Saturday, July 16, 2011
Some might call these skiffs. Some might call them dories. Still others lacking nautical history and knowledge, like myself, might just call them rowboats. They were scattered about at varies locations on the shore of Willard Beach the other day. Mom would often pack our creme and red Chevy station wagon with us and our pals and head here on sweltering July days. While most of my friends loved to go to various lakes in the area, her wagon always set a course for the ocean. The beach is small confined on the left by the large rocks and the old Fort Preble and on the far right by the abandoned fishing shacks sitting high on a bluff. The water here was always freezing cold, as I remember, but heck it was the beach; it was wicked hot and there were a million things to do and explore with your friends. And that all usually happened before Mom opened the cooler and dragged out her egg salad sandwiches. They were a staple of our sojourns to the beach, but with one gust of wind, we were all crunching away with our sand-crusted meal. One question still lingers... Mom, with so many other of your culinary delights that you could put together for a day at the ocean, why the egg salad? For pete sakes, egg salad? Maybe my sisters or Capt. Billy have the answer to this one. My brother? Nope... PB&J. I'm baffled!