I was sixteen the first time I saw an ocean. I grew up in Indiana, landlocked, except for Lake Michigan in the north. That is a formidable body of water, but not an ocean. If you have never been to a beach in the Carolinas, book a trip, soon.
That is what my sister did for us early this month. We met at the airport, and drove to Myrtle Beach right after the big flooding rains. While we had torrential rain on the way there, the skies cleared, the temperatures, well, tempered, and we had perfect beach weather.
The beaches are best in fall, winter, and early spring. People are there, just not as many. The weather is cooler, but not hot, and the waves roll in, the tides rise and fall just like they do every other time of the year. We had a glorious week. And though the two missing sisters left a hole, we welcomed my friend from the lake who joined us for a few days.
We walked the beach morning and evening. We walked the fishing pier. We picked up small shells. We watched the shore birds. We baked our bodies and floated on the lazy river. We junk and outlet shopped, read, ate pizza for breakfast and sea food for supper. We watched the tides and the moon change, listened to live music, talked, talked, talked, and drank some wine. Of course.
It is said that people are either beach people or mountain people. I am both, but this autumn, I was a beach person. Which are you?