This month’s Cul De Sac has chronicled the Otterloops' trip to the beach, and I have been in a perpetual state of nostalgia ever since I glanced at the first of the beach panels. I’m actually kind of freaked out, because I have never read anything so akin to my experiences as a kid. It’s like Richard Thompson read my mind.
Every year, my parents would load us in car and embark us on a two-day journey across six states to visit my family at their beachfront home on a secluded island off the coast of Jacksonville, Fla. A valiant venture, considering my sister and I cannot spend more than two hours together without bickering. These car trips truly tested the ties of unconditional love.
The words “beach house” may have a fancy connotation, but this beach house is a total zeitgeist of the 1960’s. It still retains its original pea green appliances and wood-paneled walls despite the number of hurricanes and tropical storms it has weathered. The ocean air has made the furniture smell of must, and the local cats add notes of dander to the scent. To me, the beach house and the island it stands on are magical because it is home to some of my earliest and favorite memories. What kid wouldn’t be awe-struck by a place shrouded in mystical legends of sunken pirate treasure and fishermen’s tales of mermaids, a place where you can swim all day and watch nests of sea turtle eggs hatch at night? That is why I found myself almost envious of Alice this week as she gets to experience all the wonders of the beach through the eyes of a kid.
I hold tacky beach house decorations close to my heart:
My hair does things I don’t understand when it’s exposed to humidity and salt air:
What is seafoam made of anyway?
Where do most of your favorite childhood memories take place? When was your first trip to the beach? Comment on this blog post and let us know.