Family lore suggests it was a Labor Day Weekend, long ago, when my family along with my grandmother and Aunts, went to Jones Beach for the day. There was even a picture, once upon a time, of the windblown "beehives" and family packed up ready to leave! I vaguely remember sandy sandwiches and feeling the surf. I think I found the salty air profoundly satisfying even if my mother was in both physical and emotional distress by the whole experience. Yet, family lore suggests the most memorable part of the day was my mother saying, "You've had your picnic, we're going home." We never went back, not to any beach, ever.
As a young adult, I camped (
seriously) right on the Atlantic Ocean and began to understand the draw of the salty air and relentless waves. One time, I spent a week in SC when it was just slightly hotter the surface of the sun camping in a tent in order to stand in the water to cool off? I've had beachy dreams, ever since! In fact, I am "already-at-my house-condo-apartment-spot" for the holiday weekend listening to the waves. While I do not have a real-life-dream-beach-spot of my own, I am pretty sure it would not be in the Hamptons; rather, my own dream spot would be on on Water Street In Stonington, Connecticut.
THUS, when I read the article in the
NYTimes about Eric Nathan whose home at the beach is a driveway off Dune Road in the Hamptons, I really do understand. Through the passage of time, hurricanes, and family divisions of land and wealth all that is left of a long ago family cottage is a tiny slip of land where Mr. Nathan visits a few times each year in order to reconnect with the sea.
I get it!
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