Field Note: The Strand Beach

I have never lived near the water before.

Of course, I’ve visited it. Beaches and lakes and rivers pepper my memories here and there.

But when you aren’t right next door to recreation, respite is more hassle than healing.

So I was pleasantly surprised when I was able to take my son on a random weekday afternoon to the banks of the Choptank River not far from our new home.

We weren’t the only ones out there – it was unseasonably warm for April. But we were the only ones with a child.

Years of conditioning coursed through my veins as I immediately began to assess for impact. What were others doing? Would he bother them with his noise and his sand building and his splashing? What if he threw a fit over the water temperature or not being able to run freely?

I was just about to turn us back around when he clocked the waves and began a beautiful barrage of child chatter.

The kind you hear when they can barely get the words out and their bodies are begging to be put down so they can explore.

We stayed. And it was perfect.

Yes, I did have to remind him not to throw sand more than once. He absolutely had a full-blown tantrum when it was time to pack up.

But he talked about his 90 minutes on the beach for the rest of the week.

And I’ll remember the sound of him there for the rest of my life.