ORLEANS SCENES
by
S. Stewart Brooks
Volume: XIII
Number: 28
Date: September 4, 1958
Although there are still almost three weeks remaining until the autumnal equinox, Summer, for all practical purposes is over, Labor Day marked its end. Despite the fact that, it has been the wettest summer in many years, even that has not been without its advantages. It is not often that in early September the laws are as green and lush as they are now.
The past few years our lawn has never been mowed in August. This year it was cut three times and now needs it once more. While the growth of vegetable gardens seems to have been retarded by the unreasonable season, most of the flower gardens I have seen locally seem to have profited by it. In our own small not—too-well-tended garden the asters and zinnias and marigolds look lovelier than they did last September after weeks of daily watering by hand. This summer I have not watered them once.
The appearance of the chrysanthemums promises many dozens of blooms before too many weeks have passed. Two other floral spots that are especially eye-catching in the midst of the asphalt desert uptown are Petunia Park, and the garden by the Trust Company’s new drive-in-walk-in building.
Next Monday morning marks the beginning of my thirty second year as a teacher, my seventeenth on Cape Cod, and the final year of the existence of Orleans High school.
For a year hence when the school bells ring the present institution plus the now—building addition will be under a different name, probably Nauset Regional High School. For at least, two weeks now I have been greeted several times daily by the observation which is annually made at this time of year, “We11, won’t be long before you're back at the old grind.” It may I appear strange to some and incredible to others but I don’t look upon it as “the old grind”. If I did I would have quit years ago. I am looking forward to it with mixture of eager anticipation, relish and hope.
Labor Day was just that at Chaos-on-the-Cove. After breakfast the furniture was moved out of the living-room and work begun on the tedious task of removing the wall—paper that has been there for more than twenty years in preparation for a new paper and paint job ere the cold weather begins. The one bright spot in this otherwise dull job, was the voluntary assistance of the strawberry blonde, who not only pitched right in with a will but after a while remarked, “I love to scrape off wall-paper.”
