Adrift on memories of a certain summer ...
August, 2013--Bonnet Shores: A small, private, bonnet-shaped beach with calm tides situated on the north of Narragansett Bay with rocks for diving off of at the eastern end, and small tide pools along the southwestern end. I have a vast collection of seashells from Bonnet Beach on display in various nooks and crannies inside my home. I treasure these random finds for the special memories invoked by the summer of 2013.
One of many summer vacations shared with my sister and her family who uproot themselves from the west coast for their one-week stay in Rhode Island, that year began the tradition of renting an upscale summer home by the seashore to accommodate the five of them and close relatives.
Before their vacation terminated with a clambake for twenty people, my brother-in-law hired a professional photographer to snap a variety of group pictures to capture the last carefree moments of our gathering before sundown. The image accompanying this Memoir shows my mother, sister and me on the edge of the front lawn.
The day prior to pomp and circumstance, the three of us embarked on an afternoon walk along the narrow winding road to Bonnet Beach. Not an easy feat because of having to pull over to the side, navigating swamp ditches and entangling brambles on rough terrain impeding our progress in deference to passing motorists. By the return trip, my sister and I realized my mother was in distress. Red-faced, out of breath, and losing her footing, she needed to rest before tottering onward.
I ended up framing that photo and placed it on top of my cedar chest where it keeps good company alongside a solo of my father, their wedding photo, and a recent one of my grandnephew. Every day when I dust, my eyes mist when they peruse the Bonnet Shores snapshot because my sister and I both had an inkling of what we know for certain now: The summer vacation of 2013 was as good as it gets!
Not long afterward, my mother was treated for atrial fibrillation—tip of the iceberg for two major health crises she’d weather. Despite having less firepower, she manages to hold down the fort. By the way, she did go the distance last summer traipsing around Roger Williams Park, even though it nearly did her in.
This summer, my grandnephew and his parents won’t be visiting Rhode Island. Although I’ll particularly miss my buddy, he’s at the age where he requires high adventure. My sister and her husband will opt for a hotel instead of a summer home with several spacious rooms no one will fill.
Harking back to one of my Sixties Memoirs, “Off the Beaten Path”: The best “off the beaten path” ruse to alleviate boredom was going for a walk. The three of us meandered along Angell Rd., took a right at Maple Ave., and followed Southwick Dr. where it led to Twin River Rd., the two-lane we traversed until we got back to our house on the corner of Angell.
Although I will always remember the summer of 2013 for harboring our last ramble off the beaten path, the three of us still have plenty of ground to cover whenever we’re together.
*Note for 2018: Since this story was written, my mother had more heart-related crises. However, an aortic valve replacement this year has given her a new lease on life. The three of us may never hike together again, but our meanderings are just as memorable.
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Ron