This weekend brings with it Labor Day, the unofficial last day of summer. It is always hard to send it off on its way. I think it is even more difficult this year. For just a few months, things felt relatively normal.
We just returned from our annual camping trip to Assateague Island in Maryland. We have been making this trip for the last 20 years. When we were young and money was tight, this was an affordable vacation. It did not really cost much more than the campsite fee, a tent and wood for the campfire. The cost per memory ratio made it a bargain. Even after having more means, we continue to make the trip, with hardly any additional comforts. The original Coleman gas stove and lantern from that first trip still accompanies us. There is no need to upgrade something that has proven to be so reliable.
It is comforting to return to a place that has hardly changed in two decades. The complex smell of the air, infused with brine, marsh grass and bayberry, is immediately familiar. It is as comforting as the smell of bacon and eggs slowly wafting its way into my bedroom on a cold winter morning when I was a kid. The muffled sound of the waves breaking just yards away on the other side of the dune becomes the reassuring heartbeat of the ocean. Even the stars, clearly visible through the essential mosquito netting of the tent, are in the exact same locations as the last visit.
My daily routine has not changed much either. I am usually awakened before sunrise with the first call of a mockingbird. I grab the camera and head down to the beach with the same optimism of a fisherman. I position the tripod in anticipation of capturing a blazing sunrise reflected in the surf. I have done the same thing, every morning of vacation for over twenty years with one of two disappointing outcomes. Either the sun rises without a single cloud in the sky to catch the crimson glow or there is so much cloud cover that it is totally hidden from view. I have grown accustomed to returning to the campsite with an empty stringer. No trophy photos to show for my efforts.
Finally, Mother Nature took pity of me this year and rewarded me for my persistence in a way I never imagined. The remnants of hurricane Laura passed over the island the previous day and cool, dry air was pulled in behind her. The change in wind direction was welcomed by both this photographer and the feral Assateague ponies as we had both been plagued by swarms of biting flies for the last several days. It turned out that Mother Nature, the ponies, and I all came together all at the perfect moment this year. As the sunrise was blossoming into a full palette of color, a herd of ponies, in full gallop, came up the beach. The horses could have opted to run behind me into the empty wide-open beach. Instead they chose to squeeze between the breaking surf and where I was positioned with my camera, just outside the reach of the waves. I think that my good fortune is clearly recorded below.
In addition to the nearly intolerable flies, our car suffered from both a flat tire and a failed battery. We experienced an electrical storm so severe we had to retreat to the relative safety of the vehicle. We awoke the next morning to find one tent surrounded by a pond of water. Much of the tent contents, including ourselves, were not much drier than our belongings we left outside. Yet, we have already made our reservation to return next year.
Why subject ourselves to such abuse? The opportunity to gaze hypnotically into the fire, laugh uncontrollably during a round of cards or play another round of sand golf will be remembered long after the discomfort. Hopefully, we will be able to talk about the insanity of 2020 as a thing of the past. If not, we will find solace in the smell of the salt air, the murmur of the surf the clarity of the stars.
