Sea and Sand

It's been raining here in Boston for what seems like the entire week since we landed.
It feels really bizarre to be back in the house where we lived for ten years before decamping for London.
Last Saturday, we drove an hour and a quarter up the coast to Rye Beach, NH. This is the town where Hubster's parents had a summer home for the past 25 years. In fact, they had just purchased the house when I met the man who would eventually be known as "Hubster". My sister (eventually to be known as "NeedhamSis" and I would joke that we weren't gold-diggers, but sand-diggers, as we each married a man whose parents had a summer house at the beach. We both had fond beachy memories from our childhoods, when we would float around on our parents' boat "Aquila" on the south shore of Long Island, NY, and further north to the Islands of New England, including Block Island, RI, Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket.

Our trip to the house in Rye Beach last weekend was to provide assistance to Nana and NH Sis as they accomplished the final clear-out of the the personal belongings, since the house has been sold. Seeing the house devoid of its contents was emotionally challenging for me, and in addition, I kept expecting to hear Grandad's laugh as he came into a room. Sadly, Grandad is gone, and the era of happy family gatherings around the dining room table with a boatload of lobsters and drawn butter is over as well. Last week was his and Nana's wedding anniversary, and Sunday was Father's Day, so going through those special days for the first time since his passing in April was challenging as well.

While Hubster, Son and Nana made a run to the "Swap Shop" at the dump, er, "transfer station", I had the chance for a walk on the beach. This is the beach where Hubster and I would spend at least a week of vacation each summer when we were first married, and vacations consisted of visiting one set of parents or the other. Our children were babies and toddlers on that beach, and Son made his debut as Grandchild Numero Uno, giving Nana and Grandad their respective nicknames. As the kids grew, so did there love for the beach and their tolerance for the 59 degree waters of coastal New Hampshire. I spent many happy hours picking blackberries in the front yard while it was still the "Captain's garden" from the Victorian-era house next door. The "Cable" referred to in the address of Cable Road was the Trans-Atlantic Cable that allowed the transmission of Morse Code signals from Europe to the US.
On this particular day, the fog had lifted and as it was dead low tide, the Isles of Shoals were clearly outlined offshore. There were families playing ball and frisbee games, toddlers running to the four-inch high foam with glee, with Moms and Dads chasing after them. I walked down to the northern end of the beach where the tide pools are, and spent a moment remembering the times we would find snails, crabs and other creatures among the granite boulders, barnacles, and kelp. It was 65 degrees back at the house, but no more than 55 down at the shore, with a brisk wind. Clearly, summer would be late arriving, although the calendar said it would be the next day. At least there was a break in the rain, so I could get in my walk.

Following the last trip to the dump, we went to Ray's for seafood. Fried clams, now there is one of nature's perfect foods. Four of us split a quart of them, along with assorted lobster rolls, onion rings, a hot dog, and whatever Hubster had (he won't eat clams).

The seafood feast marked the end of a quarter-century era. I am truly thankful to have been part of such a wonderful extended family who were generous in sharing their lives and their home with their kids, in-laws, and grandchildren.