November 26, 2011, Southport, CT: We expect Southport’s summer routines to be behind us now that it’s November. But today’s weather is just as conducive to croquet and bicycles as it was last time I was here — in May — for a girls’ weekend. Six months ago, we were mixing lemonade and beer, and blossoms were bursting. This week, the town Turkey Trot, a too early sunset and a lack of colorful blooms are the only real indicators the holidays are upon us.
Finally. We are back here.
May 2011, Southport, CT
It took five months and ten days since starting this project to return home to the place I consider the short answer. In the quickest of conversations on the most superficial of levels, when someone asks, “Where are you from?”, the easy answer is Connecticut.
Though I lived in Connecticut throughout middle and high school, we didn’t move from Stamford to Southport until I finished college. Yet Southport is my favorite family home of any I remember. According to my criteria, it’s a stellar place. Southport is a waterfront town where kayaks dot the yards and my mother bikes to Spic and Span Market with a bright green bike basket. Southport residents walk to the library for the spring book sale and to church on Christmas Eve. For special occasions, we flock to Paci, the restaurant in the old train station, where we indulge in a perfect winter meal of fresh pasta and hot peppers and get a feel for the energy of this seemingly sleepy town. In Southport, we are surrounded by good people who know us well; our days are simple and safe. Friends take the train out from the city to spend time with our family when their own is far away.
Tonight after several nights of Thanksgiving fare in Massachusetts, we’re here for a different kind of pie. We’re here for Southport Pizza, one of the best places in town.