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The town of Hull, Massachusetts sticks out into the North Atlantic Ocean just south of Boston. It's a sort of mini-Cape Cod, forming the southern entrance to Boston Harbor. The town is a seven mile long peninsula formed over the eons by ocean currents and the mighty storms that have wrecked many a ship on Hull's long beaches.

Since you're reading this on the Internet, take a minute to look up Hull on your map browser. Search for 276 Nantasket Road, then drop down to street view. There's the house my parents, Joe and Mary, bought in 1967. Turn around to see the view that sold them on the place. My mother loved the glassed-in front porch overlooking the water. My father saw a place to moor his boat. 

I was starting my senior year of college in Boston in 1967. I had been wanting to get an apartment near school with friends for years, but my parents said I should save money by living at home and riding the bus to school. Now that they were moving down to the South Shore, an apartment became necessary, so I didn't move into the new house. My brothers Bill, Steve, and Mark were in high school or grade school and Mary-Jo was just going into kindergarten.

Bill graduated from high school the same time I finished college. We both got draft notices and enlisted in the Navy.  During the next four years, we stayed at the new house during our leaves. I shouldn't call the house new. It was built in 1900, and solidly built it was. It had been built for a different era. There was a second floor maid's room in the back. A narrow back stairway led down to the kitchen. There was a double soapstone sink where the maid did the laundry by hand.

Of course the McDonnells never had a maid. My mother did the cooking and a washing machine did the laundry. When I got out of the Navy in  1972, I moved home for my only extended stay in the house. I needed to figure out my next move. Almost immediately I met Teresa and my fate was sealed. I moved to Minnesota the next year and every summer since we have returned to 276 Nantasket Road for at least a week's visit.

Teresa and I had our three boys and, as my siblings added cousins, the fun increased by the year. I hope I'm not flattering myself, but it seemed like our arrival in Hull was an excuse for a week long party. Joe and Mary's house was always the hub of activity. The days involved sailing on my father's boat, or afternoons at the beach, or jaunts up to the city to show the kids points of historical interest.

As the cousins got older, so did my parents. They both lived till age 86. My father wanted to remain at home, and with Hospice and a lot of help from my brothers and sister, he got his wish. My mother lived two more years. The family took turns staying with her in the house, but eventually it made sense for her to move to Mary-Jo's house.

Now it was time to decide what to do with the house. Hull is a beach town. You can do pretty well renting a house by the week during the summer. So that's what they did for seven or so years. They made enough to pay the taxes and do repairs. But being an innkeeper is hard work. and the house was getting older too and needing some serious work.

Finally the decision was made to sell the house. Family members were given the chance to come in and take what they wanted. This was all a two year process. Three dumpsters were involved. Good stuff no one wanted was put on the street with a "free" sign.

The first year the house was on the market, we ran into house flippers. We rejected their offers and eventually took the house off the market for the winter. Things went better this year and we sold the house to a couple who will renovate the place rather than tear it down and build new.

It is absolutely amazing how much stuff our parents accumulated in their fifty-three years there. We had about a month after the sale to empty out of the house. It was a big job and the work was done by Steve, Mark, Mary-Jo and their families. Family members were asked to look over the remaining stuff again and much was taken. More went under the Free sign. And the rest went into a large dumpster.

There was a final celebration for the house on August 1. It would have been a mighty party, but thanks to Covid-19, it was limited to family. Maybe it was better that way. More intimate. And there was still more stuff down in the garage. Every day another corner was cleaned out. I took a small anchor and stashed it at my son's house since I knew it would not get past TSA.

The keys were not turned over till August 10. Almost every night until then we had a mini-celebration. Mary-Jo brought folding chairs from home and we ordered take-out. On Sunday the ninth we had a last get-together. We made a final tour of the rooms, sang one more song, and in the dark, went our separate ways into our future.

Last night. Emptied out. 
(Photo by Maggie McDonnell)