What's so special about Cape Cod? Is it the people? When I asked my roommate what is different about Cape Codders, she replied, “what isn’t?” Good answer.
Raise your hand if you have ever been accused of being a Cape Codder. I have. And I was insulted. Even though I really am a Cape Codder - in every sense of the term. I was born here. I’m a Mayflower descendant; I even worked as a pilgrim at Plimoth Plantation for a spell. I have a black dog. In fact, I once had two black dogs. And, although I don’t own a Jeep, I occasionally borrow one to drive. But, never over the bridge. At least, not if I can avoid it. I don’t have the parodied accent but I did until traveling forced me to adopt a more generic English that, unfortunately, causes some people to believe I am a wash-ashore. At least, until they get to know me.
Once they’ve spent time with me, they realize I’m the genuine article. I know how to spell Wampanoag and Iyannough, and how to pronounce words like Eastham, forecastle, and clapboard. I know how to operate a motor vehicle in a rotary – without causing injury to man or motor. I don’t wear socks in the summer. I can identify a beach plum. I would never put a tomato in clam chowder, and I could eat a lobster using the bottom of a beer bottle and a car key if pressed. I’m completely certain that there is no bridge to Nantucket. And, while we’re on the subject, I also know the words to that limerick. I’m not above eating raw shellfish and I can tell the difference between a real scallop and a piece of fish trimmed with a cookie cutter. I also commit the two most heinous sins that visitors claim are exclusive to Cape Codders. I give driving directions according to the points of a compass and I don’t follow fashion trends.
Even in these days of ubiquitous GPS, the directions issue really bothers the visitors. What do they expect? We can’t say “head toward the water”. The Cape is an island. We can’t point to a distant mountain or skyscraper for a reference point. And, although people would understand “toward Boston” or “toward Ptown”, both seem a little awkward, as in, “go 200 yards toward Boston, then turn toward New York City...” But if they’d prefer directions without compass points, the conversation might go like this,
“Can you tell me where Harbormaster Ellis’s office is?”
“Yes, sir, it’s in his garage on Bay Avenue.”
“Okay, what’s the house number?”
“House number? It’s on Bay Avenue. The name's on the mailbox.”
“I realize that but there are 147 Ellis families in the phone book for this town!”
“Well, it’s easy to find. You take Bay Street to Bay Road to Bay Avenue. The Ellis’s house is the fifth on the right beyond where the Nickerson’s barn used to be.”
Of course, the Nickerson’s barn burned down thirty years ago and has been replaced by a modern home but the lot will always be known as the-place-where-the-Nickerson’s-barn-used-to-be. Maybe we could put up signs that would help those who can’t keep the compass points straight. There’d be signs all over the Cape that read, “This is where the Chase’s horse was hit by a car (circa 1942)” or “This is where Mrs. Howland's sow got drunk on rotten apples (circa 1926)” or “This is where the Alden boys shot a wolf (circa 1894).” But why drag all that history out of a real Cape Codder when you could just suffer through a mere, “go north 100 yards and turn east and the house is the 5th one down on the south side of the road”? We could even issue compasses at the Sagamore Flyover and the Bourne Rotary as a gesture of our good will.
As for clothes, in my dictionary next to “comfort” and “convenience” is a picture of a casually dressed Cape Codder dodging tourists while strolling down Main Street in Hyannis. My wash-ashore friends find the same picture in their dictionaries under “bourgeois” and “provincial”. Hey, you throw a decent blazer over a graphic tee and you’re good to go. If you tuck the shirt into your cut-off jeans and shake the sand out of your shoes, it’s formal wear. And eau des poissons (that’s fish perfume for you provincials) is par for the course. The fish and lobster in the restaurants aren’t carried there already cooked by magic fairies (the fairies are too busy delivering your packaged beef and chicken to the grocery store) so the fishing and restaurant industries tend to share their odors with the public.
And despite what people think, the world actually does revolve around Cape Cod. While visitors say there’s nothing here except sand and water, I insist that all of the seven wonders of the world are right on Cape Cod. There’s the cliff at Nauset Light Beach, the blueberry patch on _____ Street (oh no, I’m not telling) in Yarmouth, cranberry bogs at harvest time, the pier in Provincetown (but first, take a left and head to ScottCakes!), every sunset of every day of every season in every town, the atmosphere at the Hot Chocolate Sparrow in Orleans, the Chatham Light, the food at The Ocean House in Dennis, the gardens and the carousel at Heritage Plantation, the boardwalk in Sandwich, the fact that Wareham considers itself part of Cape Cod, the Cape Cinema in Dennis, the piña coladas at The Brotherhood of Thieves on Nantucket, and the lack of seagulls picking at the dump bins in Yarmouth.
Maybe that’s more than seven but that just proves my point. Cape Cod is a world unto itself. The wash-ashores and visitors who disagree may simply be afraid to be salty.
She can be reached at JKWragg@yahoo.com
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Jill Wragg
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