Shasta County, California. Remote Freelance Writer

Challenge: Ideal Lazy Summer Vacation


Laughing I nudge my brother in the ribs, “So how is your rock skipping these days?” We headed for the black slate rocks on the shore. “I don’t think I lost it over the years, how about you?” he replied.


To visit the quiet beach on Salt Spring Island where we grew up was a nice treat. Remembering the hours playing in the sand, digging for sea worms, and finding driftwood treasures with imagination running wild of how to use them.


To enjoy the beauty of the moment was sufficient. Seagulls still squabble, but now I notice them more. The azure blue of the ocean is more vivid and I can appreciate the smell of the salt air. Another deep breath is intoxicating. It has been years since I walked the beach.


As kids, we spent hours on a sunny afternoon floating around on inner tubes and diving off of large rocks. Today it feels too cold to get my feet wet. Of course, never had any intention to venture in the water. I reached out and splashed the water, flicking it at my brother.


We pitched our first set of rocks. Plunk, went the first one. The second skipped three times, “not bad for not having done in a few decades,” I joked. Some good shots others not so great.


We retreated to the log that had swept in many seasons ago.


Memories of going out in the dugout Indian canoe a neighbor gave him. The darn thing leaked, and you had to bail out water each time you took it for an adventure.


There was one time it was leaking so fast, I had to bail like crazy as he rowed fast to get to shore before we had to abandon ship and swim. Funny now but scary back then.


The beach has not changed much. The path to the shore is over-grown, with years of neglect. It was always so pristine. Newer residents never knew the beauty of the bank over-looking the shore. Or do they just not care anymore?


A short walk on the beach and I find some sea glass. “Pretty eh, I shall save it as a memento for my last ever trip to Fernwood Beach.” He smiled, “Probably my last trip also.”


Up the bank, to walk on the wharf for old-time’s sake. A new structure stands in its place, but the sentiments are still there.


The dock sits on the water as it rocks with each wave as it did many years ago. Today I am more cautious and don’t get so close to the edge. But still remember how we sat on the wooden dock to drop a line and catch fish.


One last look to the beach I spent many afternoons enthralled in the clutches of the salt air.


We jump in the car and head out for lunch. It has been a nice side trip on a lazy summer vacation with my brother.

As a copywriter:

I help businesses grow through marketing.

Bringing products and services to the world.