Christmas Morning at the Beach
You rose early on Christmas morning, as you do nearly every morning. You had had a rough night after the evening's feastings and festivities, so I slipped you and Bella away downstairs to let your mom get some rest. At first, we three lounged around contentedly watching the morning light pour slowly through the windows, but after a while I became ancy and you began to fuss, so we three journeyed out for a car ride to Marconi Beach in Wellfleet. It's a fierce and dramatic place, with sand dune cliffs and only minimalist, scarred looking plants. Even the grass looks haggard. We three were there alone, free to drink in the vast, stark beauty by ourselves.
By the time we arrived, the sun was high up and it was warm for so late in the year, so I slipped off my shoes and we drifted down the cliffs to the beach where you and I alighted on a polished, fire-branded log. While we sat, Bella strolled casually down to test the frigid ocean waters, but soon circled back to rejoin her pack. After deep-breathing the ocean air for a few minutes, I pulled out a bottle to feed you and pondered what you might be thinking as you took in the sound of crashing waves and the fresh, salty smells of the ocean for the first time.
My first recollection of the ocean was from a family vacation when I was around 11 or so. My parents, brothers and I had travelled north and west many miles from Salt Lake City in our silver Suburban to visit cousins in Seattle. I vividly remember choking at the fishy smells of the ocean as we first peered out at the Puget Sound and later visited the Ballard Locks. We later rode ferries across the waters, navigating the many islands of the Sound as we motored north to Victoria, B.C. After a few days in Seattle, we then spent a week or so driving south down the Washington, Oregon, and California coasts, stopping at whatever peeked my parents' interests. I recall white sand beaches, black pebble beaches, lighthouses, and awesome natural wonders like Crater Lake and the Redwoods. It was an amazing trip, one that certainly whetted my appetite for travel and seeded my deep-rooted love of coastal living.
And so, many years later I found myself sitting with my freshly minted son amidst otherworldly beauty on Christmas morning, recalling this whirlwind trip of my youth as I once again breathed in that pungent ocen scent. Bella, you and I, spent a pleasant hour or so there on that Cape Cod beach basking in the lazy winter sun before finally heading home to Christmas morning, to the smell of your Aunt Stephanie's waffles, and to your mom's waiting arms.
By the time we arrived, the sun was high up and it was warm for so late in the year, so I slipped off my shoes and we drifted down the cliffs to the beach where you and I alighted on a polished, fire-branded log. While we sat, Bella strolled casually down to test the frigid ocean waters, but soon circled back to rejoin her pack. After deep-breathing the ocean air for a few minutes, I pulled out a bottle to feed you and pondered what you might be thinking as you took in the sound of crashing waves and the fresh, salty smells of the ocean for the first time.
My first recollection of the ocean was from a family vacation when I was around 11 or so. My parents, brothers and I had travelled north and west many miles from Salt Lake City in our silver Suburban to visit cousins in Seattle. I vividly remember choking at the fishy smells of the ocean as we first peered out at the Puget Sound and later visited the Ballard Locks. We later rode ferries across the waters, navigating the many islands of the Sound as we motored north to Victoria, B.C. After a few days in Seattle, we then spent a week or so driving south down the Washington, Oregon, and California coasts, stopping at whatever peeked my parents' interests. I recall white sand beaches, black pebble beaches, lighthouses, and awesome natural wonders like Crater Lake and the Redwoods. It was an amazing trip, one that certainly whetted my appetite for travel and seeded my deep-rooted love of coastal living.
And so, many years later I found myself sitting with my freshly minted son amidst otherworldly beauty on Christmas morning, recalling this whirlwind trip of my youth as I once again breathed in that pungent ocen scent. Bella, you and I, spent a pleasant hour or so there on that Cape Cod beach basking in the lazy winter sun before finally heading home to Christmas morning, to the smell of your Aunt Stephanie's waffles, and to your mom's waiting arms.
posted by chadu at
5:52 PM
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