This summer, Dillon Beach felt quieter and cooler than normal. The young boys, who in past hung out in the campsite playing catch and golf, spent most of the time pedaling away to do “boy” things on their bikes, fishing poles and buckets rigged to their handlebars. The girls, as they are now almost teenagers, were even quieter, except for the occasional giggles heard from inside their camper. They were consumed with new iPods, texting young crushes back home and their new height.
With the weather often damp and cool (and welcomed), I found myself wanting to get warm and cozy a little earlier. Several nights, it just seemed right to go in my tent early and read under the covers with a flashlight. It also meant I could stay in bed later.
It was relaxing like I’d planned. I read an entire book. I drifted in an out of sleep both on the grass and on the beach. I sat around a fire.
We made meals out of vegetables from my dad’s garden, and cooked up crab as we caught them. Thanks to aunt Karen, we had pizza (a Dillon Beach ritual because she manages a pizza place not too far from camp), and we warmed it outside on the grill the next day. We had homemade fettuccini. Four or five tri-tips. Ribs. Biscuits and Gravy. And clam chowder.
It’s hard to believe August is almost over. I spend all year looking forward to Dillon Beach, and then it’s over (blogged previously here, here and here). Just like that. What is something that signifies your summer’s end?