I remember a foggy morning in the coastal community I was living in for a while. It was Traitor’s Spring, chilly wet and blowing a full breeze. We drove over to the next town to have breakfast. In those days, there wasn’t so much as a single restaurant on the island.
The rain came in waves, shaking the little frame structure cafe where we were having breakfast. And every time the door opened, a draft would blow against the back of my neck. We’d also hear the wind banging on the boat rigging in the marina down the way. There was something secure about the cafe, looking down on the boats on the pier, the Mary McQuin, Seafarer II, Holy Roller, and Tipsy. They swung with the waves in counterpoint to the wind.
Out beyond the point, the tide was scouring the flats so bare they might reveal treasures that would excite someone in paleontology. Later, when the tide turned, the breakers would ease, and the scene would be so peaceful you might question if it had ever been boisterous.
After finishing breakfast and having no particular place to be, we opted for a second cup of coffee. We grabbed a section out of the Sunday paper from Portland. The travel section. Amazing. Who’d want all that sun and warmth when you could live like this? We started to laugh.
Eventually, we paid up. We retained the cover photo from the travel section to pin up in the shop. It would be a nice reminder in late March of what July would bring: Sunny skies, blue sea, white sails, and summer people – sometimes referred to as “summer complaints.”
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When I lived in southern England, a rainstorm came in from the Channel with such strong wind it snapped my umbrella in half.
That’s the sort of wind we’ve been having the last month or two.
Nice post 🌅🎸
I remember beaches in CA sometimes looking like that. There was a mystery to the misery.
A great way of describing it.