I made a comment to my Mother yesterday while we were driving down Long Beach Boulevard in Surf City, Long Beach Island. We had just passed 7th Street, the short lane to the beach front house that holds many of my childhood summer memories:
“You know, I don’t consider us to be “vacationers.”
As it was a barely complete thought, she didn’t immediately get my intended meaning. But I’ll say it again – I don’t consider us to be vacationers. Not there. Perhaps it would have made more sense if I had said, “I don’t consider us to be tourists.” I am not exactly sure when my first trip to the island was, but I can remember spending the greater part of every summer as a child on the beaches of Surf City. And now I am blessed with the opportunity to frequent the beaches and bays on long weekends with my own child. The familiarity of the island, and its comforting landmarks, make it seem like an extension of my home town.
Even with over 35 years of visiting the 18 mile strip of land sandwiched between Barnegat Bay and the Atlantic Ocean it’s refreshing that I can find new things to see. My “find” of the evening was this old boat, pushed to the back of a small roadside gravel patch along the bay. It was sitting proudly on stacked blocks encrusted with beautiful rust and patina, salt and barnacles.
Enjoy your day!