A Walk Through Branford, Connecticut

As the clothes in my closet slowly decrease and the fridge starts getting emptier at the end of each semester, my roommate Rose asks me the same question each year. She asks, “Why do you not stay in Philadelphia during the summer?” The accessibility into center city through SEPTA for an internship and the sheer number of restaurants with outdoor tables that line the streets make a convincing argument. However, I always respond with a sly grin, “How could I not go home?” Unfortunately, living in a beach town in Connecticut, which was highlighted on National Geographic’s Aerial of America: Connecticut episode, is slightly more appealing than a hot and sticky city. Even though National Geographic emphasizes the billion-dollar houses on the Thimble Islands, I know Branford as a small and cozy beach town, much like the house I live in.

Branford truly became my home when I was confined to quiet neighborhoods of the town during the pandemic. At this time, my mom and I started walking excessively to get out of the house. These walks could not be described as anything but magical. As we left the driveway, prepared for our hour-long journey, I could feel the ground beneath my feet. I was stable and confident. Walking is a particularly good activity to clear my head and observe the things around you. You find that you start noticing things that you never noticed before. Like the way my hair moved in the wind on a street lined with trees, creating a lush green arc above us, or the way streams of light from the sun created an interesting pattern on the dark road. Further down the street, we hit a bridge acting as a barrier from my house to the rest of the town. As we crossed, the temperature of the water fooled us as it glistened with sunshine. As I lean up against the side of the bridge, I can feel the prickly wooden railing scratching my skin.  The sounds of engines filled my ears as I watched boats drive by, and the soft noise of rippling water from nearby kayakers created a peaceful environment. I could see the Thimble Island Cruise making its way out to Long Island Sound to showcase one of Connecticut’s most amazing wonders.

The walk itself was nice, but it also provided an uninterrupted period of time to catch up with my mom, who I don’t talk to regularly throughout the semester. My mom and I talked about everything from the anticipation of the start of my senior year to her horror stories from work. I would always just let her rant because I knew she needed it, and for once, it wasn’t me who was stressed. Frustration was rolling off her in waves bigger than the ones we had in Branford. Each word spoken was like a weight had been lifted off her chest. We would halt our conversation to quietly say hello to anyone who would walk past us and then continue where we left off. We were in sync the whole journey. Each step we took, and each sway of our arms were in unison. My mom would ask, “Which way are we walking today?”  Choosing the north side meant the sound of laughter slowly increasing as we got closer to the center of town. Our view of the 50-foot James Blackstone Memorial Library, carved out of “light-tone Tennessee marble,” came into view, according to Peter Borgemeister. A staple of the Branford Community since 1896, every time I walk by this building, it sends shivers running down my spine. Yet, I always chose to walk through Foote Memorial Park, a community hub for enjoyment. We walked by the 10-year-old softball players and cheerleaders cheering with excitement and reminisced when my siblings and I were that young, telling stories about our sports days that are long over. We would pass a small water playground, something relatively new to the park, and think about how our lives would have been different if that was built when I was a kid.

At that point, we would turn around and head back the way we came, seeing the same sites but from a different perspective. We would walk down streets that I still don’t know the names of even after living there for 15 years. Yet, I found that it didn’t matter. As I have gotten older, I have grown to appreciate Branford and all it has to offer. I like to say it has ruined me, because I will now compare every possible town I could settle down into Branford. I know I will always have a place in the Branford community.

Home isn’t just where the heart is. Yes, my heart lies with my friends and family, but they are just half of the reason why Branford is my home. When I am taking the train home every school break, and I start to smell the salty air and I hear the piercing call from a flock of nearby seagulls, I know I am home. I don’t know when my next walk with my mom will be, nor the next long period of time I will spend at home since graduation is quickly approaching, but all I know is that it will happen, and that is enough to make me go back home.