On Vacation

Just back from three days on Cape Cod. I meant to take my computer but somehow, I forgot. (What would Freud say?) I then meant to use my phone post a pithy notice of my absence on my blog. But the sand and the family got the best of me. Besides playing with my grandson, a deep walk-and-talk with my daughter and a final afternoon beach walk on the tidal flats with my wife, the highlight of my time was sunrise over the Atlantic. Once behind the clouds and once in full view of the scattering of viewers along the seemingly endless beach.

The first morning I went to watch, it took me it took me a while to find my way from the parking lot to the beach. I had woken in the dark with no computer to write on. I thought ‘Oh, I’ll just relax and sleep in.’ But being only five minutes from watching the sun rise over the Atlantic, I couldn’t resist. So I got up in the dark and drove the empty roads to Coast Guard Beach.

I’ve been to that particular beach a number of times over the past three years. We’ve made a tradition of going to the Cape in the late summer—after high tourist season—with our daughter and her family. We’ve always stayed in places in the Eastham area—right above the elbow of the Cape. Access to the geographic, retail and cultural delight of Provincetown as well as the dramatic beaches of the Atlantic shore and the quiet beaches of the Bay side make it the perfect place for us. (Not to mention its easy access to ‘Buddha Bobs’ our favorite Asian themed jumble of jewelry, statues and artifacts.)

Beach access from the small parking lot at Coast Guard beach goes by the outdoor showers and down through the dunes to the water. But when I followed the signs and went by the showers, I saw the usual entrance had been blocked off. Obeying the new signs, I went back to the road, down a few hundred yards and to another entrance through the dunes. After I walked back south along the beach, I saw the problem. Erosion from storms and water rise had been so much that the original path from the parking lot ended in a five-foot drop. I was surprised and slightly disturbed.

The whole of Cape Cod is a shifting piece of real estate. While all houses by the sea are now endangered, Cape Cod is a large deposit of sand that is in constant motion. The Atlantic side beaches are in slow but inexorable retreat from the storms and waves that batter the sometimes high dunes. The light house up the coast from where I was has been moved time and time again. What seems safe and reasonable now will be precarious and impossible in just a few years.

But maybe because of all this, The Atlantic coast of the upper Cape is a wonderful, wild and dramatic place to walk. The public seashore goes on for mile and miles. I used to love to swim in the big waves. But between the sharks that are now occasional but very real visitors and my slowly eroding body, I’m happy to be an early morning walker.

Walking south toward the entrance of the Great Salt Pond, I was overtaken scores of times by seals swimming past. Their dark snouts are unmistakable as they swim in the shallow water close to shore—at ease with the waves and in no fear of us beach walkers. A couple years ago I walked all the way down to the entrance to the Great Salt Pond itself. There I saw scores of seals hauled up on convenient sand islands sunning themselves. Protected from the waves and the sharks, they too were enjoying Cape life.

But this year, I just walked for twenty minutes as the sun rose. I stopped as the sun poked up over the horizon to do some Qi Gong and take some photos. Then I walked back to the car and drove back to the protections, delights and challenges of family. I started the oatmeal cooking (late) and greeted my grandson who had decided, for the moment, that only his mother’s arms would suffice in that tender morning moment when the world was just beginning to reconstitute itself once more.