Grateful For Summer Pleasures
As I write this, the sun is setting on what has been another gorgeous summer day. I have just returned home from my afternoon swim at Tobey Pond and my heart is full of gratitude for the great gift of this little piece of paradise. I recall the days when my sons were little and my husband worked nights. It became my routine to pack a very simple supper, maybe a loaf of good bread, some cheese or peanut butter, carrots, cucumbers, and some fruit and head over to Tobey in the mid-afternoon. The boys would meet their friends and swim for hours, only coming out of the water to grab a snack or to get involved in the construction of elaborate sand structures, complete with roads, moats, and bridges, and always topped with a flag made from a leaf and a stick. Around six o’clock I would call them to the picnic tables for supper and then herd them reluctantly to the car. The drive to our house was less than five minutes but sometimes they would be so tired from the day’s adventure they would nod off on the way home. Because the water at Tobey was so pristine, often the kids could skip their bath. They would tumble into bed and fall fast asleep before I could finish a bedtime story.
Nearly twenty years later, it is still my habit to visit the pond late in the afternoon, but these days I am more likely to bump into one or the other of my boys who have come for a quick swim after work. Like so may Norfolk families, my family and I have had the pleasure of countless summer days at Tobey Pond, a privilege we must never take for granted. So I wish to thank Ted and Elizabeth Childs and their family for having the foresight to preserve this magical place and the generosity to share it with the residents of Norfolk.
—Fay O’Meara

The Ice Box Rag

A poet doesn’t like to swear,
But damn this summer of the bear.
The top of Haystack all but shook,
For there’s a bear where e’er you look.

New Canaan sends us naughty bears
To build their Norfolk summer lairs.
You want to hear the “Ice Box Rag?”
“Please send us one without a tag!”

“Let’s place the blame on D.E.P.,”
I say without hyperbole.
Our ursine pests are here to stay.
Some even play the matinée.

A home invasion did occur,
But burglars surely don’t have fur!
A frightened woman called the cops—
The thief was just a bear called Chops.

At least the Greenwich bears have taste.
To shrimp and ice cream they make haste.
Oh, sure, they like a seed or two,
But Norfolk’s bears prefer ragoût.

Marolda, Roseman, Borden, too.
You’d think their kitchens were a zoo.
On Maple Ave. and Shepard Road
The black and furries daily strode.

But I, for one, don’t mind a bear
I take a view most laissez-faire.
But when I use my backyard loo,
Why must I meet Winnie-the-Pooh?

—Christopher Little