When summer comes, my thoughts turn to the water. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.
I thought this was true of everyone, until I met my husband, Paul.
He doesn’t like to swim, and never actually goes into a lake or the
ocean. Luckily, he does enjoy canoeing and kayaking.
One of my best friends surprised me once when she declined to go
swimming with me. She loved to be at the seaside—just not in it. Then
there was the time I visited another friend who was vacationing on Cape
Cod. She was taken aback when I suggested we go to the beach.
Both of my parents enjoyed swimming, so I started going to the beach
at an early age. I have a picture that shows my mother and her friend
sitting on the beach with their year-old baby girls.
I love that photo because it expresses how I think of myself—as a “water baby.”
There was a lot of water where I grew up in southeastern
Massachusetts. The ocean lies to the south about 20 miles away, at
Newport and Little Compton, R.I. Mount Hope Bay extends from
Narragansett Bay to the tip of my hometown, and the Taunton River snakes
down to the bay to form the eastern border of the town.
There, in the days when people still swam in rivers, I learned to do
the crawl, breaststroke and backstroke. We had a small town beach, and
every year for six years I took lessons and proudly received my Red
Cross certification card. I think I still have them all. When it came to
Junior Lifesaving, though, I declined, as I was afraid to dive.
It was handy to have a beach right in town, but I always understood
it wasn’t any kind of destination. Our favorite family beach was down in
the quaint village of Little Compton, where a rough patch of rocky
terrain stretched thin between a pond and the sea. Here, at South Shore,
the waves pounded wild and fierce, which is just the way my father
liked it. It was quite a drive down winding country roads to get there,
but we’d stay the whole day. Lunch was hot dogs cooked by dad on a
portable grill. I remember I would stay in the water so long,
bodysurfing, that I would eat while wrapped in a big towel, my lips
blue.
For some reason, my parents rarely took us to Horseneck State Beach, which is just a few miles to the east as the crow flies from South Shore, and just over the line in Massachusetts. It is a sandy place, famous for its dunes. Maybe it was because Horseneck was a place teenagers liked to go. Certainly, once I got my license, my sister and I and our friends would spend many happy hours there, during our summers.
When I was in high school, my parents bought an above-ground pool. It wasn’t all that big, or fancy, but none of my friends had any kind of pool at all. None of my relatives did, either, come to think of it. So, our modest pool was quite popular. It didn’t replace the ocean, but I loved being able to take a dip every day.
My family went to Florida during many April vacations. Once Disney World opened, we’d trek inland to Orlando, but we’d spend most of our time on the coast. One of my favorite memories is of several days spent right on the beach in St. Petersburg. An aunt had come along with us that year, bringing our number to five (plus two dogs) so we stayed in a housekeeping apartment that had sliding glass doors overlooking the water. What a joy it was to run right out those doors and into the warm surf.
I suffered the worst sunburn of my life that year in St. Pete, but that doesn’t tarnish my recollections one bit.
We never did much swimming in lakes. Dad always said it was harder to swim in fresh water, although we never exactly swam in the waves at the South Shore, either. One time I convinced him to take us to a state park with a lake that some of my friends had been to with their families. It sounded like a fun place. He agreed, but even I had to admit that it was buggy and crowded. The next weekend we returned to the relative solitude of Little Compton.
My parents had met not far away, at a dance in the ballroom at Lincoln Park, an amusement center. A few weeks after they began dating, my mother went on a weekend trip with her girlfriends to Old Orchard Beach. My father decided to follow them up there with a couple of his friends. I’m sure he thought he was quite clever as the young men surprised the young ladies on the beach. But the joke was on him, as he loved to tell the story. Dad, showing off, ran straight into the water, which, being Maine, was frigid. Of course, he had to stay in a few minutes nonetheless, just to save face.
Even after 28 years in this state, I’ve yet to get used to the cold water. Well, maybe I have adapted somewhat, as Old Orchard is one of the few ocean beaches I can tolerate. I’ll walk along others farther north and enjoy their beauty, but swim? No.
Luckily, Maine has many lakes, and I am fortunate to live among them. My town beach is on a pond, and I appreciate the convenience of having a swimming hole handy. But I can’t stay too long away from the ocean. It’s where I feel most at home.
For some reason, my parents rarely took us to Horseneck State Beach, which is just a few miles to the east as the crow flies from South Shore, and just over the line in Massachusetts. It is a sandy place, famous for its dunes. Maybe it was because Horseneck was a place teenagers liked to go. Certainly, once I got my license, my sister and I and our friends would spend many happy hours there, during our summers.
When I was in high school, my parents bought an above-ground pool. It wasn’t all that big, or fancy, but none of my friends had any kind of pool at all. None of my relatives did, either, come to think of it. So, our modest pool was quite popular. It didn’t replace the ocean, but I loved being able to take a dip every day.
My family went to Florida during many April vacations. Once Disney World opened, we’d trek inland to Orlando, but we’d spend most of our time on the coast. One of my favorite memories is of several days spent right on the beach in St. Petersburg. An aunt had come along with us that year, bringing our number to five (plus two dogs) so we stayed in a housekeeping apartment that had sliding glass doors overlooking the water. What a joy it was to run right out those doors and into the warm surf.
I suffered the worst sunburn of my life that year in St. Pete, but that doesn’t tarnish my recollections one bit.
We never did much swimming in lakes. Dad always said it was harder to swim in fresh water, although we never exactly swam in the waves at the South Shore, either. One time I convinced him to take us to a state park with a lake that some of my friends had been to with their families. It sounded like a fun place. He agreed, but even I had to admit that it was buggy and crowded. The next weekend we returned to the relative solitude of Little Compton.
My parents had met not far away, at a dance in the ballroom at Lincoln Park, an amusement center. A few weeks after they began dating, my mother went on a weekend trip with her girlfriends to Old Orchard Beach. My father decided to follow them up there with a couple of his friends. I’m sure he thought he was quite clever as the young men surprised the young ladies on the beach. But the joke was on him, as he loved to tell the story. Dad, showing off, ran straight into the water, which, being Maine, was frigid. Of course, he had to stay in a few minutes nonetheless, just to save face.
Even after 28 years in this state, I’ve yet to get used to the cold water. Well, maybe I have adapted somewhat, as Old Orchard is one of the few ocean beaches I can tolerate. I’ll walk along others farther north and enjoy their beauty, but swim? No.
Luckily, Maine has many lakes, and I am fortunate to live among them. My town beach is on a pond, and I appreciate the convenience of having a swimming hole handy. But I can’t stay too long away from the ocean. It’s where I feel most at home.
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