Editor’s note: The Daily News is publishing an eight-part story written by former Pink House owner Bruce Stott. The Stott family owned the iconic Newbury home from 1960 to 2010 before selling it to the federal government.
When I do get off the island to the mainland across the marshes and the river to go off island, you will see me nod or wave as I go by our old house knowing it may not be there much longer. I will still do so whether the house is there or not “Lord willing and the creek don’t rise” old saw rattling around in my head like this story.
Mom, Juliette Auger Stott, ran a busy real estate office renting and selling nearly half of Plum Island in her decades long career as the first licensed woman Realtor around. It was where she and father lovingly raised us too as best they could. Hundreds of cars would turn into the driveway for real estate business year after year. Answering phones, taking messages, giving and taking keys, getting papers signed were part of the daily buzz of the house. I still have the last Stott Realty sign of so many I stapled to houses all over Plum Island advertising them for sale or rent. I nod to Dad resting there too seeing him constantly mowing the grass, painting the house, boating, closing in and winterizing the wrap around old style porch with the help of Ed England, or driving us cross country in a 40 horse power VW combi-bus.
It’s not a formal graveyard, but its sacred and precious to me even if and when the house is gone. I wonder if he prefers it that way and is putting a hex on saving the house? It was not in his bones to wish ill on anyone. Just the same he used to jokingly want a cannon on the front yard to scare the tourists away as they drove around the circular drive just to look around. The rest of him rests with mom in the family plot in Lawrence that dates back 200 years. The tides will still rise and fall, the grass will grow and the birds and the boat will keep him company in that wonderful magical difficult place to grow up. It was a different time and place to time warp to even now. I think people do that, nod as they go by their departed loves ones wherever they are. Those are unbreakable bonds and ties to one’s roots and New Englander’s roots run deep going back so many generations. It won’t be that long in the future, before new comers may question, “what pink house?” Just like going to Plum Island and no one remembers the church or the hotel and so on but for a few pictures.
Next year Lord willing, I will still nod when I go by. And take my boat up the creek out back on a high tide to say hello to him marker less in the marsh amongst the grass, the birds, and the water, whether the house is there or not. It’s where I want to remember him best. I will wonder with remembrance, respect, awe and love, if all that work and life we spent there was all for nought? Yet somehow, I know a calm peace that only the quiet marsh gives will come over me with the acceptance of the fates that become us in our all too short time on this planet. You have to listen to hear the water creep through the grass with the wind and observe natures mystery. Try to listen for it.
Lastly, I hope not, but will attend the funeral/demolition, if and when that happens. It would be nice to invited to the ribbon cutting and unveiling of the new version of the place or at least be asked a little about it being, the previous owners.
Will there be a bird blind and a kiosk at the parking lot for a dozen cars or so and a few osprey nests scattered about? Will it mention the house or some of its residents over its 100 years? No one has asked a thing yet, not an iota of contact, after many previous years of communication so I guess not.
But hope is mysterious and springs eternal for good things to happen eventually for our Pinkie.
Bruce Stott lives on Plum Island and in Sebastian, Florida.