New England Reflections (Cont.): The Platypus Travels Part XXXIII

What is home to you?  What is tree, water, house?  When you see the words, what picture comes to mind?  We're getting closer now.

My wife had never been to Connecticut.  On trying to think what would give her the right picture, my family came up with Essex.  Essex is a venerable town on the banks of the Connecticut River still boasting streets of houses from the early nineteenth century.  Many of them are up for sale by Sotheby's and Chrisite's.  Essex is also home to the Griswold Inn, the oldest continually running tavern in the United States.  The bar of this rambling establishment is actually fashioned out of an old ship boiler.  We puttered around here for an afternoon taking in the sites and enjoying a particularly good little ice cream stand.  There were no issues with parking and no issues with traffic, just sails, and ships, and rows white-washed houses.

Et en Arcadia Ego...

Little brother, little brother
When Hesiod sang
Then the nymphs of Helycon came
and danced
The rivers lapped their banks
as that bard sang
The works and days and ways
of men
Who know the time for planting
And the way to make a wheel
And how to sing a song for
poor Athamas
Dead and gone