I realize that when I tell summer beach stories, a lot of you think to yourselves, Why doesnt he shut up about that ... doesnt he understand that what he takes for granted down there in Carolina we have to save a year to experience back home in Ohio?
And I do.
I mean, I get that.
The last thing Im trying to do is upset you.
But the first rule of writing is WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW.
And my second rule is SHARE IT.
Thats what its always been about ... so lets get back to the beach.
The state now charges 10 bucks per space per day to park in what are euphemistically called Public Beach Access lots.
Times are hard.
I get that.
And every dollar counts.
But you ought to see the traffic jams, especially when some wily young entrepreneurs have commandeered a slice of green field and are undercutting the competition to the tune of two dollars.
Honey, I imagine a wife saying to her beleaguered husband, whos been on the road for two days and STILL hasnt seen the Atlantic. Look ... theres a place we can park for only eight dollars.
And hes thinking to himself, as he stares at the long, snaking line of cars, This sunshine day cant last forever.
So he waits and waits and waits until the lots filled and then spends another half hour begging to spend 10 bucks in lots that were filled before he crossed the Carolina line.
And his wife and kids go crazy.
Its all too much.
But this is the way it is.
A day at the beach is no, well, day at the beach.
Unless ...
Unless you know someone who has a house so close to the shore that hes on a first-name basis with the seagulls, and none of them are named Jonathan Livingston.
What a nasty piece of best-selling garbage that book was. Hated it when it was published 40 years ago. Really detest it now.
Anyway, having parked my wifes car in my friends front yard, I got the feeling that things were shifting and, as I walked down to the beach, something felt out of synch.
The tide, said a voice inside my head, is coming in.
Most people -- after having been through the kind of squabbles Ive imagined -- prefer to stake their claim as close to the water as possible. Its kind of like an honor thing: I didnt fight through all these obstacles not to get as close as I can to the Atlantic.
Which I totally understand.
The problem is that when the ocean wants to reclaim the beach, thats what its going to do.
There are four ways to deal with high tide:
1. Ignore it and hope that when your stuff washes up in Portugal, someone will have fun with your Frisbee, not to mention your cell phone, your e-book and whatever else got washed out to sea.
2. Toy with it and figure, well, well move three feet and maybe thatll be good enough, but then, WHOOSH, there goes your cooler and your chairs and, probably, your umbrella.
3. Anticipate it and move to higher ground, which is really smart, but it upsets people like me who ...
4. Actually read the tide charts and were prepared for the mid-afternoon influx of seawater.
Life isnt ever fair.
Understand that.
When couples and groups and families clambered over the tide line, seeking dry ground and instituting themselves as our new neighbors, I had one of two choices.
A. Ignore them and all their belongings that were being swept out to Lisbon, or
B. Help them out the best that I could.
Umbrellas, carts wheeling this way, kiddy toys floating that way ... coolers and flip-flops and radios and towels and all manner of beach things being sucked into the undertow. It was a mess.
The tides are linked to the lunar cycle.
Was it Sir Isaac Newton who figured that out?
Could have been Fig Newton for all it mattered.
My best advice?
Slather on the sunscreen and have fun.
