I LOVE the beach. Always did and always will. As a kid my parents would take me to Jones Beach. It wasn't far from our little house in Queens. . The state park is huge with all sorts of different parking lots to go onto different parts of the beach. It was a big deal and an all day adventure. Nine times out of ten I could come home burned to a crisp. No such thing as sun block in the fifties. Many a night I would be awake all night thanks to the sun burn. I remember my mom coming into my room in the middle of the night with a cloth soaked in vinegar. I have no idea why vinegar takes the sting out of a sun burn but it always worked.
As I got older we would sometimes go to the North Shore of Long Island where Sunken Meadow State Park sat on the shore of Long Island Sound. It was quite a different experience from the ocean beach in that there were no waves and you could often walk way out without being in over your head. The beach at Sunken Meadow was sandy just like Jones Beach. Later in my life when I moved "Out East" on the north shore of Long Island I found the beaches on the sound were not sandy but rather covered in rocks. It was a challenge to walk from your blanket to the water and once in the water there were rocks under your feet rather than a nice sandy bottom. If we wanted to go to the ocean, which we did all the time, we drove a half hour across the island to go to Smiths Point on the Ocean or sometimes if we wanted a quieter, less crowded ocean beach we would head east to Hampton Bays to go to Cupsogue Beach.
When it came time for retirement Husband and I naturally chose a location on the East Coast of Florida. The Ocean Side. . . NOT the gulf side. The ocean is our favorite. Big waves in the winter months and crystal, clear, aquamarine water in the summer. (Unfortunately the sand gets so hot that you can't walk on the beach in the summer without burning the soles of your feet.)
Now I spend my summers in upper Michigan which is thousands of miles from the ocean. But I still get to go to the beach. Who knew there were beaches this far north. The Great Lakes are a good substitute for the ocean. When I stand on the beach on the shore of Lake Michigan it looks like there is no land in sight. The water stretches to the horizon and the sand is just as soft as our beaches in Florida. There are chilly, windy days that we will drive out to Manistique for The Man to do his pulmonary rehab and the lake looks like the ocean, complete with big waves and white caps. The water on those days is an angry, churned up brown color. On calm days, like today, the water is so still that it mirrors the clouds and sparkles in the sunlight. but it is still brown.
This is iron mining country and the raw iron seeps into the streams, creaks and rivers which in turn all run into the lake. I don't find it particularly appealing but hey, a beach is a beach.
Today while The Man was in rehab I went to a public beach just down the road from the rehab facility. The water was still and quiet, the beach was deserted, the sun was shining and I was in my "Happy Place". I spent 45 minutes walking the beach, collecting odd pieces of wood that are strewn across the beach. There is a paper mill just up the river so all the wood chips flow down the river and end up on this particular beach. Instead of collecting shells I am collecting wood. As I walk along I'll see a piece that looks like a whale. There's. one that looks like a frog and one that reminds me of a bird. It fascinates me.
What am I going to do with all these pieces of wood ? I have no idea. Just like the turkey feathers I just enjoy collecting them. I have taken some of them and painted them to make them look more like what they looked like to me. Sadly I am NOT an artist and they all look rather bazaar but Hey, Grandma Moses must have started somewhere. But when I bring these wood chips home and see all the beautifully crafted pottery, woven rugs and beaded jewelry that The Man's wife created I have to laugh at myself.
But it is a reason to spend part of my day in the sun shine AT THE BEACH.
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