Robert Finch

Robert Finch is a nature writer living in Wellfleet. 'A Cape Cod Notebook' won the 2006 New England Edward R. Murrow Award for Best Radio Writing.

Robert Finch has lived on and written about Cape Cod for forty years. He is the author of six collections of essays, most recently "The Iambics of Newfoundland" (Counterpoint Press), and co-editor of "The Norton Book of Nature Writing."

His essays can be heard on WCAI every Tuesday at 8:30am and 5:45pm.

Joseph bit.ly/2aJ9Upb / bit.ly/OJZNiI

When I pulled into Newcomb Hollow, the beach was curiously empty. There were only three cars in the parking lot, and two of those left almost immediately. The waves were low and quiet, silently tossing massive logs and bright flags of sea lettuce about in the surf.

Andreas Faessler bit.ly/2asocUQ / bit.ly/1kvyKWi

One night last week I had dinner with friends in Provincetown. Afterwards we debated whether to go out to Herring Cove to watch the Perseid meteor shower or to stroll along the circus midway that is Commercial Street in August.

geneva_wirth bit.ly/2b0eE5H / bit.ly/OJZNiI

The great green islands of the marsh slipped smoothly by: high, flat, raised grasslands whose creeks and configurations were completely hidden from my angle of view. Their smooth fringed bank suggested the shore of unknown, untouched coasts above the grass. 

Paul-W bit.ly/2arFSUP / bit.ly/OJZNiI

Tides, along with the seasons and the diurnal rhythms, are one of the few dependably regular reciprocal rhythms in nature. One can journey into winter, or midnight, knowing one will be returned, in time, to summer and the light of day.

Graham Baker bit.ly/2a2khOS / bit.ly/OJZNiI

Cape Cod is a region that is usually spoken of, even by year-round residents, as if it were one fairly homogeneous place, with bigger or smaller waves, and perhaps some variation in traffic from season to season. I have lived here for over 40 years, and I am still learning about how different the various parts of this slim, sandy peninsula are.

Ib Aarmo bit.ly/29vZinh / bit.ly/OJZNiI

The other day I was watching a flock of terns diving into an inlet after sand eels. They would hover seven or eight feet in the air on whirring wings and fanned out tails, then drop like arrows beneath the fast-sliding currents, emerging a few seconds later with wriggling sand eels in their beaks.

Robert Finch

One of my wife Kathy’s favorite sayings is that, in recounting your vacation experiences, what most listeners want to hear is not the good or pleasant things that happened, but rather the minor disasters and near-catastrophes – the things that didn’t quite seriously hurt you. 

Nesson Marshall bit.ly/28Of1l4 / bit.ly/1hYHpKw

About a third of a mile east of Route 6 in my hometown of Wellfleet, one comes upon the longest remaining continuous stretch of the original King's Highway, the first road deliberately laid out down the entire length of Cape Cod. This road gets its name from the fact that in 1660, King Charles II of England gave a royal grant to have this road constructed.

On Grief Delayed

Jun 21, 2016
mgstanton http://bit.ly/1VXzLse / http://bit.ly/OJZNiI

My father was a quiet man. He rarely asserted himself in a conversation. He was a quiet man, but he was a decisive one, who hardly ever consulted anyone else in making decisions. I remember as a child that every few years he would go out on a Saturday morning. When he came back he would toss a set of keys to my mother, his way of announcing to all of us that he had just bought a new car.

Rover Thor http://bit.ly/1Ux1uL3 / http://bit.ly/1jNlqZo

One day last week, Kathy and I took some time off and spent several hours at one of our favorite ponds: a small, clear, kettle-hole pond hidden deep in the Wellfleet woods.

When we got to the pond, the morning mist had burned off and the day had turned sunny and pleasantly warm. 

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