B.B. Boudreau

Novelist | Singer

One Hour on Long Beach

kids on long beachThe two young sisters mimic the twin Thacher Island lighthouses, except that one is taller than the other. The sisters, that is. Today’s major conundrum: “Is the tide coming or going?” I had a head start on the answer – I was here this morning.
“I’m not really a beach person,” taunts my inner voice. But here I am, folding chair, sarong, hat, and a travel mug of, yes, water. It’s 10:30 in the morning.
The tide is coming. The perfect crescent that is Long Beach breaks the waves evenly to its length. Today’s waves are easy, spilling their crests, halfway between breaking and lapping.
Whoever named it Long Beach hit the nail square on. Not that it’s a particularly record-setting long – think of the Jersey shore, hell, the whole coast of Delaware, North Carolina or Florida sport hundreds of miles of beach.
Long Beach looks long. A straight beach simply disappears, but Long Beach curves in a sensual arc from Briar Neck to ¬¬¬¬Cape Hedge, flanked by a parallel seawall on which are perched perfect New England houses. The people down at the north end are not even ant-size; more like gnats.
An ideal day for a sail. The American flag on the blue house at the end of the neck is straight out – gusting to 15 and growing. Too bad we don’t have a sailboat – yet. My husband is looking at a beamy cat. Yikes! What fun that will be. Pretty soon the ocean will start to cap.
One more dip in the water for me will suffice.
I’m not really a beach person. I couldn’t sit here all day. Not unless I had a humongous shade tree or an awning and a Malcolm Gladwell book. Oh, and a jug of gin and tonic. Not all day.
But I’ll be back tomorrow.

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