He already was becoming the most exemplary former President maybe in history, picking up hammers to help build Habitat for Humanity homes, donning a suit and traveling the world to encourage free and fair elections.

Bob McKeon, a 78-year-old retired state trooper, splits his time, as many do, between his primary residence -- his is in North Attleboro -- and his place on the Cape in South Dennis. A favorite activity is going out to dinner, and when he started posting restaurant reviews on a popular Facebook page years ago, he gained more and more friends -- many of them touched by his endearing references to his singular dining companion: The Bride.

What is it that pulls so many of us to a Christmas Eve service, even if we are nonbelievers or haven’t stepped foot in a church since our cousin’s wedding in 2019?

With all the ongoing controversy about whether a machine gun range should be built on the Upper Cape, it seems fitting to go back in time and revisit some history that in retrospect seems all but impossible, but true:Cape Cod once was home to an arsenal of nuclear weapons, 56 bombs located about 600 feet from a residential subdivision, in what was then called Otis, now Joint Base Cape Cod.

I am a genuine birder but a somewhat old and lazy one, with limited ability and ancient binoculars. I have some idea what is out there- soaring, skulking, or flitting about- but it is woefully incomplete compared to the information possessed by the array of gifted and obsessed observers that roam the Cape on a regular basis with powerful optics and awesome cameras.

Cummiquid writer Susan Moeller takes a rabbit hole trip to an earlier Cape Cod.

The dark comes early. At first, I fought it. Disoriented, dazed. And doesn’t it feel like midnight, the moon pooling on the ocean, spilt milk reaching for the shore? At least the clock in the stove, the one I cannot figure out how to reset, is right again.

Great Island in Wellfleet is a beautiful pearl on the Cape Cod National Seashore’s necklace, the most dramatic of a handful of islands strung along Cape Cod Bay, linked by sandy strands.

They appeared suddenly one night on our patio, four young raccoons, a quartet of rumble-tumble trouble. They pressed their little bandit faces against our glass sliders, scratching to get inside our tiny cottage.