wild harbor

My parents live a half mile from the ocean.  The mode of transportation to get to their small private beach called Wild Harbor is the golf cart.  Everyone has one.  Over the years, this small picturesque beach has gone from sparsely populated to “Let’s get there early so we can stake out a place.”

People go the beach to set up, hours before their actual arrival.  Large circles of empty chairs dot the beach as early as ten, though the beach doesn’t get crowded until well after noon.

I get to the beach around 3pm today.  My friend Barbara (a true beach connoisseur), who has a house here, is there.  Barbara lives in Massachusetts and we are great beach friends, but we don’t stay in touch throughout the year.  Today I see her and she says, “Come sit me with me and Rich (her husband); we brought buffer chairs.”  I have no idea what she is talking about.  She explains.  “I hate when people come down and sit on top of us, even when there is ample beach room.  So now I bring extra chairs to expand our space.  Rich and I take four chairs with us.  It’s good for company too.”

I join them in their buffer chairs.  It is the perfect afternoon.