The ocean greeted me this morning right when I walked on the beach. It was almost high tide and still rolling in.
I had a neighbor for many years that hung a retro flag in front of her house every summer that said high tide, good vibes. My son and I began saying high tide, good vibes all the time together once we had noticed the flag. It became our club.
I began to love summer and the beach again with him. We would check the tide chart or notice out the car window if the water was high. We would look at each other and say high tide, good vibes! (Which meant let’s go!)
We brought a towel and some water and the clothes we were wearing. With so little beach there was little space for our belongings. It felt so free to travel light; like I had as a teenager.
My son and I stepped on the beach, and reached the water in less than three steps. We played and swam. The ease of the afternoon made everything right in my body, in my life, and that it would continue to be right again and again. Because the ocean held me, my son, and my life in its embrace.
We eventually walked home still in the magic of the day. We shared smiles and laughter along the way, and when we said high tide, good vibes again it meant you and me, this right here, will always be.
Today my daughter joined me on my morning walk. I often go alone to have time in nature by myself to start the day, but I also love when my children or a friend walk with me. It amplifies the joy I feel in nature to share it and be together. My daughter is three. She really wanted to come. She put on footie pajamas, rain boots and a coat for the excursion. We live a 10 minute drive from this beach and she chatted happily about her friend Lucy and what they like to play. I helped her out of the car and she immediately wanted to go home. She was scared. She said “the beach is too loud and scary.” We talked about what she saw and heard and I told her that I still wanted to walk as planned. The wind was coming directly at us off the ocean. It was cold and loud. I carried her for a short time to protect her a bit from the wind. Eventually we stopped and got very low crouching in the sand with our backs to the wind. The sound faded some and it was warmer in this position. We looked at each other and began to run around until we were laughing. When we started to walk back to the car she walked on her own looking for treasure as we went and choosing her own stride and movement and pace. Her hair whipped in her face over and over but it did not hide her somehow. I could see her clearly. This strong, joyful, adventurous soul who needs both support and protection and freedom to move as she wants. The ocean and wind were loud and powerful today. My daughter reminds me of the beach where nature gets to change and express itself freely day to day. Its beauty never dimmed and its life sustaining force always present.
I noticed the ducks close to the beach on one of my favorite winter walks. The ocean was quiet, calm, its hue a deep sparkling blue. The sun was bright, and there were no clouds in the sky. The air was still and cold. In the stillness, the cold was not rough. It touched my face with a gentleness that eased my skin to adjust. My body immediately relaxed on a long breath, and my muscles let go of the tension they held.
I skipped down the steps to the beach with a renewed energy and the thought of a few moments of peace. I was excited to stretch out and I took longer strides down the beach. I felt fixated by a group of ducks gliding near the water’s edge. I got close and had to hop back a few steps because the waves came in fast.
Four or five ducks also got a little too close to the incoming tide because they got caught by a wave rolling into shore. It was brief, they all jumped at the same time to the back of the wave and swam away from the tugging tide. Once they were clear of the wave, they shook their tales in unison to discharge the event. Then they moved on and rejoined their flock.
The ducks moved gingerly as a group, I noticed how they stayed together a few feet apart. There was about a dozen in the flock and twice while I watched, a few split off. They did not go far from the group. They seemed to separate to talk or explore, and then seamlessly they returned to the flock.
The flock reminded me of my family that gathered and grew, sometimes breaking off to talk or the children to play, but always coming back together. Milling about each other leisurely content, it was where they belonged. I belonged too. There was a feeling of safety, protection and belonging from the outside world. And isn’t that what we all want, a place to belong?
I stepped inside the red shingled building and heard the jingle of the door as it closed behind me. I was met with the familiar rush of warm air, the smell of chocolate, and age. It smelled a little old, the way my grandmother’s house did. Like the rugs hadn’t been changed in 60 years. Clean, well kept, and old.
I moved further inside, took my plastic number from a hook, and started to wander around the room, happy to have some time before my number was called to enjoy looking at all the different chocolates. There were chocolate gold coins that I couldn’t resist getting for my children’s stockings, and some chocolate bark with sea salt for my husband. Even though that wasn’t part of the original plan, it made me smile, and I felt happy to surprise them. I listened as customers talked to each other, old friends asking about each other’s families and holiday plans.
My turn came up and the woman who has served me since the first time I came in 30 years ago, smiled and asked me what I would like. I replied with my usual Christmas order; “a half pound of dark chocolate orange creams and a half pound box of chocolate, chocolate, walnut, and Panucci fudge.” She nodded her head, reached for the boxes, wove through customers, and carried out her job with a calm demeanor despite the busyness of the day. I stood next to her while she put the pieces of fudge neatly in a box. I asked her to add one piece of Panucci for me and she looked up with a small smile and crinkled eyes and asked, “just one?” I laughed, returned her smile with a big one of my own, and said, “no I’ll have two, thank you.”
I followed her to the counter where she wrote a list of the prices of my candy with a piece of paper and a pen, added them up the same way I learned to do addition in elementary school. She told me the total and I handed her my credit card. As I waited for my receipt, I looked up and saw a sign that read, 95 years in business. My thoughts were interrupted by the woman handing me my credit card and saying thank you. I said, “thank you and merry Christmas,” turned around and walked toward the door. The candy house was not a place to linger four days before Christmas, so I picked my way through the customers and I heard “number 31” called behind me.
When I reached the door, I turned back around for a moment and looked at the sign. I breathed in the smell one last time. I stepped through the door to the parking lot; I did not know if this was the last time I would come here. I smiled and I had tears behind my eyes. Going to that red shingle building was like visiting my great grandmother. I remembered when she was 95. I remembered the smell, both warm, sweet, and old that enveloped me when I walked in her house. I remembered the box of fudge she would have tucked in the China cabinet out of sight, but not out of mind. I felt grateful that this building brought her back into my presence. And I felt sad that I didn’t know when it would end.
I wouldn’t know about this candy house without my great grandmother. Their fudge was one of her favorite things, and it was one of the things she shared with me when I was growing up. My great grandmother would be 136 years old if she were alive today. The thought made me feel simultaneously old and brought me right back to myself when I was 20 and my great grandmother was 95.
I bought the fudge as a Christmas gift for my mom and her two sisters, even though I don’t know if they really care to have it. I bought the fudge because I couldn’t buy it for my grandmother anymore. I bought the fudge because I hoped for some connection, some glimmer of recognition and love from my mom and my aunts. It wasn’t really about the fudge. It was about our family. So, really I bought the fudge for me; for the feelings and the memories I wanted to feel connected to, especially at Christmas.
