Reggie wades at Goose Pond

Yesterday Chris and I packed a lunch and headed to Goose Pond with the dog in tow. Unlike the last time I went (alone) to Goose Pond, yesterday I did not swim, but the dog did. Although yesterday I only waded at Goose Pond, I was heartened to see some half dozen brave locals disregarding the City’s prohibition against swimming there: while a handful of folks splashed and swam from the same piney peninsula where I myself had taken my surreptitious dip, several others sunned and swam from the concrete platform at the head of pond (visible toward the upper right corner of the above photograph, snapped not yesterday but back in June when I had the pond to myself). One man and woman even transversed the pond, swimming from the concrete platform to the piney peninsula then back again, casually chatting to one another the entire time. And to think that the City of Keene deems it necessary to forbid such innocuous pursuits!


These days I’m lying low, cooling my heels, trying to settle into some semblance of a summer routine. After having planned to take a two-month hiatus from my “Pedestrian Thoughts” essays while finishing the dissertation, I’ve struggled to climb back into that authorial saddle: gradually and inevitably, my two-month hiatus elongated into a five-month silence. This morning, though, I woke and then wrote first thing: progress. And today I am going back into my own personal archives–the pages I scribbled some two weeks ago–to patch and paste together some sort of polished essay, something more crafted than a blog-post but less daunting than the dissertation. Although the nature-writing persona of my “Pedestrian” essays is nothing like the scholarly prose of my dissertation, on the heels of that great traumatic push, I’ve been gun-shy about writing anything that requires much in the way of revision. Blog-posts are safe: you can explain away errors and inanities with the excuse, “But I dash off something everyday…this doesn’t represent my best, most careful work!” But in my mind at least, my “Pedestrian” essays represent the writerly “me” that I want to be remembered for: this is Lorianne’s prose all cleaned and gussied up. Before I could stomach the thought of piling my prose into its Sunday best, though, I had to cool my heels a bit from the final drive toward the doctorate.

Colonial Theatre

In other Keene-related news, if you are a reader of Shane Nickerson’s Nickerblog, you know that Shane, his wife, Elisa, and their daughter, Lucy, have been road-tripping through the northeast. Shane and Elisa are Keene State College alumni, so I’d hoped to meet up with them when they ventured back to New England from their adopted home in Los Angeles. But, alas, the fates intervened: Shane and family were in Keene while I was in Boston last week, so any eventual face-to-face meet-up will have to wait. In the meantime, though, you can compare my night-time photo of the Colonial Theater’s Michael Moore marquee (taken on opening night, June 29th, 2004, the night before my illicit swim at Goose Pond: notice in the shadows the ladder still standing from where workers had just updated the marquee) with Shane’s daytime photo. (You’ll need to scroll halfway down to see Shane’s Colonial Theater photo; if you scroll all the way down, you’ll see a precious shot of a pouting Lucy.) Although I’m disappointed to have missed Shane, it’s good to know that others were watching the town while I was away: a better blogger than I, Shane even blogs (and posts pictures!) from the road. It’s good to know that even when I’m cooling my heels, others will swim, snap photos, and blog in my stead.