A Bridge Not Too Far

There's a mighty bridge that crosses the Thames River and connects New London to the rest of the world, but I am loathe to cross it. Unless I'm going to Watch Hill I just see no reason to cross over to Rotten Groton.

Last week, though, all that changed. Mistah packed us a picnic, including a lovely bottle of Corey Creek Rosé from our friend Mr. Dibble . . .

Mr. Dibble focuses on being "up the Creek." Me, I focus on the better part of the wine's name.

Anyway, Mistah packed chairs and snacks and wine, picked me up at the Tavern, and off we went to Eastern Point Park.

Who knew Groton could be so lovely?

Who knew Eastern Point Park was so fabulous?

Plus, we were able to keep a close watch on our ol' friend Ledgie -- from the other side of the river.

It was a beautiful . . .

. . . and very relaxing day.

Westy loved it too.

My birthday Bucket of Love became our new Westy picnic bucket, which worked out just perfectly.

Oh, how I love a picnic.

We watched the water . . .

. . . we watched the ferries come and go . . .

. . . and come and go.

They don't call the high-speed ferry high speed for nothing, you know.

We watched sailboats . . .

. . . and fishing boats . . .

. . . and lots of birdies.

Birds and boats and boats and birds . . .

Then a crazy thick fog blew in and Ledgie disappeared.

. . . but then, thankfully, reappeared. Phew. That was a close one.

It was a fabulous day out there on the Other Side of the River.

Maybe it's not a bridge not too far, afterall.