Sunday midday
I’ve stopped apologizing for sleeping on the porch of the Sea Horse, the longtime home away from home of the Mudheads. Yes, it’s a bar on a rock on the edge of the Thames River that feeds into New London harbor from Fishers Island Sound. Something special happens when the fog hangs low on a spring morning and a splash of red and white light tickles my closed eyelids. The multiple lights flash for three seconds duration and alternate color every six seconds from the beacon 90 feet atop the New London Harbor Light. It was built in 1801 on the other side of the river, long before the Sea Horse appeared. However, it is a relative late bloomer compared to the lobsters that live just below the porch.
The porch was built a few years after they plopped the wooden structure down on the rock formation called Hobs Island that also goes by the name of Latham’s Chair. Nothing better than a cozy shelter surrounded by water, reachable by a long wooden walkway and open for business with six kinds of beer on tap and a fully stocked liquor cabinet. And a porch a couple of feet above the river. My porch.
I’ve been around long enough and have slept there enough times to call it my porch without any hesitation. Friends who know about my particular habit, even strangers who first learn about it, don’t seem to care much about it anymore, so, until someone says move on, I’ll stay and keep on. Not bothering a soul, am I. Picked out a corner spot a few years back and have been there ever since. When I’m not doing other stuff, of course.
Understand, it’s not because I don’t have a place to stay. My 28-foot fishing boat over at Spicers is a perfectly good place to crash or even entertain. However, sitting on my boat has never been the same, primarily because my mind doesn’t quite reach the special level of understanding it reaches when I’m along the river by the bar listening to the lobsters from my wooden Adirondack chair. And while it might seem misnamed, the chair, sitting on a wooden porch over the gentle flowing waters of a coastal river in Connecticut, it is right. The broad slope of its shoulders, the deep seat for your butt cheeks and the solid under-the-knee support, coupled with wide arm rests, make it the ideal human holder when getting off your feet is a priority.
Of course, it has taken years of experimenting to come to this realization. There is a specific mix of alcohol, THC and hours awake that is required to reach that moment of deep consciousness where natural things seem to take on their own rhythm. Some might call it semi consciousness, but certainly not unconsciousness. It’s a world in between, where the present goes quiet, the past comes into perspective and the future appears as if it were the past. What’s clear is the clarity I experience when I awake. An understanding fills me and I can go forth into my day with the kind of confidence that fearlessly embraces all that happens.
That is why this particular Sunday morning I awoke to find a man standing along the railing not far from where I was resting and a hiccup disrupted the smooth karma of the day. He glanced at me, nodded a friendly acknowledgement then returned to his gaze upon the river. The 11:00 AM ferry to Long Island was just passing by, pushing a wall of white water in front of it at ten knots, the rear deck showing several cars and trucks, indicating another full load destined for Greenport, New York.
“Gonna’ be a great day!” I heard him say. He smiled and turned back inside through the door slider that led to the bar. I stood up easily and walked over to the opening, sticking my head just far enough inside the room to adjust my vision in the darkness and, of all things, I see him taking a seat at the bar. Another hiccup corroding my day! He had slipped onto the barstool positioned in the southeast corner of the bar. My barstool!