I live in Provincetown but, always, I am thinking about Provincetown. This place has a palpable presence that demands attention. It’s as if Provincetown announces itself as I hike up Howland Street or maneuver the icy edges of Bradford or trek along the snow-covered dunes.
As winter arrives, the land becomes less background, more figure. The small clutch of residents simplify activities. The streets go silent. The closed-up storefronts dominate and the community becomes a mere speck on the horizon.
Provincetown fascinates because it is a lean stretch of land that edges the sea. Look between cape cottages and you spy the crashing waves. Park behind the brick post office and the beach, only a foot away, entices. Look up and observe the stretch of harbor expanding from Fisherman’s Pier to the long arm of the Coast Guard Station.
I can still see the flocks of fifty ducks that migrate last month, then suddenly landed in the harbor, followed by more flocks splashing down. Spied from behind the post office, it was as if a dark thundercloud had descended upon the sea—shifting, gyrating, and pulsing with iridescent life.
Now, as I turn from my desk, I see MacMillan’s Pier, dotted with fishing boats, glimpsed through branches of maple and shad. When I walk into the kitchen, I view the snow-encrusted breakwater and the lighthouse at Long Point that stands beyond the outstretched rocky arm.
It’s easy to imagine Provincetown as a thin string strung tight along the sea and holding fast against the roaring waves. One moment the ocean caresses the shore; the next, it ravishes its sandy edges.
Provincetown appears to be a place of opposites. It holds the sand of beaches and dunes and the sea of harbor and the black Atlantic. It is old in architectural thinking and new in design and ideas. It is respectful of the past yet adventuresome for the future. But perhaps the best way to grasp its essence is to see Provincetown through the eyes of physicist Fritjob Capra, as “ a reality which lies beyond opposite concepts.” In truth, Provincetown is not either modern or ancient; either essential change or stagnant past; either winter silent or summer boisterous. Existing beyond simple dichotomies, it thrives with verve and energy.
So, as the New Year arrives, best wishes for a prosperous 2010.
Come visit and taste the delights of this town that lies beyond opposites and remains packed full with surprise.
Winter clams are especially tasty