Cape Cod, Cranberries and the Creation of Ever-Lasting Memories

Cranberries: The Most Festive Holiday Fruit

Over the weekend I made a cranberry bread to finish off the package of cranberries left over from the cranberry relish I whipped up at Thanksgiving. Both the bread and the relish were made from my mother’s recipes; although tasty, sadly neither turned out as good as hers. I’ll blame it on the altitude, at least for the baking. The not-so crisp relish was more a result of the equipment. (How can a blender do as good of a job as a Cuisinart anyway?)

None of this really mattered though, since these roundish red berries transported me back to my mother’s kitchen, to my mother’s love and to an especially memorable trip I took this fall with my mom and dad. We had decided to take a three-day, two-night road trip to Cape Cod, Massachusetts from Troy, New York, a 240-mile journey that represented a considerable jaunt for anyone but even more so for our little group since the necessity of snack and bathroom breaks required frequent stopping. Mom did all the driving, a notable feat because the first part of our travels was marked by torrential rain and relentless fog. I surveyed the road from the backseat, providing little navigational input since my mom had traveled this route countless times before.

The purpose of our journey was twofold: to visit Eleanor, my mother’s best friend, and to have fun together. This was to be my first ever road trip with just my parents and me. I think we all secretly wished it would be special.

We decided to go low-budget with our lodging and spare no expense with dining out. We checked into The Santuit Inn toward the end of the afternoon the first day, hauled my dad’s 50-pound sleep apnea machine into his room and carefully settled him in so that his plethora of toiletries were close at hand. Mom and I bunked in farther down in this boutique motel that had recently been spiffed up with a cheery cottage-like decor. We nodded approvingly to each other about the striped and flowered bed coverings and took time to admire the Cape scenes that adorned the walls. I had already met Peter (pronounced Pee-tah here), the owner, upon arrival and felt confident we were in good hands.

Dad had little time to settle into his evening news programs, since my mother and I whisked him off to the historic Dan’l Webster Inn in nearby Sandwich for dinner. Here we opted for the Tavern, the more charming part of this renowned establishment distinguished by a huge fireplace, low ceilings, wood floors and paneling. We cozied up into the red leather booths and feasted on specialities such as seafood chowder and lobster pot pie. It was the end of the tourist season and the place was jamming, surely not an uncommon experience for this inn any time of the year, particularly if you arrive for their early evening special. We had missed the discounted dinners, however, since even at this stage of their lives, my parents were never big on dining early.

Mom and I were sure we’d zonk out for a big night’s sleep after such a day of travel. But as soon as we turned off the T.V. and found ourselves in the quiet of our room, we were astonished by the loud drone emanating from my dad’s room two doors away. “My God, is that his sleep machine?” I asked my mother. Neither of us could imagine that it sounded so loud. We were horrified.

“It sounds like we’re on a tarmac with jet engines idling,” I added. “We’re going to be kicked out of here. What if the other guests hear it like we do?”

“We’ve traveled before with it and it’s never gone off so loudly,” my mom said.

“I can’t believe dad can sleep through that,” I remarked.

“Oh, he’d sleep through anything,” my mom replied.

Both my mother and I laughed hysterically and then finally miraculously fell asleep. I awoke several times throughout the night fearful that someone was going to rap on the door and complain. Thank goodness Peter appeared so kind. I was also glad it was slow season and their weren’t many guests at the inn.

Day two was to be our big day. Dad and I began early next door at Persy’s Place, one of the best breakfast and lunch spots on the Cape. They have locations throughout the region and each is known for their homemade baked goods, in particular their famous cornbread. Mom was ready to go by the time we returned, perfectly turned out in her pumpkin-colored coat and autumnal scarf. Although we drove a seemingly endless amount of miles the day before, she was all set to slip behind the wheel again today. Fortunately the sun shone brightly.

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