I’m not sure how long my family has been taking vacations to the beach together, but I am certain that it has been a long time. I have heard stories of how my grandmother and her sisters carter their young children down the boardwalk, onto the beach and plopped them under umbrellas for the an entire day of sun and surf. My grandparents had six children. My aunt Carmen had 5. Betsy had 3. The list goes on. My family is big, and we’
ve always brought everyone along for the ride. The more, the merrier! I’
ve seen photographs of my aunts and uncles, my mom and her brother the only toe headed ones in the bunch, straggling along the waters edge, looking ragged but happy. My mother is 52, so these family vacations have been going on for at least 50 years, if not longer. They continue today, my generation now being the ones to cart along the baby strollers and bottles.
When I was young, and long before I was born, the destination of choice was Ocean City Maryland. We had family in Laurel, Maryland. We would drive to Laurel and visit for a few days with my great Aunts Madeline and Nora, for whom Andrew would have been named, and who also created and instilled a family tradition card game called “
tonk” (similar to 31). One year, the locusts were out on their 17 year mating spree. I must have been 8 or 9. Aunt Madeline thought I would enjoy seeing the locusts’ red eyes up close, so she saved some corpses for me! She
didn’t really need to do that, however, because when we arrived, the feasting and mating of the locusts were not yet done. They were swarming around us like, well, swarms of locusts. I was terrified! I know they don’t hurt anything, even other insects, but when a bug that large and that loud comes flying at a young girl with seemingly reckless abandon, it’s frightening!
I have many, many memories of the beach. I could go on for hours. In 32 years on this earth, I think I have only missed 5 total beach vacations, two of which were the years that my sons were born. One year I was in Germany, one year in Hawaii instead. I’
ve lived a privileged life in many ways, and this is just another example.
When I was 5 or 6, I remember getting into an elevator with my cousin Katie and closing the door before my aunt Linda could get in with us. I recall the panic stricken look on her face as the doors closed and we went up, up and away! When the doors opened on our level (I was old enough to know which button to push), my uncle Larry was there waiting for us. He must have sprinted up several flights of stairs to meet us before the elevator opened. Linda never yelled at me, but Katie was not allowed to go on the elevator with me again without an adult getting on first!
The summer after second grade, my grandmother had a stroke at the beach. She had gone out to get donuts for breakfast and when she returned, she would not speak. I recall my mother asking her how the weather was and my grandmother just stared at her. My mom asked again and then said, “Mom, don’t you know? You were just outside.” When Gram
didn’t answer, my mother immediately thought that it was her blood sugar (she was diabetic). I watched from the hallway as they made her orange juice and put sugar in it. When it was apparent that
wasn’t going to work, they called an ambulance and took her to the hospital. It was a minor stroke and she made a full recovery after a few months of rehab.
I remember the fun of the boardwalk, the smells of fried food, the sounds of the carnival and the rides. I don’t know if it is just my biased memory, or if it is a general truth, but in the center of most of my beach memories stands my grandmother. In fact, she occupies the center of many of my childhood memories. I like to think that I was special to her. I was the first grandchild. I lived with her, and I had a special bond with her. While that may be true on some level, I think it is also true that my grandmother was simply the hub of the family. The family did not fall apart when she died, but we lost our center in many ways.
My Grandmother died in the late summer of 1988. No one went to the beach that year. The following year, when it came time to make our arrangements, no one could bear the thought of returning to Ocean City without her. That was the first year we went to the Outer Banks. 20 years ago.
Each year now, returning to the Outer Banks, whether we stay in Duck or Corolla, it’s like going to visit an old friend. Each year, I am greeted by some of the same familiar places, nooks and crannies of my childhood, so to speak. Yet I am simultaneously surprised to discover new growth and development. Each year, when I return, I think of the years past, and just how much the Outer Banks have changed from such a little known, little visited place of tranquility to a bustling sea of tourism…well, sort of. There are height restrictions, and there is only one narrow road leading in and out of the peninsula, which keeps traffic down somewhat, but not enough in my mind. I look at the neighboring areas, like Kitty Hawk, Nags Head and Kill Devil Hills and I see what development has done to them. They have become concrete slabs of hell. Pardon my frankness. There are no trees. There is no nature. They are filled with franchise after franchise, McDonald’s, Wings,
Wal Mart…need I say more?
I fear for the Outer Banks, the Light House, the wild horses, the Lucky Duck and Wee Winks Convenience Store, Tommy’s Market and Scarborough
Faire, Ocean Annie’s and Kitty Hawk Kites, the places that have been there since we first stayed there. But that’s another blog all in itself - the potential over-development of the Outer Banks. This blog was about the beach and my grandmother, so to her I shall return.
In finding a new “home” for our family vacations, we were able to mask some of the wounds left open by her passing, but as I have said before, some wounds just never heal. For me they haven’t anyway. Each summer on our beach vacation, even 21 years after her death, I still feel her absence like a gaping black hole. I look around at the rest of my family and I wonder if they feel it too. We talk about Gram, we remember her, we laugh and share stories, but memories only go so far. The fact remains that she is not there. Gratitude for the memories not withstanding, I miss her.
In my mind is a picture of my grandmother in Ocean City. I am 6 or 7, standing on the balcony of our condo and she in wearing a black bathing suit, standing on the beach below, waving up at me. The beach is littered with large blue rental umbrellas, people are scattered about playing, swimming, busy all around, but all she sees is me. And all I really see is her.
Ella: "I'm not at all impressed with these amateurs."
The whole game -as seen from the stands!
Here is Jacob in his own true fashion - playing with rocks instead of guarding the base! That's my boy! :)
Pleased with himself, Logan skips to first base.
Jacob actually hit this ball.
Straight at 'em!
Logan is screaming, "You cheated!" Jacob is saying, "What? Huh? Gotcha!"
Jacob finally gave up the game and opted to be the sports journalist instead. Here he takes some photography lessons from Aunt Betsy.
Jacob gets ready to dive in - hat, vest and socks!
