Seaside

Tucked deep inside my memories exists a special place, and I have set aside an area of my heart where I hold it dear. This place is where I spent my childhood, where I laughed, played, loved, learned, cried, and lived. It was a small town without much to offer, other than a lot of fishing and nature. Some refer to it as a sleepy coastal town, but I couldn't have imagined it being any other way. This town that borders the eastern coast of Florida will live on in my memories, and I consider it one of the main reasons my childhood was so amazing. My family wasn't wealthy; they probably weren't even middle class, but nothing that made the beginning years of my life so rich, involved money.

Summers sometimes felt unbearable from the scorching heat, but luckily living along the coast, there was almost always a cool ocean breeze. In that breeze, you could smell the scent of oranges that had blown west from the neighboring orange groves. Those same orange groves were a notorious home for bats, and in the dusk just before sunset, you could sit and watch them fly around erratically as they hunted mosquitos. I spent many summer nights listening to the melodious song of frogs and katydids.

The beach we visited was not your typical Florida beach with little parking along a crowded boulevard. This beach was hidden at the end of a long narrow road lined with sawgrass bordered by wetlands. You could usually see an alligator sunning itself or even spot the occasional wild boar. The stairs that led from the parking area over the sand dunes were long and blistering, and from first touch of foot to board, you would instantly regret not wearing your sandals. The soft warm sand would slip beneath your feet as you walked to the shore, and the cold salt water would burn your eyes. The smell of the ocean was a mixture of seaweed, salt and fish, but what a wonderful smell it was. The sounds of the Ocean were as refreshing as the water itself, with distant seagull calls and waves crashing to shore.

Days at the beach always included a packed lunch that consisted of ham or turkey sandwiches, chips, and soda. If my grandparents were lucky enough to catch any fish or crabs, we would have a seafood dinner. My grandmother enjoyed feeding the seagulls and various other birds that frequented the beach; most of the time it became quite the feeding frenzy. More times than not, our trips would be cut short from sudden thunderclouds with lightning that would spark up in an instant.

Numerous summer nights were spent at the fishing pier where my grandfather would go to shrimp and fish. The pier had a different odor than the beach; it smelled like bait and dead fish, but it didn't bother me. I would spend my time running up and down the pier pretending I might fall into the water from a broken or loose board, and many times, I ended up with splinters in my feet. Occasionally, I would also get bumps, scrapes, and bruises from tripping on a random nail that had begun to lift from the weathered wood.

I spent the rest of my time splashing around the shore and playing under the pier. I would circle the pylons and attempt to catch minnows in the shallow water. However, that was just it; they were always just attempts because I can't remember ever successfully catching one. That town will forever live on in my memories, and I long for it most days. I wish I could offer the same childhood for my own children. Maybe someday, before they are grown, I will.