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
When my family and I could feel the warm fine sand, the gentle cool breeze, witness the crystal clear aquamarine ocean and swaying palm trees, and smell the sweet fragrant scent of plumerias, we must have gone to heaven. The enchanting beauty of this Hawaiian island, Maui, gives us a sense of warmth, peace, and serenity. In search of paradise, we explore the infamous Road to Hana, snorkel with underwater marine life, and journey back in time to experience the true customs, traditional cuisine and the original song, music and dance of Hawaii at a luau.
Imagine yourself sitting on a lava rock cliff, hearing the ocean pounding the rock wall below. The salty sea spray cools your lips and the taste tickles your tongue. Feeling the sun against your skin, it is cooled by the mix of mist and breeze that plays with the palm trees. You could say I grew up in a place most people can only daydream about. When most people hear of where I grew up all they can picture is paradise. There is so much more to the “Aloha State” than the stale beachside hotels covered in an abundance of hibiscus prints with pineapples around every turn. The people, food, and land are the heart of the Hawaiian Islands.
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
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.
As a kid going to southern Indiana for my family's weekend reunion in the middle of July seemed to be a stress-free heaven. Talking with family while eating all of the great food everyone made, and awesome fishing in the glistening pond served as a retreat from the textbooks, homework, and tests in school. Although I never did any reading, writing, or math at the reunion, I learned some of the most valuable lessons at that 50-acre property in the dog days of summer. My great uncle, who owned the pond, taught me the best fishing spots, my dad taught me how to set up a tent, and my uncle Vance taught me the great values of our family between old folk songs. It was from these stories that I developed a great sense of pride in my family.
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.
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.
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 walk along the worn trail that leads towards a popular fishing spot at the Chattahoochee, a broad boulder looking over the river. I feel rejuvenated, away from my busy life, away from school, away from all the happenings of the world. I settle myself and my belongings. My parents have come along, too, to watch the moment the first fish a member of our family has ever caught flies out of the water. Once I’ve gotten myself comfortable, I hook a minnow onto my line and cast it across the sparkling water of
This story is so realistic in its context of the time and its superb character dialogues, that it is very easy for the reader to be transported right in the middle of that age, and right in the company of sea-faring pirates. The authorís vivid descriptions of Jim, the main character and narrator, the many Pirates and other characters he comes across during his adventures are painstakingly detailed. You can see young Jim's eager and excited face when he finds out he is going on a treasure hunt. You can also easily picture the rips and bloodstained rags of the pirates, and smell the foul alcohol on their breaths. The description of the island itself is extremely detailed also, and it seems like the author was looking straight off a geographical map when he wrote the in-depth account of it.
Closer and closer to the calm water, I began sinking deeper in the sand. It was comforting, the silence, tranquility, and warmth of the faint sun. There is a slight breeze, warm, but cold and lonely. I could smell the scent of fish blowing through my hair and body. The sun was still fading, slowly but surely the day was almost over. About half of it is gone now. I could see shades of blue, red, purple, and pinkish-yellow. They were mixed with puffy clouds that lined the beginning of the sky and the end of the water. I noticed the darker shades on the bottom of the lower clouds.
The water beats at the bank feel gently, and resides carefully to avoid over soaking it. The air is fresh and overwhelming with cool gushes of wind blowing past, provoking the trees to yawn and some times sleep. It was a lovely Valentine day and perfect for a picnic at Lake Lavon.
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
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
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.