“Let’s take an after diner walk,” Bernahart said pushing himself away from the table littered with the mutilated carcasses of bright red lobsters. Full from gorging myself on the delectable crustacean, I quickly agreed.
I had arrived in the tiny seaside village of Wells Beach, Maine around two in the afternoon to spend a few relaxing days on the beach with my friends; Bernhart, his wife Melanie, her sister Jessica, and Jessica’s husband Kevin.
Stepping out of the car, I quickly ran into the cottage we had rented for the week, grabbed my swimsuit, and got changed for the beach.
“I’m ready to go. Anyone want to join me?”
“We’re just going to unpack, and then we’ll get ready for the beach,” said Melanie.
This wasn’t as promising as it sounds. I knew my friends all to well, and knew that what should take only a few minutes could turn into an hour’s wait. I was so eager to get to the beach that I needed a plan.
“I’m just going to take the beach chairs down and save us a spot. You know how crowded it can get,” I said and quickly slip out the door.
Down at the beach, I found an empty spot among the Labor Day weekend beach goers who were trying desperately to get in one last taste of vacation before fall set in and they had to return to work or school. I set up my beach chair and spread out a large beach blanket that I knew I would probably never use because I loved the water so much that I would probably never leave it once I got in.
I spent hours swimming. The waves were so strong that when they crashed into my chest, it felt as if I was being punched. A couple of times, the waves were so tall that they nearly swept me under and filled my mouth and nose with ocean water. The taste of salt water lingered in my mouth hours after I had gotten out.
All of the swimming made me hungry, so I packed up the chairs and headed back to the cottage. I wasn't surprised to find that everyone else was still there, and had never made it down to the beach.
"What's for dinner?," I asked Melanie as I walked in the door.
"We called the lobster pound and ordered lobsters. Someone has to go and pick them up at seven o'clock. Jessie is going to make a salad and we can cook some corn. Then we have blueberry pie for desert"
I took a quick shower to wash off all of the salt that was still stuck to my body, and returned to the kitchen to help out. Bernhart and Kevin returned with the Lobsters and we sat down to have our feast. The bright red lobster sat on my plate staring at me with its beady little eyes. I picked it up by its body and grab its left claw. With a quick twist, I ripped it off at the knuckle. Steam and scalding water poured out of the hole leaving my plate drenched in lobster juice. Cracking the shell with my fingers, I pulled out the sweet meat that was inside and dipped it into my bowl of melted butter. Popping it into my mouth, I savored the succulent treat that I only have on these special trips to Maine. Everyone must have been enjoying the lobster as much as I had because the room was silent except for the sound of cracking shells.
Once everyone had devoured their meal, Bernhart made his proposal of taking a walk. It was customary in his home country of Germany for people to go on a short stroll after a meal. The nice thing about taking a walk on the beach is that you don't have to wait for everyone to get their shoes on. You can just get up and go which is exactly what we all did.
Even though it had been a warn day, once the sun went down there was a cool breeze that came off of the ocean. The sea smells like nothing else. It's a mix of salt, and the fact that the water is home to a million different living things. Things that eat, excrete, and perish. When you think about it that should probably be kind of gross.
Away from the lights of all of the cottages, the beach has a darkness that can swallow you. In the time that you are waiting for your eyes to adjust to the dimness of the night, all you have is the sound of the ocean to help you find your way. As we walked in the darkness, we could hear other people laughing and talking.
I had arrived in the tiny seaside village of Wells Beach, Maine around two in the afternoon to spend a few relaxing days on the beach with my friends; Bernhart, his wife Melanie, her sister Jessica, and Jessica’s husband Kevin.
Stepping out of the car, I quickly ran into the cottage we had rented for the week, grabbed my swimsuit, and got changed for the beach.
“I’m ready to go. Anyone want to join me?”
“We’re just going to unpack, and then we’ll get ready for the beach,” said Melanie.
This wasn’t as promising as it sounds. I knew my friends all to well, and knew that what should take only a few minutes could turn into an hour’s wait. I was so eager to get to the beach that I needed a plan.
“I’m just going to take the beach chairs down and save us a spot. You know how crowded it can get,” I said and quickly slip out the door.
Down at the beach, I found an empty spot among the Labor Day weekend beach goers who were trying desperately to get in one last taste of vacation before fall set in and they had to return to work or school. I set up my beach chair and spread out a large beach blanket that I knew I would probably never use because I loved the water so much that I would probably never leave it once I got in.
I spent hours swimming. The waves were so strong that when they crashed into my chest, it felt as if I was being punched. A couple of times, the waves were so tall that they nearly swept me under and filled my mouth and nose with ocean water. The taste of salt water lingered in my mouth hours after I had gotten out.
All of the swimming made me hungry, so I packed up the chairs and headed back to the cottage. I wasn't surprised to find that everyone else was still there, and had never made it down to the beach.
"What's for dinner?," I asked Melanie as I walked in the door.
"We called the lobster pound and ordered lobsters. Someone has to go and pick them up at seven o'clock. Jessie is going to make a salad and we can cook some corn. Then we have blueberry pie for desert"
I took a quick shower to wash off all of the salt that was still stuck to my body, and returned to the kitchen to help out. Bernhart and Kevin returned with the Lobsters and we sat down to have our feast. The bright red lobster sat on my plate staring at me with its beady little eyes. I picked it up by its body and grab its left claw. With a quick twist, I ripped it off at the knuckle. Steam and scalding water poured out of the hole leaving my plate drenched in lobster juice. Cracking the shell with my fingers, I pulled out the sweet meat that was inside and dipped it into my bowl of melted butter. Popping it into my mouth, I savored the succulent treat that I only have on these special trips to Maine. Everyone must have been enjoying the lobster as much as I had because the room was silent except for the sound of cracking shells.
Once everyone had devoured their meal, Bernhart made his proposal of taking a walk. It was customary in his home country of Germany for people to go on a short stroll after a meal. The nice thing about taking a walk on the beach is that you don't have to wait for everyone to get their shoes on. You can just get up and go which is exactly what we all did.
Even though it had been a warn day, once the sun went down there was a cool breeze that came off of the ocean. The sea smells like nothing else. It's a mix of salt, and the fact that the water is home to a million different living things. Things that eat, excrete, and perish. When you think about it that should probably be kind of gross.
Away from the lights of all of the cottages, the beach has a darkness that can swallow you. In the time that you are waiting for your eyes to adjust to the dimness of the night, all you have is the sound of the ocean to help you find your way. As we walked in the darkness, we could hear other people laughing and talking.