Summer at the Beach

Summer at the Beach


The sun kisses my face as it peeks through the lace curtains. Without opening my eyes I know exactly where I am. Each summer my two brothers and I spend the summer with Grandma at her beach house on Cape Cod. As I lay in my warm bed, I feel the faded cotton quilt gently hugging my small frame. Excitedly, I think about how much fun we’ll have at Grandma’s house this summer. I can’t wait to go to the beach today.

The azure sky is dotted with puffy clouds as we walk to the beach. I can feel the hermit crab legs tickle the palm of my hand as I search for them in the pools of water trapped in the rock jetties. I search for sea shells that have not been broken by the strong waves that resulted from the storm last night. I gently place them in my sand bucket to prevent them from breaking.

After the beach, we go for a bike ride on the path that leads to the sandwich shop. Grandma’s bike squeaks with every rotation of the pedal. She has a wicker basket, the color of sand, on her bike where my doll sits. The doll’s head flops to the side as if she is looking at the seagulls calling to us. The bike path is lined with oak trees laden with leaves that provide shade on hot summer days.

The General Store is my favorite place to get ice cream after dinner. We sit beneath the red, white, and blue banners hanging from the roof top as I lick melted peppermint stick ice cream from the back of my hand. The General Store is a common meeting place where people share their adventures from the day and anticipate the activities planned for tomorrow.

Some nights we go to the beach to roast marshmallows over on open camp fire. I love peeling the brown coating off the puffed marshmallow and popping it into my mouth. As we sit in the sand, enjoying the cool night air, we watch the moon light dance on the surface of the water. When the fire embers dim to a soft orange glow Grand Ma extinguishes them with sand.

After we get ready for bed, we climb onto Grandma’s lap while she sits in the old wooden rocking chair. She pulls the goose down lap throw over our legs and tucks it in on the sides. We each get to choose a book that we checked out from the library the day before. We go to the library on rainy days. I love being among the stacks of books as the rain spatters against the foggy window.

The rocking chair creaks as Grandma reads to us. The three of us become more relaxed as our bodies melt into her lap. Before she reaches the end of the final page of the third book we are all asleep. She gingerly carries us into our beds, being careful to tuck us in with our favorite blankets and stuffed animals wedged beneath our chins.

The next morning I hear Grandma in the kitchen. She is clanging pots and pans as she prepares blueberry pancakes. The smell of melting butter and maple syrup fills the air. I close my eyes and take a deep breath knowing that this will be a great summer at the beach.