Decoding Wellfleet (3)

My comments on pickleball players drew strong criticism on social media. I did not realise this sport was so popular. And that humor was such a risky business.

So much for my project to write The Pickleball papers, a modern version of Dicken's novel about a travelling society. I will stick to less controversial topics.

Wednesday, I was waiting for the eight bells of noon when to my amazement, the bells went on and on. Was it to announce the end of the farmer's market, a wedding or thwart my efforts to decode Wellfleet? Whatever the reason, this is further proof that Wellfleet holds to this day several mysteries.

The first thing I actually noticed about Wellfleet is its art scene. Indeed, the number of art galleries per square foot is astounding. This reality sinks in fairly quickly for any tourist looking for a bank. Even The Left Bank is an art gallery here. This is probably why this town inspires me so much.

This morning, the tennis courts were waiting for us on Kendrick street and so we had a very intense ball-hitting session. Afterwards, we took the car and followed a fox that was going up the road towards Herring River Outlook. It was not at all bothered by our presence.

The hike up there was beautiful. A mile of peace and quiet in the forest. The beauty of the surroundings made us forget that we could run into the fox any time. Instead, we saw a trio of wild turkeys, probably enjoying the view while searching for food.

Tomorrow is bound to be a do-nothing day, as famously suggested by Wyman Richardson in The House on Nauset Marsh. Decoding Wellfleet is a strenuous mental endeavour. Once in a while, I need a day to regroup and get the bells out of my head.