Sunday, March 13, 2016

sunday walk

It may have been a bit premature to have taken a hike to one of our favorite beaches here in Maine.  The kids, in shorts at home and imagining an early season swim or wave jumping at least, had rolled their eyes and protested about a suggestion of warmer layers or bringing changes of clothing.  So I sent them to the car and then grabbed their parkas and threw them in a tote bag covered by a secret keeping towel across the top.  

The beach is an hour's drive away, during which the temperature had a chance to dip 15 degrees from home to there.  And though it was balmy and springish feeling at home, it was definitely still on the brisk and gusty side of things up there.  

Once parked, visitors walk a long trek down carriage roads, which cross a tidal flat.  In the summer, we find it charming that high tide floods the road and you have to wade through the overflow.  But it was a bit frigid this time of year.  And our bare Smartwooled northern feet have not seen sunlight nor earth for a good long time.  They were extra sensitive when we took off our socks and shoes and waded through the icy water.


Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Too cold to slow down, we giggled our way across the frigid gravel.


But the beach.  Oh that beach.  I think about that first view all winter long.  The perfectly Maine evergreen woods to the grassy bluffs to the sand to the water to the rocky islands just off shore.





A winter's worth of shells and undisturbed sand and driftwood awaited us.  And some of us got to work, apple still in hand.








What these do not show you is the 20 mph wind pelting our faces with stinging sand.  So we stayed until the wind drove us back into the woods.  Thanks goodness for that gnarly tree line so close by.  Beach time in March.  Perfectly Maine.

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