Growing up on an Island is an adventure. The summers are full of swimming, boating, and lobster bakes. Floating the incoming tides on a found piece of driftwood in the warm afternoon sun. Summer residents, and tourists would arrive early in June; making our sleepy little Island explode with activity. The cove filled with people having picnics on the beach. A warm evening with a heavy full moon reflecting on the water watched over the occasional street dance. Lobster boats shared the waters around Casco Bay with assorted pleasure crafts.
As soon as school closed for the summer the walk down the hill, past the bright pink beach roses, found the local kids at the cove celebrating the end of another long school year. The older girls lay out on large smooth ledges. Occasionally taking dips in the cold water to draw the sun to help their tans. Most of the older boys were out fishing with their dad, and grandfathers, learning the best spots to set their traps. While others could be found jumping off the wharves to swim. The younger children could be found scouring the shore for treasures, digging in bits of sand. There were always treasures, the last tide had left behind, sea glass, starfish, shells, and sometimes sand dollars. Occasionally a lost trap, or buoy would find its way to the shore. Old bottles would wash up. We wondered if they had ever contained a message, how long they had been in the sea, or how far they had traveled. We made up stories about what happened to them on their journey to our Island.
Lunch time sent everyone home. Sometimes lunch at grams might just mean another trip down over the hill past the beach roses. The best mussels could be found under the seaweed at the tip of Barley Field Point. Steamed mussels and a...
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...ch roses to play down at the cove. It was a time to bring out all the traps that had spent the winter on the wharves and in the fish houses where they were repaired. With new rigging they were ready to be set, on the first of the good days. Few of the fishermen back then had boats that would handle the winter seas, so most pulled their traps up for the winter months. The fishermen who had been caretakers for the summer families, began getting the houses ready for them to come back before the fishing got underway.
Before too many weeks past, it all starts again, the fishing boats leave their moorings at the first light of dawn. The scent of salt water, warm breezes, and rays of sunshine coming through the bedroom window takes the place of the alarm clocks. School was finally out and we were again walking down the hill past the beach roses to the Cove, for another sum
In the beginning we find the family and its surrogate son, Homer, enjoying the fruits of the summer. Homer wakes to find Mrs. Thyme sitting alone, “looking out across the flat blue stillness of the lake”(48). This gives us a sense of the calm, eternal feeling the lake presents and of Mrs. Thyme’s appreciation of it. Later, Fred and Homer wildly drive the motor boat around the lake, exerting their boyish enthusiasm. The lake is unaffected by the raucous fun and Homer is pleased to return to shore and his thoughts of Sandra. Our protagonist observes the object of his affection, as she interacts with the lake, lazily resting in the sun. The lake provides the constant, that which has always been and will always be. As in summers past, the preacher gives his annual sermon about the end of summer and a prayer that they shall all meet again. Afterward, Homer and Fred take a final turn around the lake only to see a girl who reminds Homer of Sandra. “And there was something in the way that she raised her arm which, when added to the distant impression of her fullness, beauty, youth, filled him with longing as their boat moved inexorably past…and she disappeared behind a crop of trees.
The sea, this "water of the Gulf," is the deepest, most mysterious place Edna has ever explored. Until now, Edna had lived her life on the "white beach," a perfectly virginal island of blind men leading even more blind women. But Edna dips her toes into the dark waters and now she wishes to leave the island and swim out to a better place; or soar overhe...
Monkey Beach is a coming-of-age story framed by the search for Lisamarie Hill’s younger brother, Jimmy, who has disappeared during a fishing trip near the coast of Prince Rupert. While the family waits for news, the protagonist, Lisamarie, is sinking into memories of her childhood and adolescence that are interwoven with the present. Thereby, she reveals her life in the Haisla community of Kitamaat in British Columbia, trying to define her own identity within the context of traditional Haisla and modern Euro-Canadian culture.
During the summer months, my family would spend every Sunday at the beach, if it didn’t rain. My father would carry the water cooler packed with sandwiches, fruit and home-made chocolate chip cookies. Tracy and Bobby would swim in the ice cold Atlantic while I waded in water well below my waist. Or often, I’d pick up sea shells from the wet sand to take home to show Tracy
Second of all, in the poem “Lake Isle of Innisfree”, the reader sometimes fails to understand what is really happening. “I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water...
