Ruston Way - Summer Requiem

After a glorious, sunny weekend away, I arrive home to a 60-degree house and rain, rain the next day. My furnace is on; summer is over. The carefree, in-short-sleeves walks along Ruston Way are now something to be remembered, not experienced. So, I expect this will be a last post for this year about the sights along and comments about the Ruston Way part of my community.

Ruston Way is much-used in the summer but it never feels crowded (unless you count the cars at almost gridlock on hot afternoons). The skateboarders are in evidence; bicyclists, too. The cyclists, who ride on the sidewalk because the roadway has no shoulder, are, for the most part, courteous and not out to scare the bejeezus out of pedestrians. I note, however, that unlike other places I have lived, cyclists here generally don't give you warning they are approaching from the rear with either a bell or a friendly "on your left" (although the latter doesn't work very well anyway for those directionally challenged).

I enjoy seeing the fishers, most of whom are on one of the piers. I'm curious who they are, how often  they come here, if they catch anything, and if they eat what they catch. I should ask them but instead I take a photo, from a distance so they don't feel self-conscious. I am nervous about taking someone's picture up close. I want to respect privacy and, truthfully, I don't want to be challenged. I see people sitting alone at picnic tables, benches, the seawall, or on a rock reading, writing, drawing, contemplating. Like my curiosity about the fishers, I'm interested in these people and would like to question them; ask them what they are doing. Perhaps I could create a "Blog pass" and ask to interview them.

One scene sticks with me. An attractive man, probably about my age, with a silver-gray ponytail, earring, wearing jeans, is lowering himself onto a bench with the help of a cane. For some reason, I think "Viet-Nam vet."  When I come back the other way, he is still there and is staring at a couple of pictures he has pulled from his wallet. They appear to be of a woman and a child. I am struck with sadness, although the tableau may not at all represent what I perceive.

Not very many days later, at the same spot, unmistakable happiness is represented by a bride and groom having their picture taken on the pier. Again, even though a professional photographer is taking pictures of them, I don't want to intrude. Instead, I sneak in a shot when they're not looking.



I start to look forward to reaching the historic fire boat because that's where I usually turn around to start back to my car. It's a shame people are not allowed to clamber around on the boat but that's the way of historic exhibits. I'm not necessarily a boat person, but when I see it, I'm reminded of the times I've seen the fire boats out on the water spraying huge arcs of water, looking very much like a skookum lawn sprinkler on steroids--a very showy display.

To reward and push myself just a little farther, I like to go just beyond the fire boat and the fireman's memorial to look, again, at the mosaic-tile seashell display that is somewhat hidden off the main path. I'm not sure why this installation brings me such pleasure but you should see for yourself.