As we turn onto the cracked cement that is Oceanside Drive, my mood immediately lifts. Houses stand aligned like train cars, facing the frigid Atlantic. Closer to the end of the street is an evergreen cottage where our wheels halt in front of. The second my feet touch the ground that familiar, classic, salty air tells me I’m home. The wooden steps creek under me as I race up them to the door. This house holds so many memories of roaring laughter, crowded couches, and delicious food. Even inside I can hear the steady crashing blows from our closest neighbor: the ocean. One short sprint down the splinting boardwalk and I’m where I love to be most. The fine grains of sand slide through my fingers while the teal ocean, where my siblings and I have
On the Waterfront is a classic, award-winning and controversial film. It received eight academy-awards in 1954, including best-picture and director. The director, Eliza Kazan, in collaboration with Budd Schulberg wrote the film’s screenplay. Based on actual dockside events in Hoboken, New Jersey, On the Waterfront is a story of a dock worker who tried to overthrow a corrupt union.
Hey we should go to Catalina Island I heard it is fantastic! Hey have you wonder what snorkling is like or kayaking well Catalina is the place to go. A little history about Catalina is major investors that have try to turn it into a hotel and resort paradise but it was turned down by Mr.wrigley. One place on the island I prefer to go to camp to is camp emerald bay you can do many things there. The Island is still a great place to go anywhere and is amazing and if you go to emerald bay go to avalon after the camp it is still great with many hotel for you to stay . Let me tell you about more things you can do in emerald bay.
As my family and I sped along the coast, the sour smell of sulfur vents and sea salt pungently gusted through my nostrils. My clothes were damp from the constant spray of seawater. My sense of balance was overcome by the sequential hop from wave to wave and – combined with the
Although it has been years since our most recent visit to the shore side of Ocean City, New Jersey, the memories and senses never abandon my mind. All I can recall is the wondrous combination of the scorching heat, the grainy sand in between my toes, and the overwhelming smell of salt and delicious foods . . . I feel as if I am standing right there right now! Who could ever relinquish the beauty of the shore, the healing the shore accomplishes, and the tastes of the wondrous foods?
In her narrative essay, “FYB”, Zadie Smith expresses her belief that if one redirects their mindset to a more limited perspective and uses the limitless Manhattan mentality at certain times, one can arrive at their beach. A beach is a mentality, and Smith finds her beach by coming to peace with Manhattan’s beach. The idea of a person’s “beach” being hard to discover may be observed through Smith’s personal background, as it is almost mythical for this English writer living in Soho, Manhattan to come by a beach.
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
It was a breezy and cloudy June morning as I made my way through Door County traffic. My best memory was driving up here was when I was about 10 head dangling out the window as the wind blew in my face. As I drove through the small towns I saw the rustic houses, cute cafes, and pedestrians enjoying their day. I drove a little farther and suddenly saw the great and sparkling blue Lake Michigan and the ferry dock where I would soon be boarding. This would be my 100th time on this boat going to Washington Island, but I knew would still get the same sick feeling. I slowly approached the ticket booth, purchased my two-way ticket, and pulled onto the boat. It was a windy day and the waves were splashing high on the side of the ferry. I got out of
The sun dried grass crunched under David’s feet as he reached the mailbox, sweat plastering his golden hair to his forehead. The rural landscape of Shark Bay is bone dry; the lingering heat wave serving as a slap in the face with the wind blowing what is left of his fields into whirlwinds of dirt. His was once a land of luscious green landscape, the soft air turned branches into wind chimes as the trees swayed. These same trees have been bleached by the heat ridden gusts carving tortured sculpture in their trunks. Some might now see this world as one of desolate wasteland but David grew up with the land, this land was a living, growing friend that he knew, loved, and cared for as much as he did his wife and children.
Ever since Sunset Beach has been officially opened to the public, there has been a drastic increase of tourists present. Television programs concluded that at least a thousand people visit the beach everyday. Reasons for their stay are that they feel comfortable with the environment that surrounds the beach front, people who are at the beach are joyous and numerous activities to enjoy, and the fresh scent of the sparkly waters, make the visitors feel calm and pleasurable. So I decided to take a trip there.
As we pulled out of my parents driveway, the circumstances seemed very surreal. My entire way of life had been turned upside down with only a few hours consideration. I was very much “at sea” in the ...
A new day has begun. Slowly ascending into the cold dark sky, the sun glows vibrantly with delight. The passionate colours fill the sky with warmth like the pink grapefruits, zesty lemons, citrus oranges and cherry red. The sea so subtle sparkles preciously as it strolls up against the shore. The crystal water that stretch out far into the horizon gets darker and deeper but stays very calm.
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.
Everything seems like it’s falling out of place, it’s going too fast, and my mind is out of control. I think these thoughts as I lay on my new bed, in my new room, in this new house, in this new city, wondering how I got to this place. “My life was fine,” I say to myself, “I didn’t want to go.” Thinking back I wonder how my father felt as he came home to the house in Stockton, knowing his wife and kids left to San Diego to live a new life. Every time that thought comes to my mind, it feels as if I’m carrying a ten ton boulder around my heart; weighing me down with guilt. The thought is blocked out as I close my eyes, picturing my old room; I see the light brown walls again and the vacation pictures of the Florida and camping trip stapled to them. I can see the photo of me on the ice rink with my friends and the desk that I built with my own hands. I see my bed; it still has my checkered blue and green blanket on it! Across from the room stands my bulky gray television with its back facing the black curtain covered closet. My emotions run deep, sadness rages through my body with a wave of regret. As I open my eyes I see this new place in San Diego, one large black covered bed and a small wooden nightstand that sits next to a similar closet like in my old room. When I was told we would be moving to San Diego, I was silenced from the decision.
Shell lived in Queens, a part of New York City that was unfamiliar to me, but I enjoyed it's quiet streets. We arrived at Shell's house around three o'clock in the afternoon. Shell lived in a high rise complex; in a one bedroom apartment. The place was very neat, spacious and sparsely furnished. We sat around the floor on pillows, listening to music and talking. Shell prepared some drinks for the three of us, serving them with fruits and ladyfinger sandwiches. I thought this was very elegant.
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