Column: Going to the beach . . . it's not about tanning anymore

As a teenager and a young adult, I liked nothing more than going to the beach in the summer. My friends and I would spread towels and blankets on the sand and lie in the hot sun. We’d run in and out of the water, bodysurfing on the waves. Then we’d eat our lunches under the watchful gaze of opportunistic seagulls.

These days, I prefer the beach in winter.

The fear of further sun damage is one reason. I have never been able to tan successfully. But peer pressure convinced me I needed to try. All I did was burn and freckle.

Luckily, I came to my senses in my late twenties. I still went to the beach, but I always brought a tent-like cabana with me.

In winter, I don't have to worry about burning. Freezing is the concern. But if the temperature is in the upper 30s and there is no wind, sitting on the beach can be pleasant. The Norwegians have a saying: "There's no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes." I have made this my mantra. I tell myself I can face any weather as long as I'm dressed appropriately.

This positive approach makes me feel better about winter in general, but I know it's not completely true. Blizzard conditions keep me at home. Ice on the ground prevents me from walking outside for exercise. I'm just not up to snowshoeing to a beach, if that's the only way to access it.

Other than that, I will try my mightiest to get there.

Because it's therapy. Sea therapy. I like to get by the water any time of year. But I feel the need most strongly in winter. I spend most of my work week indoors. Though I try to walk outside every day, the aforementioned ice, as well as rain, sleet or below-zero temperatures can force me to exercise inside.

I am not sitting on my deck or porch, or gardening, or sightseeing, as I do in the summer. I'm inside, wearing sweaters and thick socks, reading. Or maybe even napping.

I need the beach.

Few others want a winter beach. Oh, they do want to go to the beach in the winter, but not to a winter beach. They want to visit Myrtle Beach. Miami Beach. Malibu.

I have nothing against going to warmer climes in the winter. But, really, that is a summer beach experience. There are crowds. It is hot. When I go to a Maine beach in winter, I'm looking for something different.

Besides the sea, besides the fresh air, I crave quiet. Stillness. Solitude.

When the temperature was close to 40 on a weekend day recently, I rejoiced. This was the perfect time for my husband, Paul, and I to go to a nearby harbor. There's a walk along the waterfront, and several small beaches along the way. Even in the summer, I can sit outside there because there's shade. There are always lots of people around then, though.

I wondered if there would be anyone else out and about on the waterfront on this day. The weather certainly was much milder than it had been. But when we arrived at the parking lot to set off on our walk, there was only one other car. We saw a few people walking, but not one dog, which was highly unusual.

When we finally reached the beach, it was deserted. There were a few people in a nearby boathouse, but no one on the rocky shore. And it was a very low tide.

If I had gone to swim, I would have been disappointed. But a low tide is good for beachcombing and wandering.

I walked to the edge of the water, and just stood. Pilings covered with seaweed were arrayed on my left. They looked like dead trees without branches. A crow perched on one of them. He allowed me to take his photograph before flying off with a loud "Caw, caw."

Then all was silent again. I noticed a seagull floating in a small circle of water several feet from the shoreline. A loon appeared in front of me, perhaps three yards away. The bird dove and then reappeared six yards away. It dove again and then I lost sight of it.

I saw movement on the horizon. Was it a boat? The docks at the town landing had been pulled in several weeks earlier. We had seen lobstermen and women bringing in their empty traps for winter storage. The busy season was winding now.

But what I saw on that more recent visit was a lobster boat. I recognized it because it is painted a shade of aqua that you don't usually see on boats. It passed by, headed for the landing, but it was too far away for me to hear it.

I enjoyed the silence, the view, the smell of the sea air for a few more minutes. Then I rejoined Paul, who had been beachcombing. He fills jars with his treasures. I fill my soul with my time on my winter beach, and I hope that it takes me through the week ahead.