Two weekends ago, Robert and I took some time to head out of the metro area. Robert’s location prompt was “the seaside,” based on a fortune cookie he got last week. Not wanting to spend most of the weekend in the car, we opted for the nearby-but-still-away-from-DC town of Solomon’s Island.
The name is a bit of a misnomer as, from what I can tell, the town was never an island to begin with. One of my co-workers back at the farm regularly vacations there in the summer, so I was familiar with it, at least by name. Since Robert and I had luck with the last vacation recommendation she had given (Deep Creek Lake, Maryland) I figured Solomon’s Island would be nice as well.
I’m sure most people probably travel there during the late spring/summer/early fall period, when the weather is much nicer and you can actually swim in the water, but when I was a kid, we always traveled to the beach in the off-season, out of necessity (there was no way we could have afforded a trip during the peak season). All the beach trips of my youth consisted of walking along deserted beaches, frigid winds whipping my hair against my cheeks, gazing out on white caps and gray skies. This was really no different. Well, I didn’t have a pair of binoculars stuffed in my coat pocket and my dad wasn’t there, trying to rescue a horseshoe crab that my sister and I insisted had to be returned to the sea, so I guess it was a little different, but not by much.