Illustration by Chris Danger
Ever since I can remember, my family has retreated to the Outer Banks for a weekly beach vacation. Some years it was just me, my mom and my brother, while other trips featured appearances from various aunts and uncles. It is the one place where we join under one roof — or in the case of this year, two roofs that were seven minutes apart — and find solace.
Saltwater is healing, and just the simple scent of it delicately lingering in the air is enough to do the trick. Despite our assorted pasts and presents, decades of lives intertwined, and the ups and downs that come with shared history, the beach is our safe haven. There is an unspoken — or in the case of my family, because they are Northerners, spoken — vow to keep the peace or shut the hell up.
My mom, brother and I always swing by a particular market on our ride down to North Carolina, making a pit stop for a flat of strawberries, juicy summer peaches and beef sticks — yes, beef sticks. After gathering our supplies, that’s the first purchase we break into, the three of us like musketeers, brandishing our spicy, salty swords with that pronounced snap. Looking back, I’m pretty sure these are the only ones I’ve ever seen my mom, who is now a vegetarian, eat. They will undoubtedly find their way into my beach bag as my set-myself-up-for-success snack.
Mornings spent oceanside call for early lunch breaks, an excuse to retreat to the house for 30 minutes, escape the sun and be greeted by the cool smack of the AC. Summer lunch is tomato sandwiches, thick slices cozying up to a layer of tangy mayo between two pieces of a bread of choice. A little salt. A little pepper. A lot of chin-dripping happiness. Easy and rewarding, just like so many moments during our seasonal retreat.
At the beach, nothing matters, yet everything matters — the sensation when your body meets the ocean, the sunrise, the sunset, a hot dog blackened by grill lines …
For many years, we stayed farther south in Rodanthe, and for a time, at a house that was directly down a gravel road from a pizza parlor, an added bonus. We became frequent customers, and my Uncle Steve was always on pickup duty. Since he’s a natural businessman and an early riser, I felt he secretly loved the to-do lists that Aunt Edie assigned him, from grabbing more ice at the gas station to delivering a box of ’za to the beach so we could sit around and eat slices while covered in sand, I’d like to believe those mini getaways brought him purpose and peace.
During one trip, still a preteen, I wanted to prove my loyalty to our out-of-town pizza place, so I purchased a T-shirt that sported their logo and was embellished with a surfboard, probably my first purchase of restaurant swag. We joked recently that we’re not sure if the pizza was actually that awesome, or if indulging in cheesy carbs against an ocean backdrop is just a dream come true.
Growing up, we weren’t big on junk food, but our seven days away from home were a time for us to let loose a little. Our primal instincts engaged as we munched on salt and vinegar potato chips that left our sun-kissed lips tingling. We relished the welcoming scent of sugar when entering an ice cream shop for an afternoon scoop or two. And when we’d gotten a bit older, my younger brother and I would exchange a mischievous glance when popping a crisp one from the cooler, the fsssttt sound fading into the background while my mom would shake her head because we were drinking before noon.
This summer, the beach gathering was larger, and we surprised my Uncle Joey — who arrived in jorts, boots and a black shirt with his toolbox and American Spirit cigarettes — with a belated 60th birthday celebration. My Aunt Edie, sporting a visor and pharmaceutical-grade sunscreen, with her dog, Benny, following at her feet, had ordered a boozy Italian rum cake for the occasion. I captured a picture that I’ll cherish forever of everyone laughing as Joey blew the candles out.
At the beach, nothing matters, yet everything matters — the sensation when your body meets the ocean, the sunrise, the sunset, a hot dog blackened by grill lines, memories made and moments shared over life’s simple pleasures. Like a standing order, a favorite shirt or a reliable album, beach trips with my family will always be something steady and constant that I look forward to each year whenever the fireflies start to arrive and the tomatoes begin to ripen.
