Beach towns are fun places to be, in the summer. Labor day closes the summer door, catching wisps of sunscreen-scented beach towels. My dog and I walked the beach late Sunday morning, stopping occasionally when someone who wanted to pet Lily and chat amiably. We sauntered along enjoying the warm sum until a police suv pulled up alongside to let me know the beach restricted dogs through September, and the fine is $250.00. Thankfully he let us off with a warning but did follow us off the beach.
Monday morning after walking Lily along the roadside I bought a newspaper to see what the town had to say for itself when I heard a lot of seagulls crying outside our house. I looked out the front window to see my neighbors had thrown a pizza on their driveway and the gulls were battling the crows for it. The crows won.
Since we were not welcome on the beach we walked the public access ramps on the creekside where the boats are. The boat’s wakes and the small tidal surge on that side of the island creates tiny waves that lap on the sand. Enough anyway to raise Lily’s curiosity, until one of those little waves lapped an inch or two closer than the others. Lily sprang up to avoid getting her dainty paws wet. How dare this thing be aggressive to her. Still it fascinates her.
The best way to find out about a place is to chat with passers-by. In a beach town occasionally someone comes along with time on their hands only too happy to talk about the area. It seems the city hall are keeping things in something of a stranglehold and make working on your beach house complicated. I have a curiosity about towns that are so worried their townfolk have no sense of decorum or such a longing for nonconformity there will be little eccentricities popping up along every street. Little eccentricities are what make a place have character to my way of thinking. Not much fun in having everything look the same, I think.
Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely.