The Sea...

Once it was apparent that I would have to leave DC and head back to Florida, I became impatient. I missed the people and places that had been familiar to me for so many years, and I felt that staying for the remaining days on my lease would be time and money wasted. As much as I liked the DC area, and had explored it and gotten familiar with it, I sometimes felt like a guest who had lingered a bit too long.

During the last full weekend in August, I decided to do some preliminary organizing in the hope of making an orderly departure. I cleaned. I threw things away. I packed. Before I knew it, the only task remaining was to load up the Raft (my car) and go. On Sunday, August 23, I was done. I decided not to wait. At 4:15 in the afternoon I drove down Layhill Road to Georgia Ave, and, from there, turned on to the ramp for the Beltway (I-495) which would take me to I-95. I thought I would drive as far as I could go. If I got tired, I'd stop. If not, I'd continue on.

As it turned out, I stayed as alert as could be expected on a thirteen hour, eight hundred mile drive, and, somewhere along the way, had a great idea; I would continue past the turn-off that would take me to Gainesville, stay on I-95 until I reached St. Augustine, and arrive in time to watch the sun rise on St. Augustine Beach.

There was one thing I hadn't counted on when I settled in DC for the summer - I missed the beach.

In retrospect, I shouldn't be surprised. Many of my favorite childhood memories come from the considerable amount of time I spent at my grandparents' summer home on the South Shore of Massachusetts. Life revolved around the beach, the marina, the town pier and the harbor (pronounced hah-buh). Even after moving away from there, I lived in a coastal town in South Florida before shipping off to Gainesville for college.

Toward the end of my stay in DC, despite all the fantastic things there are to do, I began to crave the sand and the sea. Ocean City, Maryland was 160 miles away, and I'm told it would disappoint those accustomed to Florida beaches. Virginia Beach was well over 200 miles away; not a distance meant for day trips.

So it was that, at 5:04 on the morning of August 24, I crossed the bridge to St. Augustine Beach, anxious for a cup of coffee, an ocean breeze, and the sound of the rolling surf.

The sea has always felt like home to me, even during the times I've been away from it, and I'm surprised now that I never considered that fact before I decided to make a move. I snapped a picture with my phone camera; it was the only suitable device I could pry out of my packed car. The beauty of the image - even on a lousy camera - tells you how fantastic the sunrise was.


I had breakfast at the Beachcomber, propped my lounge chair on the beach, and fell asleep. I wasn't back in Gainesville yet. But I was home.