As colder months set in, with temperatures in the 20s and 30s, even the heartiest of New Englander’s yearn for an escape from early afternoon sunsets, cabin fever and hibernation paralysis. In my opinion, nothing invigorates the spirit more than a nighttime stroll on the Brant Rock Esplanade. Breathing in the refreshing salty air while listening to crashing ocean waves is, quite simply, the perfect antidote to what ails us all this time of year.
My wife Liz and I put on our New England Patriots hats, warm gloves and parkas and head outside to brave the elements. Heading east, we pass Gerard Turkey Farm, where hungry crowds wait patiently to enjoy their famous turkey sandwiches and soup. My stomach grumbles slightly as I recall sitting on Ocean Bluff Beach in the summertime, eating one of their “turkey, cranberry, mayo,” albeit in much warmer weather.
Gazing over at The Road House, a local Marshfield ‘watering hole’, we spy some shadowy figures sharing a cigarette and enjoying a late night chat, silent and still as frozen statues in the frigid solitude. The sight of houses along Ocean Street decorated with colorful lights, electronic reindeer, St. Nicholas plastic blow-ups, with Snoopy and Charlie Brown in Christmas attire, puts us in the holiday spirit and gives us pause, feeling blessed to live in such a special community, grateful to call Marshfield home.
Under the moonlit sky, a lonely streetlight shines down on a rusty old station wagon parked at the Fieldston, in stark contrast to party goers dancing in the window, presumably, to an acoustic session of Jimmy Buffet’s “Margaritaville.” Further down the block at St. Ann’s By the Sea, we behold a brightly lit Christmas tree, decorated with lobster traps and buoys – a true Brant Rock tradition giving ode to the many years the local economy and community was supported by the tireless work ethic of fishermen and lobstermen.
After parking along the Brant Rock seawall we notice the houses that used to be cottages are bigger, dark now and seemingly vacant without a creature stirring (not even a mouse!). We step out into the frigid air, and I immediately regret not bringing a neck warmer or face mask – but, in my brief moment of annoyance, a woman dressed in yoga pants and long underwear runs by with headphones, shouting, “Merry Christmas!” Waving back, we wish her well, but I shake my head and move on, laughing – “I’ll survive.”
As we walk, I recall the Brant Rock of yore – and the well-known oceanfront house with the massive whale bone adorning the front entrance, the name “Mannix” inscribed into it, a Brant Rock landmark that could be seen entering Brant Rock from Green Harbor. I also remember the crooked floors in the old hole-in-the-wall Haddad’s Ocean Café that flooded constantly, where ‘cash was king’ and the only means of economic exchange.
Sitting on an old bar stool, I fondly recall chats with salty fishermen or lobstermen, who would invariably be drinking a pint, full of wisdom, in the middle of telling tall tales. Thinking about Haddad’s previous location naturally draws my attention to the now dim red and green boat lights that used to shine so bright, and I notice chipped paint fraying in the wind as we look upon the Brant Rock Fish Market. It’s a disheartening end of a bygone era that, Henry “Hank” Dunbar, the proprietor of the fish market closed his doors after 83 years. Hank would drive to the Boston Fish Pier at least three times a week so his customers would receive nothing but the best: the freshest seafood. Hank was “old school” who ran his business with integrity and passion.
While walking, we also try to imagine the hotels that once stood tall and vibrant, welcoming guests from all walks of life; Hotel Churchill, Ocean House, and the Brant Rock House. Also, the United States Life Saving Station (US Coast Guard), which was stationed here to save or assist shipwrecked sailors. Seeing that it’s almost Christmas, we trek up to Blackman’s Point where, almost 116 years to the day in 1903, on Christmas Eve, Reginald Fessenden became the first person to successfully transmit a transatlantic broadcast radio, which was heard all the way to Scotland; fittingly, he played “O Holy Night” and read a prayer. Unfortunately, due to gentrification, the scarcity and cost of land, and the threat of rising sea levels, houses are continually being replaced with condominiums and Brant Rock is continually changing. Although I don’t know if this is good or bad, I do know and hope that it will always retain its original character, made up of the people who reside there and the tight-knit, warm community they’ve created.
Gazing at the stars and noticing the Big Dipper, we’re distracted by a buzzing on the esplanade. It’s a Christmas tree, its bright lights being powered by a generator. Passing the Jetty, we see patrons enjoying live music and a few pints – lots of smiles and laughs along with Carhart jackets and boots, pink shirts and Sperry’s, and college students on break. One thing about Brant Rock that never changes: its variety.
We pass the abandoned warehouse, laden still with writing left over from the filming of Equalizer Two. Charlie’s Clam Shack, which opened in 1959 and served the best fried clams in Marshfield, causes us to reflect on this side of the seawall, as the waves and rocky landscape remind us of the Maine coastline; Bar Harbor perhaps? It is a majestic sight and we are reminded that we truly have it all here in Brant Rock. Pressing on, we smell the sweet smoke from residents’ chimneys and enjoy viewing the festively decorated Christmas trees through their windows. We pass the Fairview Inn and walk down Bradford Street, onto Island Street, toward the Green Harbor Marina. We will miss the Point Restaurant until spring, but recall their baked haddock is well worth the wait. The Maritime Center is appealing and welcoming, as we sit on one of the benches in Kiwanis Harbor Park, scanning the bright lights from Peter Igo Park and recalling years as a youngster playing here as a member of Marshfield Recreation Basketball. Looping back around, we walk the shortcut through the Harbor Path back to the legendary Arthur and Pats, past the Venus II and back to Haddad’s. We notice that Brant Rock Market is closing for the night.
Hungry after our walk, we head to Mamma Mia’s, formerly Brian’s Place, a family-owned restaurant that has been in business since 1974. As is typical, it’s packed with diners enjoying Italian cuisine while listening to acoustic guitar playing and the song, “Take Me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver.
Luckily, for our sake, we find some open bar seats, order two pints, and listen blissfully as patrons join the musician in song, “Almost heaven, West Virginia…”
I put down my glass, briefly look around, and become incredibly satisfied – a perfect ending to a perfect night in small town, Brant Rock.
Brendan Martin Coyne is a lifelong resident of Marshfield and a member of the town’s historical commission and trails committee. He wrote this piece to convey Brant Rock’s/Ocean Bluff’s rich history, natural raw beauty, and the unique, proud residents of the area that make the tight-knit community so special.
