“It was a sharp, cold Christmas; and as the short northern day merged into night, we found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray cased us in ice, as in polished armor.”

I’ve decided and will declare in this space that I want to live in Winthrop. What is Winthrop for my non-Native Bostonians? It’s this adorable, albeit sincerely quaint and beautiful seaside community on the North Shore of Boston, where one of my best friends Steve (who reviews music over at my first love, my music blog Pulp and Circumstance, Juiced!) happens to live.

I absolutely find the sea to be one of the most romantic places on the planet. It makes you feel absolutely small, and insignificant (not to sound cliche or warped), but at the same time, it’s so freeing. I could never imagine not living near some large body of water–or by a harbor. It’s the only place, now, I want to reside. To sit and smell the salts, to knit on a gray day, all those delicious things.

And so, to help me with my love affair of the ocean (for Steve also feels as I do), we started out the evening set to gobble up some seafood at favorite Saugus hot-spot Kelly’s Roast Beef, and insitution around these parts (and a running joke about Steve “clamming up” around girls).

After gobbling up my delicious lobster roll, Steve decided we must take to the brisk mid-October air and walk the seawall, and Deer Island (which was eventually connected to Winthrop and what came out of it was this donut walk around Winthrop Beach and back around the Boston Harbor, circumventing the monstrosity of a water-treatment plant, smack dab in the middle of the island). It’s the most amazing walk–dark and lonely but peaceful, especially at 11 p.m. on a Friday night. We were the only ones out there, and so we waxed poetic on the ocean, talked about how easy it would be to dump a body, saw a tug boat captain un-tugging anything and taking that baby for a joy ride, and hit comatose bewilderment as we stared about at Boston Light and the egg-shell like sludge holders which have become synonymous with the harbor and its islands. Steve was so bold as to say, “If you squint your eyes at the egg-canisters Jenna, you’ll feel like you were in a sci-fi film…” to which I told him I didn’t speak geek and we went on.

I.love.the.ocean.I.will.live.in.a.seaside.New England.home.in.Winthop.

When I finally returned home, I immediately picked up some sticks to start a new cabled scarf out of Fisherman’s Wool, which seemed absolutely fitting. And it will look amazing on whoever I gift it to.

File Under: All this ocean talk makes me want to get lost in books about traditional New England ocean life. Any suggestions, anyone?

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