparents hop to… a camera is retrieved from a satchel… a shot is taken… boy, squinting into the sun with a small fish displayed on his line… you would have thought he caught a marlin.
To his Grandparents he did.
Later they make their way to a picnic table that they had staked out in the shade. Lazily, they enjoy their picnic… small grill set with charcoal gets fired up, and kids in patient to get started break open the bag of chips… the table is chock full of containers bearing all the necessary components of a grand feast, I am sure.
Plenty of room to spread out… sit on folding chairs, stretch out on a blanket, run up the hillside to catch a frisbee… kick a soccer ball if you got one, soak in some sun, do a little fishing, have some lunch… just enjoy an extra day…
Home is wonderful, but with the sun in the sky, a summer day layed out before your feet, an extra day at that, there could have been no better place than Southford Falls.
