Yet we turn our eyes to the sky to think or weep, to check the weather, to pray. We own that outlook, you see. Just as a couple named Heyl will soon hold title to a conspicuous hill in Rockport, artifically stripped bare. Yes, I've been there. I've walked the barren slope, heard the grasshopper, studied the bay and the offset teardrop of Chickawaukie Lake and the drive-in movie screen below.
Recollection is fond and indelibly etched.
But the tremulous alarm sounded by so many who have obviously trod the same path mystifies me. The path, after all, will remain. A hand-crafted apparatus named Conservation Easement will protect that path throughout such future time as we humans may comprehensibly foresee, certainly throughout our own fleet lifespans. The reactionary outcry, it seems, has come from those more youthful, hardier souls whose legs may yet carry them off the road and up when the impulse calls. No matter that many arrived here late from out of state, some came early and maintain intimate connections with the hands that shaped Beech Hill into the landmark it has become.