But in the early 1960s. We visited with my mom and dad and my grandmother. We camped in a big canvas tent. Grandma chased a sand crab around with a broom.
Then again, in about 1990.
Camping again. Too broke for anything else and it was
windy and I was
pregnant.
So in September, when the baby came, we went back, again.
In a house.
No crabs to chase with brooms.
Every spring after that-for a week-near Easter.
Long runs up and down the beach.
Conch shells after the storms.
Seeing the ghost of Theodosia Burr after a few glasses of wine and a hot tub.
Watching the boys avoid the “pointy things.”
Wind. Lots of wind.
Kayaking in the sound, that came later.
Y2K…we went and stayed right on the beach
just in case something really bad happened
we’d eat fish forever
Another trip, at Thanksgiving. The best. No company, it was 72 degrees. Sunny.
And then the Outer Banks Marathon-and hang gliding.
Later, we went to the other beaches-Emerald Isle, Sunset, and so on, but Grandma never swatted at sand crabs there.