Beachin'

We are in a happy place.  Snowbirds are flying north.  Endless days of low 80s, sunny weather, soft breezes.  And I’m in a panic.  Our days are numbered here.  Of course, I can’t wait to hang out with my kids and grandkids, but I need to get to the beach.  I can’t return a pasty white girl.

My entire life I have loved the beach.  It’s calms me.  Just put up an umbrella and open my latest read and I’m in heaven.  My problem is every umbrella I’ve ever opened flew away as soon as I sat down.

Two years ago, Buff Honey went on Amazon and bought a Coleman beach canopy that measures 12 feet by 12 feet.  We’ve never used it.  His kids have and insist that it is ridiculously easy to put up.  The one that erected it is an engineer.  We are not.

And that’s the primary reason we have never used it.  Last week, we bit the bullet, wheeled the  thing down to Nokomis Beach, took out the instructions and the reading glasses.  Never in my life have I ever been able to follow directions in any area, so I was content to keep my mouth shut (one helluva feat) and be Vanna.

BH is no engineer but he is nothing if not persistent.  We tried a myriad of ways to get that thing up and after several fits and starts, we prevailed much to the amusement of our fellow beachgoers.  After setting up our beach chairs (which I am finally getting the hang of), we opened our books and breathed in that fabulous gulf air and sighed deeply…..ahhhh, this is why we’re here.

Our next set up will be a breeze, but the initial confusion reminded me of years ago when my father bought a tent for our family’s road trip from Florida to see his family in Minnesota.  I think he was a bit worried about setting it up, because he invited my uncles and aunts over for a trial run in our living room.  You would think an airplane mechanic would have it under control.  Not a chance.

He was a fairly reserved man.  When he was annoyed, which was seldom, he would utter his version of a curse, “Gee, Christmas!”  I never remember him being angry.  The total opposite of my mother who was nothing if not on the vitriolic side.  

Her family was not reserved.  They were good natured with enormous senses of humor and loud.  In a good way.  Naturally, I say that because those are the genes I inherited.  Anyway, the living room was filled with the men yelling out directions and the women and children getting a kick out of the whole scene.  After an hour or so, the tent was standing.

The next day, we set out for Minnesota, leaving very early in the morning with minimal stops along the way to our destination in northern Georgia.  My father like many was obsessed with making time.  Bathroom breaks?  “Hold it,” was his refrain until my mother gave him what for.

If it was up to her, we would’ve taken the back roads, stopping at all the historic markers along the way.  But, he wasn’t into history.  He wanted to get there.  And when we finally pulled into our campsite, it was getting dark and he had to get that tent up.

As my mother was admiring the gurgling creek, he set out the tent on the flattest area and discovered to his horror that the tentpoles were still in our living room.  My mother and us three children were ecstatic!  OMG, we can stay in a cabin.
About this time, two young men appeared to inquire about helping us.  When they heard our dilemma, these two teenagers started searching for sturdy tree limbs that they could whittle into tent poles.  They worked like a charm.

Our cabin dreams were dashed and we carried those tree limbs to our campsites through the south and midwest to our destination, Albert Lea, Minnesota.  As crazy as it started, it was far and away our best family vacation.

That pretty much ended my camping days.  Just give me a beach front room at the Marriott or the Hyatt.  That’s my idea of roughing it.

And, now, we have this canopy that’s the size of our living room.  Ahhh, nothing like beachin’ it!