Hot sand toasted my feet, butterfly kite bobbed in the Atlantic Ocean breeze. I hadn’t flown a kite in years, and never at the beach, but from now, a kite will be as essential as sunscreen and flip-flops when I go to the seashore.
One of the best parts of living in Lancaster is being only a few hours away from the ocean. On Wednesday, my mother, sister Brenda, five teenaged nieces, one niece’s friend, and I went to Cape May, New Jersey, just a one-day girls’ trip to the beach.
The day came about because one of my nephews went on a trip with his dad a few weeks ago, and his sisters grumbled about the unfairness. So their mom suggested a day at the shore and asked me and Mom to go along.
We decided on Cape May, partly because in 2009 my parents volunteered there for a week at a Christian retreat called Seaside Home. They helped clean rooms and cook for staff before the season opened, then spent their evenings strolling the beach.
For the trip on Wednesday, we had to borrow my brother and sister-in-law’s 12-passenger van.
We’ve been having a heat wave for weeks, but a few days before the trip, the forecast said that remnants of Hurricane Beryl would be lapping at the coast on Wednesday.
“I’m not sure if we’ll actually be able to go,” I told my oldest niece Hannah. “Brenda doesn’t want to go if the weather isn’t hot and sunny.”
“If Brenda doesn’t want to go, we’ll take the van and go without her.”
Hannah’s parents own the van, so it was a possibility, but fortunately the forecast improved, and we left as planned on Wednesday morning.
We arrived in Cape May about 11 a.m. I parked a couple of blocks from the beach to avoid the parking meters, but then we had to carry coolers, chairs, tote bags, canopy, beach umbrella, and books about a block to the beach. Such is the penalty for being frugal, or having an aunt who is.
Beach tags cost $10 each. Cape May is well-maintained beach, with beautiful historic homes along the waterfront.
We dragged our gear to an empty spot and spread out our beach towels. We tried to set up the camping canopy we had carried so far, but the wind just whipped the canvas out of our hands and we gave up. Our neighbors on the beach had a huge canopy designed for the beach, weighed down by sandbags at each corner. Sandbags that you fill on the beach and empty when you are done. Clever. Oh, well, at least we had Brenda’s beach umbrella for shade.
The waves were choppy, but we could still get in and splash in the water, even if we couldn’t get beyond the breakers enough to safely swim. We even saw two dolphins.
My nieces unpacked my kite (at least that hadn’t been heavy) and after a few false starts (the tail was tangled) got it in the air.
Beaches are made for kites— no trees and plenty of wind. There’s reasons the first flight took place near the Outer Banks, as I learned when I visited there several years ago.
While walking along the boardwalk, Mom and I met a couple also from Lancaster, who told us they were staying at Seaside Home for the week. They suggested we come to visit.
So after we were tired of sand and surf, we drove over to the Seaside Home. This time, we just dragged our stuff to the boardwalk and the others waited while Hannah and I drove the van over. Even all the food we ate and the water we drank didn’t seem to lighten the load much.
The building that houses Seaside Home is 1000 feet from the ocean and was once owned by a railroad company, back when there was a train that ran to Cape May. The railroad path is now a bike trail.
Seaside Home began in 1879 as a vacation home for underprivileged city dwellers to experience the sea. But when we visited, a staff member said anyone can come for low rates, with a reference from a pastor. So I’m not exactly sure who quantifies.
The staff member giving us the tour described the home as “a step above camping.” There’s no air conditioning and no locks on the doors (fire code). The forty-one bedrooms are tiny, with two twin beds and a washbowl. Guests have to bring their own bedding and share bathrooms. The Home is only open certain weeks of the summer and some weeks are “women and children only” weeks.
Next door to the Seaside Home was the Hotel Alcott. It’s also a historic building, but far more luxurious. The most famous guest to stay there: Louisa May Alcott, author of Little Women.
After touring the Seaside Home, we drove north up the 55 and west on the 40. I always associate New Jersey with the soulless turnpike, but the state actually has some pretty towns and countryside.
About 8 p.m., sunburned and starving, we stopped at a Chick-fil-A for supper.
“You from Lancaster?” asked the young man behind the counter as we ordered chicken sandwiches and milkshakes.
“Yes. We were at the beach.”
“I knew that.”
It’s probably the only beach trip we’ll go on this summer. That’s alright, one day can hold enough memories to last all year.
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