Days in the Northeast: Lighthouse-Bound

I can see the lighthouse from the window of my brother’s apartment. It’s a white, diminutive figure from my perspective up here on the 23rd floor of this building. I’m curious about it.

“Let’s go there then,” My brother tells me.

The drive to Lighthouse Point Park on New Haven’s East Shore is a bit farther than any of our other destinations have been, clocking in at about 15 minutes. There is a lineup of cars on the road that winds into the park when we get there. I peer ahead, trying to discern the sign that’s in front of the booth at which each car stops.

“Bro,” I say slowly, “Parking is 20 bucks.” I try to process that.

What? Ridiculous,” He says, incredulous.

“Maybe we should go,” I comment, factoring in the number of people and the cost, “We can find someplace else to go.”

We turn around.


It’s not quite as easy to find a place to park and look out at the New Haven Harbour as we had anticipated. We drive in and out through seemingly identical, narrow residential streets.

“Nope, these guys all have permits on their dashboards,” I say for the umpteenth time, as we drive by yet another row of parked cars. We continue driving. And emerge onto a new road. Aimless driving has a strange way of doing that to you.

Eventually, we end up at Fort Nathan Hale Park. Later on, I learn that its namesake was an American spy during the American Revolutionary War and was caught and executed by the British.

“I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country,” were his purported famous final words.

It’s rough and unkempt in this park-the swings creak ominously and I can see shards of glass scattered in the grass- but quiet. Beautifully isolated.

A view of New Haven Harbour.

A view of New Haven Harbour.

Looking to my left, I can see a sandbar on which a couple is walking. There is a raised hill covered with greenery, through which a path must wind to that sandbar. That’s my conjecture, anyway.

“Do you want to try going up there?” I ask, eagerly looking at the trail that is barely visible amidst the bush.

“I’d be careful with that,” My brother tells me. “Connecticut is known for ticks.”

I feel compelled to change my mind.


We end up at the lighthouse anyway. Not on that day, but on the last day of my stay in New Haven. We don’t begrudge the parking price. Well, not as much.

The sky is overcast as we walk through the field on which a group of kids are playing frisbee. Eventually, we emerge onto a rock-strewn beach. The lighthouse rises up behind it, the entrance locked.  We walk amongst the rocks, watching the gentle waves lap at them and looking out at New Haven. The only disconcerting aspect of the sight is the oil tankers that weave in and out of the harbour in the distance.

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My brother in front of the lighthouse.

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Me walking out to the water. Tripped pretty much right after this pic was taken…

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New Haven skyline.

We sit at the picnic table, looking out over the harbour and the skyline of the city. A glimmer of sun shines through the clouds.

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A panorama that my brother took just as the sun came out.

It’s a peaceful farewell.


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