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Memories of the beach
Aug. 7th, 2002 08:38 amWe're going to Hampton with the netgoths tonight to play skeeball, stuff our faces with unhealthy fried food and watch the fireworks on the sand. It seems that each year I get there less and less.
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When I was a child my parents owned a house on Rt. 88 (or was it 84?) in Hampton Falls; it was about a 10 or 15 minute drive from the beach proper. You see, my great-grandfather lived in that little cottage in the woods (4 acres of it which is a lot of land for someone used to a postage-stamped sized lot in the burbs directly outside of Boston). There were the remains of an old tree house in the woods that my dad used to play in and a swing held up between two trees in the yard that I've seen photos of my Auntie Carol sitting on. I used to love walking out into the woods on the narrow path to the old dump (before the days of town dumps or curbside pickup) where you could find pretty old glass bottles amongst the remains of rusty bed springs or mucky leaves.
I remember countless hours spent in the barn/garage thing - half of it was open to put a car in and the other half was enclosed with a rickety staircase that went up to the loft. My great-grandfather's countless jars of random screws and other fasteners remained there for years after he died and I loved to explore them all to see if I could find anything useful (as useful as a random fastener would be to an 8 year old).
We had a dirt basement - the kind where there was a trap door that pulled up from one of the bedroom floors and you'd climb down a ladder to get in. There was this icky fly paper hanging in the corner of the bathroom (I was always scared to go in there for fear that the bugs would get me). The old refrigerator (you know the kind that was rounded on the top and had the large silver handle that pulled out to open and locked when you shut it) was in the corner of the kitchen near the floor where we would have lobster races.
For a while my parents went up there every weekend in the summer - come Friday night my Dad would come home from work to find my Mom and the kids all packed and ready to head up to "the cottage". We lived in that water, on that sand, exploring "Jodi's rocks" to see what goodies were lurking in the pools of water once the tide went out and things were low. We almost always brought our bikes to ride up and down the boardwalk on, HAD to buy Blink's fried dough - and fought desperately to get my Dad to walk down to the Casino with us (he preferred to stay away from the crowds and stick to the sand).
Hampton holds memories of different time periods for me and they all rush back to me when I get there. After a while we were too busy and the cottage just wasn't adequate for us anymore due to its frail, small state. My Dad did some renovations on it, rented it out for a few years and then finally just sold it off (they took that garage/barn down a couple of years ago since it was ready to fall over on its own accord).
In my teen years I started going a lot (both there and to Salisbury Beach to the all ages heavy metal club) once friends got their driver's license. Then began the "lets get dressed up slutty, parade the boardwalk, and try to pick up guys" phase. I have some photos from one weekend that we all rented a house just steps from the boardwalk and got trashed the whole time! B is amused by my teased up hair, black and fluorescent green mesh shirt and killer tan (gotta love the combination of Italian and French blood). We wandered around in search of older people to buy for us, searched the beach hi and low to find jello FINALLY at some dinky convenience store near my favorite gift shop (you know, the one that sells the tree crabs?) and all got matching fake tattoos. We also liked to hang around near where all of the motorcycles parked and check out the younger (and not portly) Harley guys.
****
I really miss going to Hampton each summer and I think I lose a teeny piece of me each year that I don't get to spend a significant amount of time there. Its cheezy, its not the cape, it may not be as cool as the Jersey Shore (from what I've been hearing) but a large part of that beach lives within me. Last year we drove up in thenetimp's car listening to cheezy metal and actually went on the sand (B's not crazy about the actual beach - he's more of a boardwalk fan)! And we went swimming too! Its amazing how calming the salty atlantic can be despite its icky taste and frigid temperatures.
I need to do some serious day or night trips out there before the season is over. And I'm going to the seafood festival this year too, dammit!
Ah, I love the summer despite its unbearable heat . . .
****
When I was a child my parents owned a house on Rt. 88 (or was it 84?) in Hampton Falls; it was about a 10 or 15 minute drive from the beach proper. You see, my great-grandfather lived in that little cottage in the woods (4 acres of it which is a lot of land for someone used to a postage-stamped sized lot in the burbs directly outside of Boston). There were the remains of an old tree house in the woods that my dad used to play in and a swing held up between two trees in the yard that I've seen photos of my Auntie Carol sitting on. I used to love walking out into the woods on the narrow path to the old dump (before the days of town dumps or curbside pickup) where you could find pretty old glass bottles amongst the remains of rusty bed springs or mucky leaves.
I remember countless hours spent in the barn/garage thing - half of it was open to put a car in and the other half was enclosed with a rickety staircase that went up to the loft. My great-grandfather's countless jars of random screws and other fasteners remained there for years after he died and I loved to explore them all to see if I could find anything useful (as useful as a random fastener would be to an 8 year old).
We had a dirt basement - the kind where there was a trap door that pulled up from one of the bedroom floors and you'd climb down a ladder to get in. There was this icky fly paper hanging in the corner of the bathroom (I was always scared to go in there for fear that the bugs would get me). The old refrigerator (you know the kind that was rounded on the top and had the large silver handle that pulled out to open and locked when you shut it) was in the corner of the kitchen near the floor where we would have lobster races.
For a while my parents went up there every weekend in the summer - come Friday night my Dad would come home from work to find my Mom and the kids all packed and ready to head up to "the cottage". We lived in that water, on that sand, exploring "Jodi's rocks" to see what goodies were lurking in the pools of water once the tide went out and things were low. We almost always brought our bikes to ride up and down the boardwalk on, HAD to buy Blink's fried dough - and fought desperately to get my Dad to walk down to the Casino with us (he preferred to stay away from the crowds and stick to the sand).
Hampton holds memories of different time periods for me and they all rush back to me when I get there. After a while we were too busy and the cottage just wasn't adequate for us anymore due to its frail, small state. My Dad did some renovations on it, rented it out for a few years and then finally just sold it off (they took that garage/barn down a couple of years ago since it was ready to fall over on its own accord).
In my teen years I started going a lot (both there and to Salisbury Beach to the all ages heavy metal club) once friends got their driver's license. Then began the "lets get dressed up slutty, parade the boardwalk, and try to pick up guys" phase. I have some photos from one weekend that we all rented a house just steps from the boardwalk and got trashed the whole time! B is amused by my teased up hair, black and fluorescent green mesh shirt and killer tan (gotta love the combination of Italian and French blood). We wandered around in search of older people to buy for us, searched the beach hi and low to find jello FINALLY at some dinky convenience store near my favorite gift shop (you know, the one that sells the tree crabs?) and all got matching fake tattoos. We also liked to hang around near where all of the motorcycles parked and check out the younger (and not portly) Harley guys.
****
I really miss going to Hampton each summer and I think I lose a teeny piece of me each year that I don't get to spend a significant amount of time there. Its cheezy, its not the cape, it may not be as cool as the Jersey Shore (from what I've been hearing) but a large part of that beach lives within me. Last year we drove up in thenetimp's car listening to cheezy metal and actually went on the sand (B's not crazy about the actual beach - he's more of a boardwalk fan)! And we went swimming too! Its amazing how calming the salty atlantic can be despite its icky taste and frigid temperatures.
I need to do some serious day or night trips out there before the season is over. And I'm going to the seafood festival this year too, dammit!
Ah, I love the summer despite its unbearable heat . . .
