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Tiverton

Fri., August 4, 2006

Katie picked me up early this afternoon and we set out onto I-95 for a weekend visiting her relatives in Rhode Island and attending the Newport Folk Fest.

We stayed with a cousin, Laura, in Tiverton, a quiet resort and residential town of about 15,000. She lives in a classic New England shingle-style farmhouse that dates from the mid-1800s and although it’s supposedly not haunted, workers did unearth a century-old cistern under the house that no one knew existed.

Laura's house in Tiverton, Rhode Island.

Upon our arrival and greeting cousin Erica, who was already there in the middle of her own Rhode Island mini-vacation, we got cracking with iced bourbon-and-ginger-ales while I toured the heavily flowered grounds. It’s rustic. Out back there’s a barn and a now-ornamental outhouse. Next door, over a hedge of green bramble, is a pasture of sheep. In the yard on the other side, chickens roam. Laura pointed out nearly every flower, tree and shrub on her grounds while her cat, Mr. Fur, his coat the sleek gray of a weimaraner’s, followed us covertly, master of all he surveyed. His claims to fame are disappearing for days on end and depositing the occasional mouse segment on the deck.

Laura's cat.

During the garden tour, we discussed which flowers would look best cut and placed in vases, and Laura instructed us obliquely on how to build our own arrangements, much as Mr. Miyagi taught Daniel bonsai in The Karate Kid. Here’s Laura helping me achieve a visual balance with my floral work-in-progress.

Laura arranging flowers.

Somehow our arrangements turned out and fit snugly into Laura’s homestead, already comfortable in its tastefully weathered and mismatched antique furniture, wooden floors, and hundreds of curios and books. I think the fresh, sunlit air was combining chemically with the sulfured well water or something, because my central nervous system was so depressed, I thought I might soon start talking with the hypnotic cadence of Martha Stewart, never to fully return to big city life.

The top of Laura's Steinway.

Despite promises to the contrary, it was a classically late family dinner. Laura’s brother Bruce, his lady Elizabeth and their kid Emerald came over and we started eating around 11 p.m. at a candlelit table on the screened-in porch. The spread included barbecued pork ribs and grilled kielbasa, salad, couscous with diced fresh vegetables and wine. Dessert was black cherries and famous Gray’s Ice Cream. I recommend the ginger and coconut flavors. I felt at home with the strange, educated debates at the dinner table; the chief one tonight was a heated discussion about the history of snuff production in New England. Erica taught Emerald one-handed Zippo tricks while striving to avoid self-immolation.

Before we retired for the night, Laura, Katie and I took what Laura called a Lions, Tigers and Bears Walk down her lane and onto the road, which has almost no traffic and no streetlights. Stars speckled the sky. Katie and I saw a meteor, but we didn’t feel the need to wish upon it.

Back home and assigning my room for the evening, Laura explained that town zoning issues dictate she can only house two bedrooms on her property because of the size of her septic tank. So Katie got the guest room and I slept on a firm air mattress in what appeared to be a hallway, but with windows and overstuffed bookcases.

Tags: Friends, Photo | Comments have been closed.

On August 7, 2006 at 11:59 p.m., andie wrote:

Ha! Dinner at 11pm - that is so classic. I'm so glad you finally got to meet Laurie, Bruce and Elizabeth (Bruce's wife.) Emerald is not Elizabeth's daughter but she has been with Bruce since Emerald was 2, so she has definitely helped raise her. I love my Rhode Island getaways! I'm sorry I missed out on all the fun this time around. Oh, and Laurie would absolutely love a copy of the photo of Fur. You should have a print made and send it to her in a card, thanking her for having you over. I know how much you hate cards, but it would be a nice gesture. I'll email you her address.