They stopped at an old country store near the beach, for some beer. It was one of those classic old buildings. Grey weathered shingles. Fishing nets with white lobster buoys hung from the side. The front porch was a collection of antiques. Furniture and people. There were two old gents playing checkers in rocking chairs. It even had an antique, red and white, Coke a Cola ice chest in the corner. Another Norman Rockwell painting.
The parking lot had the old, faded, white, parking lines which were rippled with lines of beach sand. There was tall, thin, green, eel grass ringing the chain link fence around the parking lot.
Inside the store was another blast from the past. Old, creaky, wood floors that were worn black in some spots. An ice cream counter. Square tin ceilings. Old, chipped, white paint. It was a timeless classic. They got some beer and ice. Some munchies. But there had to be a “touristy thing.” A tee shirt with the beach’s name on it would due. They did feel like tourists. Both chuckled.
The state park was only around the corner. They parked the Mustang in the giant parking lot. It was a bit of walk to the beach area, so shoes were a must. The beer was left in the double plastic bag it came in. Poured the ice in it – instant redneck cooler. It leaked a little but what the hell, it was light, they were on foot, and it wasn’t going to last long anyway. Grabbed the duffel bag and took off.
They stopped at the big, cement, bath house on the way. Another “facilities” stop. State parks were usually big and well kept. This one was no exception. Plus, this was a camping area, so there were showers and laundry facilities. Lines of campers filled the second parking lot. All with picnic tables, awnings and grills. Busy little campers mulling around. Children with beach toys. Fathers with fishing gear. A classic weekend beach scene.
The wooden walkway continued toward the beach. It was a bright, beautiful day. Sunny and warm. Perfect for the beach. The seagulls circled overhead and cried out for food. The breeze blew the sand around. The eel grass swayed around them. The sand was hot, so they kept their shoes on and stayed on the wooden walk.
They crested the last hill and stood and starred. Both had seen beaches before, but there was something mesmerizing about an ocean beach. It’s big. Very big. Waves crashing. Giant stone jetties fading out into the water. More seagulls. And Dunes. Giant sand dunes with their faces worn away from the ocean winds. But huge!
They looked at each other, started grinning and took off running for the water. Laughing and yelling all the way. Off went the shoes and ran into the water and stopped dead. Then ran out as fast as they went in. “Fucking Cold! “She screamed. It was cold. The ocean side beaches were always cold. Even in Virginia. But once you got used to it. You could swim … if you had too.
The parking lot had the old, faded, white, parking lines which were rippled with lines of beach sand. There was tall, thin, green, eel grass ringing the chain link fence around the parking lot.
Inside the store was another blast from the past. Old, creaky, wood floors that were worn black in some spots. An ice cream counter. Square tin ceilings. Old, chipped, white paint. It was a timeless classic. They got some beer and ice. Some munchies. But there had to be a “touristy thing.” A tee shirt with the beach’s name on it would due. They did feel like tourists. Both chuckled.
The state park was only around the corner. They parked the Mustang in the giant parking lot. It was a bit of walk to the beach area, so shoes were a must. The beer was left in the double plastic bag it came in. Poured the ice in it – instant redneck cooler. It leaked a little but what the hell, it was light, they were on foot, and it wasn’t going to last long anyway. Grabbed the duffel bag and took off.
They stopped at the big, cement, bath house on the way. Another “facilities” stop. State parks were usually big and well kept. This one was no exception. Plus, this was a camping area, so there were showers and laundry facilities. Lines of campers filled the second parking lot. All with picnic tables, awnings and grills. Busy little campers mulling around. Children with beach toys. Fathers with fishing gear. A classic weekend beach scene.
The wooden walkway continued toward the beach. It was a bright, beautiful day. Sunny and warm. Perfect for the beach. The seagulls circled overhead and cried out for food. The breeze blew the sand around. The eel grass swayed around them. The sand was hot, so they kept their shoes on and stayed on the wooden walk.
They crested the last hill and stood and starred. Both had seen beaches before, but there was something mesmerizing about an ocean beach. It’s big. Very big. Waves crashing. Giant stone jetties fading out into the water. More seagulls. And Dunes. Giant sand dunes with their faces worn away from the ocean winds. But huge!
They looked at each other, started grinning and took off running for the water. Laughing and yelling all the way. Off went the shoes and ran into the water and stopped dead. Then ran out as fast as they went in. “Fucking Cold! “She screamed. It was cold. The ocean side beaches were always cold. Even in Virginia. But once you got used to it. You could swim … if you had too.
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