THIS LAND IS YOUR LAND, THIS LAND IS MY LAND

 Robert Isenberg

March 10, 2013           

                              “THIS LAND IS YOUR LAND, THIS LAND IS MY LAND”

 As we drove off to Maine from our Lexington home, I said to my wife Dana, “Do you

ever think we are being watched?”

“No, Dana replied. I won’t ask why, since I’m very sure you will tell me.”

“Well we always leave this Subaru at the top of the driveway in front of our house.

Right? Now if I were even a semi smart robber, who was watching our house and us,

I would think open season on the Isenberg home.”

“Funny,” Dana said, “I was thinking how much I’m looking forward to this trip. You

know how much I love being near the ocean.  You know how much I’m looking

forward to walking on the beach at low tide. You know how much I was looking

forward to the breakfast at  the Terrace, reading the Times and gazing at the surf.

No, I wasn’t thinking about robbers. I was actually feeling pretty good about leaving

 the house. I checked to make sure all the lights were out, all the doors locked. Yes, I

was  feeling good.  I know that you showed Jeff where all the plants were, especially

the ones out of sight. Will Jeff water every day?”

“Jeff sent me his teaching schedule. Yes, he will be teaching tennis every day. He

 promised me that he would water every day. He also promised to email me as to

 how the plants were doing,” I said.

“That’s good.” said Dana, “One less thing you have to worry about.”

   We arrived at the “Terrace By The Sea” in a little over an hour. We congratulated

 ourselves for leaving on a no traffic Thursday. We were on the beach

 and in the water until there was no sun left. It was all perfect.

        Dana and I played catch with what looked like a part football and part plastic

feathered shape. A young couple that was watching us finally came over. It seemed

 they couldn’t praise us enough. The guy was saying how impressed he was at our

throwing and catching agility. When they left, Dana laughed, “ I think they were

impressed that we were still moving. I don’t think they were really complimenting

us on our athletic ability.”

  I once again carried my tattered boogie board out to meet the highest and most

ferocious wave that would carry me to the shore and Dana’s clapping. It was clear by

the astonished glances that if I weren’t  the oldest boogie border in the universe, I was

in the running. Then there were the long walks on the endless sand. It was hard to

 tell what was more glorious. the sun on our backs as we walked to the footbridge or

 the gentle breeze as we walked back to our chairs.

   I had brought at least a dozen “New Yorker” magazines. This would be my chance

to try and catch up. My goal was to read at least two stories each day and try not

 to get  caught up reading one of the endless narratives. Dana was more than content

  with her Kindle.

    The evenings were spent deciding which restaurant to go to. We usually ended up

in one of the more romantic outdoor restaurants eating one kind of fish or another.

Dana has a habit of multi listening. She barely listens to what I’m saying, but I can

tell by the way her eyes sparkle that she is listening intently to the neighboring 

table’s conversation. Usually she keeps her eyes on me so as not to get caught.

However, this time she grabbed my hand and whispered, “While the woman was on

her cell, the guy tried to steal one of her barbeque ribs, only to get his hand slapped.”

As soon as the woman put away her cell phone, Dana became engrossed in 

conversing with the woman. There were some connections and exchanging of cards

that would most likely never be looked at again.

   After a walk downtown to the bakery, we would return to our cottage. I would

check the E-mail each night, and each night there was a note from Jeff elaborating

how well he was doing watering all the plants and how they were flourishing under

his care. That is until the night before we left. Jeff’s Email said “I have good news and

bad news. Your cherry tomatoes that are hanging from the deck are safe, but your

other vegetables have been decimated by what I suspect was a groundhog. When I

arrived in your back yard, I found a half eaten cucumber and all the cucumber leaves

gone. The peppers, basil and dill were all gone as well.”

  I read Jeff’s E-mail very slowly to Dana ,  “I told you we were being watched. I just

didn’t think we were being watched by a groundhog.”

       I don’t know if I’ve seen too many Disney movies or my imagination has gotten

the better of me, but when we returned  home there was the groundhog with a

stick in his hand leading the chipmunks , rabbits and squirrels to  a chorus

of  “Woodie Guthrie’s” This Land Is Your Land, This Land is My Land.”