It must be hard to be a Mann. I mean, just think of all the puns they've had to put up with over the years. "I once knew a woman who was a Mann." And all the silly names you could give your kids, like Maytag Repair. I could go on.
But the Mann's - no, it's not Menn - are one of Scituate's oldest families, and therefore one of the oldest families in American history. Scituate was officially on the map in 1636. The naming of Mann Hill Road is just one small tribute to the family. In another part of town, the historical society has preserved an old Mann farmhouse, one that was still without electricity in the 1960s thanks to the hermit-like intransigence of the owner. But that's a walk for another day.
Mann Hill Road is a woodsy suburban corridor, with trees that hang out over the street, making for lots of shade. It passes by a big Catholic church that has a big non-denominational sun-blessed parking lot. There was lots of singing going on in the thickety woods surrounding that lot, including the persistent songs of black-throated blue warblers buzzing from many directions.
The sun was out in full force, and was just teasing the strength of the mercury in the thermometers so early in the day. For the second day in a row, it's headed for the mid-80s, with nary a rain cloud in sight. Ah, life is good. (Insert Mann joke here).
Time: 38 minutes.
New species: (Birds) Canada warbler, willow flycatcher (234); (wildflowers in Bloom) pitcher plant (33); (Butterflies) Red-spotted purple (10).
Stranger hellos: None.
What else is shakin': Full day at work; took a quick walk at the Black Pond Bog Nature Preserve in Norwell on the way home; got my copy of The Keeper's Log with my article on the wreck of the Robert E. Lee off Plymouth in 1928; mowed the lawn. swept the driveway, washed the car.