The last gasp of summer

I was watching television last night when I heard the Farmers’ Almanac prediction.

Looks like a snow-filled winter. I don’t normally have a problem with the idea of cool winter nights; comfy down quilts and those fresh white puffs of snow against a magical blue sky. But, hey, where did the summer go? I mean one minute it’s RiverFest; the next, we are getting ready to pick pumpkins. What is wrong with this picture? I am sick of work and didn’t hit on the mega million this week. Clearly it is time to create my own destiny. With that thought in mind I have decided quite last minute to pack my jeep, grab my daughter and make some tracks on warm beach sand. We can only manage to grab three days worth of time, so with a quick spin of the globe, the winner is the Chesapeake Bay. True travelers at heart, and with John Denver playing an early morning tune, we were on the road by 5:00 a.m.

We made it to the Chesapeake Bay before two o’clock, lunched on some nice fresh crab salad and sipped something cool by the pool. A nice evening walk along the bay seems to make the stress from the office just melt away. Little grey ghost crabs scampered under my feet as I watched the dolphins dancing under the late day sun along the horizon. I picked up a tiny shell from under some sea foam. The smell of the sea air and the shell in my hand brought me back to a time when I was a child spending vacation time with my family at the Jersey shore. I remembered spending hours combing the beach for shells. I filled my little red pail right to the brim. I wanted to bring them to school for show and tell. My dad said that I couldn’t bring my treasures home with me, but I really loved those shells. I just didn’t want to part with the little devils.

Well, I did what any kid would do. The night before we left after the car was all packed, with tears in my little eyes, I stashed them. I hid them all under the front seats of the family station wagon. Not a bad plan—until we got under way. Several hours later, in a car without air conditioning, the shells started to smell. Who knew that they were closed-up live clams? They were all dying and stinking. My dad, who was driving in parkway traffic for four hours, didn’t figure it out until we were near home. That car reeked for months afterward.

Heading home from the bay, I now have a tiny shell hanging from my mirror, a gentle reminder of a childhood memory.

- Diane Butler