Beach Bums

When I was little, summer time was marked by sensory experiences.

Cherry popsicles sliding cold into my waiting belly.

The little explosions past my lips as my sister and I held watermelon-seed-spitting competitions.

Line-hung towels and sheets were just a little scratchy. They smelled like warmth, somehow.

"Slaps" {flip-flops to the rest of you} made a staccato chorus as we chased down the tinhorn symphony of the ice cream truck. The order is still the same today,

"An ice cream sandwich, please."

And the coconut-laced smell of sunscreen meant we had made the annual family pilgrimage to one of our favorite places: a sun-drenched, Caribbean-blue lake on the Idaho-Utah border.

Last week, I took a lengthy, sweaty, leg-cramp-ridden drive from Portland to my hometown. There was worthwhile motivation waiting at the other end of the drive: a reunion with the Sallie-Cat. And an afternoon to steal away to a little slice of heaven with my mammy and Sister #3.

Do you remember how magic infuses every turn during the bluebird days of spring skiing? It's because another kind of bluebird day...a beachy bluebird day...is just around the corner.

B.L. North Beach ~ July 2009, by Katie

A trip to this little paradise has its own package of sensory experiences. The color of the water is unlike any other land-locked lake I've paddled. Apparently, the limestone-lined bottom is what makes it so very blue. A million different shades of blue, shifting with the clouds, the wind, and the sun's movements. Blue that sinks a brilliant turquoise seam right into your soul and then slowly feathers outward.

B.L. North Beach ~ July 2009, by Katie

I got to spend some rare uninterrupted playtime with the Littlest Sis. Remember how much fun it was to go to the pool at age 11? Take that fun and multiply it exponentially. It's tangible; she is popping with glee.

Chickadee #3, age 11, at B.L. North Beach ~ July 2009, by Katie

Of course, no family trip is complete without the Fuzzy Sibling. Meet Greta. {Also known as Yeti, Greti-Spaghetti, D-D/Dang Dog, Snoot, and a million other monikers.}

Greta, age 10, at B.L. North Beach ~ July 2009, by Katie

Mammy-Ann even got in on the fun. Doesn't she have awesome cheekbones? I love seeing my mom love the beach life.

Mom at B.L. North Beach ~ July 2009, by Katie

This water is swimmably cool against the skin, not one of those icebox mountain lakes. You can actually dip yourself in this puddle. Ahem, Husby: I herewith submit my request to skinny-dip in this lake at night.

Chickadees #1 & #3 {28 & 11}, at B.L. North Beach ~ July 2009, by Mom

No beach trip is complete without a little aqua-aggression.

Let's not forget the sensation of sand down your swimsuit. Somehow, I still have the nerve to be surprised when I drop my suit at the end of the day and find 5 lbs. of grit being smuggled in the seat. Who knew I required a pumice rub on my posterior parts?

And I'm sure it is documented somewhere that beach etiquette requires, nay demands that we make a work of art, an offering to the sand deities:

Chickadee #3's sand castle ~ July 2009, by Katie

How about the feel of plastic water toys squeaking against your wet hide? We ALL got into the water to cool off. {Take it easy. The pup had previously done her business in a safe locale. Poor girl is getting her torn ACL repaired this week; we were trying to keep weight off the bum leg.}

Greta, age 10 at B.L. North Beach ~ July 2009, by Katie

Apparently, over the past few years it's become en vogue to serenade the other beachgoers with your own personal tractor soundtrack. You know, because using a truck to get your boat down to the waterfront is just not done any longer.

Tractors at B.L. North Beach ~ July 2009, by Katie

And let's not forget one of the most celestial, sublime sensory experiences of the whole summer: a fresh raspberry shake from the corner shack. Blended well. Sipped, slurped, and gleefully consumed on the beach.

As we made the sunset pilgrimage home ward, we spied these dignified in the marshes along the roadway. When I was little, my sassy mother taught us a poem about them:

Pelicans near North Beach ~ July 2009, by Mom

The Pelican

A limerick by Dixon Lanier Merritt

A wonderful bird is the pelican,

His bill will hold more than his belican.

He can take in his beak

Food enough for a week,

But I’m damned if I see how the helican.

I know, I know. You just WISH your mom shared such gems with you.

To my three chickadees: thanks for a wonderful visit. I love you lots. Let's all retire permanently to the lake, ohhh, next summer, perhaps?

There are many more sensory experiences to be had.

Chickadee #3, age 11, at B.L. North Beach ~ July 2009, by Katie