A small beach house built here in 1951, just across the dunes from the big breakers. A place of little pretense on a beach as long as life. A place of little pretense on a beach as long as life. How many books have been read here? How much coffee spilled into the rugs? How many exhibitions of grandkids’ art? How many hugs? How many castles washed away by the waves? How many games of Monopoly and cards? How many kids bodysurfed to dad’s legs? How many carbs? How many shark teeth found near the surf? How many dogs slept in the chairs? How many bare feet warmed by the sand? How many beers? This house is a modest place on a beach that goes for miles. Yet pilgrims trek here each summer .It’s a state of mind they hope to reach, to see again their families and each other, to watch birds and catch some fish, to worship the tanning sun, and the boys look at girls, and wish. A place of little pretense on a beach as long as life. A place of little pretense on a beach as long as life.
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