It’s been many years since my dad used to pile me, my sister and our cousins, Laura and Denise into his Jeep Wrangler and head to Jones Beach on sunny Sunday mornings.
Time makes no difference; one whiff of the salty air and the greasy hamburgers at the snack stand, the memories come right back: body surfing in the waves, butterflies in my tummy as I climb the ladder for the high diving board at the pool, seagulls stealing snacks right off the tables, and the feel of my dirty, matted hair on the ride home.
My children and I play a name game in which we call each other by the meaning of our names. A typical dialogue might sound like this:
“Yes, Warrior Woman?”
“Where is Victorious-Army-Defender-of-Man?”
“He’s doing his homework.”
“Ok. Did Healer-from-the-Meadow finish his math?”
“Yeah, but I had to help him a bit.”
“Thanks honey. Give me a hand with dinner, please? Victorious-Army-Manly will be home early tonight and we should get started.”
My name is Warrior Grace Free Farmer and I approved this message!
photo courtesy of Marie-McKeowen.hubpages.com, History of Ireland.
Our favorite beach is four wheel access only. There are no bathrooms. No concession stands. No buses. No crowds. And that’s just how we like it.