The smell of the restaurants faded and the new, refreshing aroma of the sea salt in the air took over. The sun’s warmth on my skin and the constant breeze was a familiar feeling that I loved every single time we came to the beach. I remember the first time we came to the beach. I was only nine years old. The white sand amazed me because it looked like a wavy blanket of snow, but was misleading because it was scorching hot. The water shone green like an emerald, it was content. By this I mean that the waves were weak enough to stand through as they rushed over me. There was no sense of fear of being drug out to sea like a shipwrecked sailor. Knowing all this now I knew exactly how to approach the beach. Wear my sandals as long as I could and lay spread out my towel without hesitation. Then I’d jump in the water to coat myself in a moist protective layer before returning to my now slightly less hot towel. In the water it was a completely different world. While trying to avoid the occasional passing jellyfish, it was an experience of
I can hear the pounding of the waves against the shore, moving rhythmically with the wind blowing past my face. I feel the hot sand surrounding my toes, only to be cooled down by the touch of the salty deep-blue sea. I listen to mom hysterically laugh as my dad tells another one of his “dad jokes” and as my older brother helps me keep my balance when the waves try to knock me over like a bowling pin. This is the descriptive story that brings me joy to tell my younger brother about my favorite Hawaiian trip before he was born, even though it is impossible for me to remember this from when I was only 3 years old. Why do I torture my brother by gloating to him about this perfect trip? I do it on account of what his birth imposed on me, the curse of being a middle child.
Another place in Wildwood that is always packed on a hot, sticky day is the beach. There are people all over the place on towels, underneath umbrellas, and in the ocean. People laughing, complaining about the heat, and running into the ocean. You can also hear the ice cream man going up and down the beach screaming, “ Get your Fudgy Wudgy Bars.” People usually spend hours at the beach sun bathing, swimming, having lunch, reading, and sometimes sleeping. The ocean is the best part of the beach though. Determining how far you go out, the waves get bigger and bigger. There are teenagers, kids, and even adults surfing and boogie boarding.
I wake up to the sun shining through the window and the faint laughter from my family downstairs. It's the first day of our annual trip to Rhode Island. I lie in bed for a few moments and think about one thing. Rhode Island. I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else than here. I glance at the clock and it is only eight in the morning, but everybody is already up, enjoying breakfast, and getting ready to head to the beach. It's not supposed to rain until later in the day, so hopefully we can enjoy our day at the beach before it rains. I eventually make my way out of bed and tiptoe across the frigid wood floors and join my family downstairs. Everybody is up except my brother, Thomas.
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her gargantuan skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every morning together
The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning to the four-story walk up I inhabited for the majority of my young life. Instead of the pavement surrounding my former building, the final turn of our seemingly endless journey revealed the sprawling grass expanse of a baseball field directly across from an unfamiliar driveway sloping in front of the red brick walls that eventually came to be know as home.
Away from the immense sea, white foams from the waves gather gently onto the golden shore. Now, half of a glowing, radiant light looms across the water 's horizon. The sea turns blood-red and darkness creeps up like a thief. The necklace that once reflected its passionate energy of fury moments ago now resembled a mere costume jewellery. Perhaps the loss of the necklace’s elegance and sophistication was the reason to why it was disregarded. Pity the owner did not see the necklace radiating its splendour at its peak. Anyhow, the nightfall creates a sensation of joy and tranquillity in me. Every sight and sound stimulates a sense of composure and serenity; and the effect is heightened by the absence of the noisy bustle of our daily work, only to be exposed to the never-ending music of the waves, and to breathe the fresh air instead of the stale atmosphere of classrooms. It is not easy to describe the effect of this sight; it can only be strangely deciphered in my mind. It is however, a very tangible and distinct emotion, though its allure really depends upon the reality of the world from a further point of view, away from the definite predictabilities of the world, all in which an instant becomes like a translucent drape which almost consents me to catch a glimpse of a ideal and more breath-taking reality. The worldly desires, expectations, worries, schemes, suddenly cease to exist. It is as though all of
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her humungous skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every
But we did go on the boardwalk almost every night. Every night seemed to be different. We tried to experience everything in a different way. Coastal Highway, not unlike the ocean, seems to go on endlessly. When we were near Coastal Highway, I put my window down and let the smell of the sand and sea waft into the car. The rain had started, but it was only a light mist. The temperature had cooled off now too. I decided to take an evening swim. Some of the waves were raising nearly 10 feet. In the evening when we all entered the beach some lifeguards were announcing that tides are so strong. Though I was not
Rolling waves gently brushed upon the sand and nipped softly at my toes. I gazed out into the oblivion of blue hue that lay before me. I stared hopefully at sun-filled sky, but I couldn’t help but wonder how I was going to get through the day. Honestly, I never thought in a million years that my daughter and I would be homeless. Oh, how I yearned for our house in the suburbs. A pain wrenched at my heart when I was once reminded again of my beloved husband, Peter. I missed him so much and couldn’t help but ask God why he was taken from us. Living underneath Pier 14 was no life for Emily and me. I had to get us out of here and back on our feet. My stomach moaned angrily. I needed to somehow find food for us, but how? Suddenly, something slimy brushed up against my leg and pierced my thoughts. I jumped back and brushed the residue of sand of my legs. What was that? As my eyes skimmed the water in front of me, I noticed something spinning in the foam of the waves. Curiosity got the best of me and I went over to take a closer look. The object danced in the waves and eventually was coughed out onto the beach. “Emily!” I called to my eight-year-old daughter who was, at that time, infatuated with a seashell that she found earlier that day. “Come here and see this! Mommy found something.” Although I had no idea what that something was and I definitely didn’t know it would change my life forever.