Sea changes (# one) - North Hampton Beach, NH 1972

The sea entered my life with force when I met my wife. The ocean always had an attraction and in my early youth, trips to the beach were a summer highlight. That was until my parents bought the camp property on Little Sebago Lake. From about age 8 until moving to NH at eighteen we were happily lake-locked each summer, only rarely visiting the ocean. Going to “the lake” remained a periodic family destination for many years; yet the frequency diminished as distance and other distractions intervened. The sea periodically entered my life story – punctuation between events. Occasionally during college we piled into Mike's '57 Chevy and escaped Boston's summer swelter at Plum Island. Padre Island National Seashore became a one time respite from my medical service corps training at Fort Sam Houston. The Pacific coast highway became an exclamation point to a cross country journey. How Sheila and Bob's personal orbits grew congruent is another story; but our first date was to go to the seashore.

California - Highway 1

 Looking back I could say that was an economic decision (the beach is nearly free). Actually that was only one factor in a most fortunate choice. Where else would you take the demure daughter of a sailor, who (I discovered) loved to body surf in the cold Atlantic? We drove past Hampton Beach (too busy) and I headed north, looking for our own patch of salty, sandy real estate. There was no Yelp-internet-guide to beaches – I was totally reliant on instinct and driven by a certain amount of anxiety. What if I chose the wrong beach?  That was only one of the slurry of thoughts in my mind.  So I pulled my powder blue Mercury Montego (that's a story for another time) into the lot at North Hampton Beach.

There must have been heavy seas the day before because I remember we could hardly find the sand among the washed up seaweed and kelp. In retrospect it probably could have been any beach. I was intrigued by this intense, attractive, dark-haired woman. And for some incredible reason(s) there seemed to be a mutual interest. I know we talked, and I think we walked, waded, splashed, and rode the waves. Details elude me. We arrived back in Kingston in the late mid-afternoon. I was expecting to drive to my parents house for supper and (in my introspective way) have time to process this event. Sheila's dad invited me to supper. I discovered that, at least on that day, it was an extended, multi-course event. The menu would fill a paragraph, and the seafood was all harvested by her dad. Hours later I drove to Mom and Dad's house. The waves continued to roll on.

Sheila - Plum Island Early Spring 1974