As I write this, the temperatures outside hover in the 20s and 30s and the ground is covered with a thin layer of snow and ice. It’s perfectly understandable, living in the Northeast in mid-December, that I should complain about the weather because it’s just what we do up here. What we also do up here is fantasize about an early spring while reminiscing about the good times that were had during the recently departed summer. We also start pining for the days yet to come when we will, once again, be beached like gams of whales at this or that spot along a sandy shoreline at our favorite stretch of coast.
So it was this morning, as I came across some phone pics, that I found myself drifting back to a very early morning last July when I was little more than a beached Hermit strolling up and down the shores of mine and Daisy’s most favorite spot along the North Atlantic coast.
It is incumbent upon me, before we go too far here, that I acknowledge the seemingly contradictory notion that a hermit would want any part in commingling with a sea of humanity at the Ocean’s edge. The key to success for the tried-and-tested strategy behind having such a popular destination all to yourself lies in how early you get there and how quickly you leave. I have learned over the years that if you can’t get there before everyone wakes up and gets breakfast then you might as well not even bother going. And your cue for knowing when it’s time to hit the exits is the arrival of the first set of parents with kids in tow that have no interest in getting along with their siblings, calming the fuck down, and enjoying the view[…]
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