Endless Days in a Perfect Place.

“We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other.” - Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

I often long for a place and time that now lives only in mind. Somewhere that I used to vacation with my partner and children when they were younger, a campground in Southern California that was right on the beach.

I used to call it my “beach front condo”.

Several times a year I woke early six months beforehand to secure that exact spot for our escapes.

The place where we set up our massive orange tent that was much bigger than what we needed, in the sand, separated from the waves by only 20 feet and made private and secluded by big bushes on either side. The best spot in the entire campground.

The first time we camped there it was only sand, but the next time there were rocks. Large round rocks that the night tide rolled back and forth across each other making a loud rumbling reminiscent of thunder while we slept.

I awoke in the morning before everyone else to make coffee on a small camp stove at the picnic table with a sea breeze blowing my hair across my face.  And then I sat on the shore with my cuppa in the peace of the early morning watching the waves roll up on the sand time and again.

We ate simply and were content.

We spent long hot days in the sun and the ocean. Swimming, playing, reading, lazing.

We sat around endless campfires talking, laughing, singing.

We told stories and jokes and nonsense of all sorts and then we retired our sandy, sun-soaked bodies back to our sleeping bags where we slept soundly through the night only to wake and do it all over again the next day.

I long for those times, in that place, when my life was simple.

When sandy little toes and small footprints on the beach brought a smile to my face. When contagious giggles escaped from tiny bodies. When surfing on a floating log in the ocean brought endless joy to my preteen boy. When cuddles and hugs from my little people were still a thing. When my partner and I walked hand-in-hand across the beach and snuggled closely together during the chilly nights.

I forget the other side of those memories…all the nights that the wind howled and sandblasted our tent, keeping us awake long into the morning. I forget about the terrible sunburns that I endured despite the sunscreen, shade and covering clothing. I forget how my tender body didn’t like to sleep on the hard sand and I woke bruised and sore and longing for a real bed. I forget the end of the week when my littles had had enough vacation and just wanted to go home. The flurry of preparations beforehand, shopping and cooking and packing. Then getting back home and cleaning and washing and unpacking.

Going back home was always my least favorite part. Going back to “normal”, work and school and other priorities.

The spot where we used to camp out was washed out by a storm several years ago and is no longer accessible to campers. My oldest is grown and camping with his own partner now. My youngest is nearly there as well. And my partner and I have been through rocky waters over the last year. Nothing is what it used to be. I miss those days when summer was long and hot and gloriously calm. And my life was simple and happy. Just me and my three people on the beach. I want those days in that magical place back again, even if just for a moment.