Last week was unseasonably warm, daffodils sprouting overnight everywhere you looked. Last year at this time, I took a picture of the witch hazel blooming with snow all around it. As I drove around on errands yesterday, the car thermometer said 80 degrees. What a difference a year makes.
All week, an Atlantic fog hovered just off shore, drifting in to fill the village streets and float over the Eel Pond each evening as the sun set. In the mornings, I returned from my walks feeling as if I had marched through a cloud, eyebrows dripping with the thick humidity.
The construction is cruising along upstairs at the Woods Hole Inn. This week, the painters finished up on the first floor, and we followed behind them spring cleaning. Our guests return next weekend, so we are in the crazy push to get tidy — with the closets back in order, the breakfast recipes brushed up and the outdoor cushions on the porch.
Upstairs, the painters are done and the floors are finished. The rooms look really great, all spit-polished and shined. I am especially enamored of the floors. We saved the old hardwoods, and patched where the walls used to be so that the floor is a crazy quilt of old and new. It’s as if the bones of the old building are exposed, and along with the salvaged moldings, the vintage restored tubs and and the old-fashioned radiator system, I think it will make you feel that the heart of the place still beats with 1870’s joy.
Soon, exterior painting begins. I look forward as the pale shingles — looking a bit like band-aids randomly placed — turn to a rich saturated blue to match the rest. With that, the Woods Hole Inn will look much as it has since it was built over 130 years ago.
A sander on the raw floors where we intentionally left some paint in the crevices to celebrate the marriage of the old with the new.
A view of the final flooring, in the Nonamesset Room — a great spot to spend a few days with corner light, harbor views and your private deck. These rooms will be furnished and open for guests by the end of April if all goes as planned.
The ferry waits in the morning fog, its distinctive horns dancing and reverberating across Vineyard Sound.
Finally, sunset this week over Eel Pond as the fog rolled in. I am grateful for spring, especially this particular warm, foggy spring.
What are you grateful for?