A Day in the Sun
I’ve learned to pack lightly when we go to the beach. I made the
mistake of bringing everything possible once, and I’ll never repeat
it. This recounts a warm Saturday during the summer of 2000. I had
been married to my wife, Wendy, for less than a year, and we planned
an outing to Gulf Breeze over the weekend with my step-daughter,
Jessi, and her six-month-old daughter, Leslie.
During the week leading up to the beach weekend, my wife and
step-daughter shopped for everything possible that would be needed at
the beach. We obtained the wind cover for the playpen, three sets of
snorkels and fins, nets for catching fish, beach towels, beach
blankets, a new cooler, and the list goes on. I packed most of what
I could into our 1996 Geo Prism the night before and managed to fit
an additional load, including two full coolers, two suitcases, and
three bags of snacks, in the early morning of that Saturday. With
three adults and a child in a baby carrier, the car was full.
For breakfast, we decided to use the McDonald’s drive-through so we
could arrive at the beach early. Armed with warm food, we began our
three hour adventure through rural Alabama to the Florida panhandle
just after seven o’clock in the morning. We chatted as we ate, but
after the wrappers were empty and Leslie had her bottle, all of the
girls fell asleep. It was a very quiet drive down to the Florida
state line, where we would lose an hour entering the Eastern Time
Zone.
Leslie decided to wake up and announce her wakefulness by crying once
we entered Pensacola. Another bottle and a quick diaper change took
care of Leslie’s fussiness. The conversation in the car increased
and I could sense the excitement of Wendy and Jessi. There were
“oohs” and “aahs” as we crossed the causeways over the sound
and Intercoastal Waterway. The girls were pointing out all types of
water fowl, but I had to concentrate on driving. At last, we entered
the National Seashore and found our favorite beach. The sun was out,
the breeze was warm and the time was just before eleven o’clock.
This particular beach was in a cove, so the shallow water extended
out a bit further than most beaches. It also had a covered area with
restrooms, showers and picnic tables. I thought the location would
be perfect for a weekend at the beach. Wendy and Jessi were wearing
their swimming suits beneath their clothes, so we walked up to the
restrooms and I played with my granddaughter while the ladies
changed.
They came out of the restroom and headed straight down to the beach!
I went back to the car and retrieved an umbrella, toting Leslie in
her carrier. I then took both down to the beach. Wendy and Jessi
were in the water and I asked where they had dropped their sandals.
Wendy heard me and motioned to my right. So, I set up the umbrella
to protect Leslie near that location. I knew we had a lot of items,
so I tried to choose an area that was a little larger and unoccupied.
After waving my arms for a few minutes, I got my wife’s attention
and she came up from the water. I asked if she could watch Leslie
while I unloaded the car and she agreed.
I then began the fifty minute, eight-trip saga of pulling almost
everything from the car’s trunk, back seat, and other nooks and
crannies up over the sand dune to the beach. Each trip, I would set
up the location with what I brought, like the playpen and its
windbreak or the coolers and snacks. Before venturing for the next
load, I would entertain requests of “I need her diaper bag” and
“bring the boogie board next time” from Wendy and Jessi.
I had the last load in hand and as I climbed up the dune, I noticed
my wife sitting at a picnic table under the covered area with Leslie.
As I approached, I could hear Leslie crying for all that she was
worth and Wendy appeared to be changing her diaper. It was then that
I learned that the ladies had taken Leslie into the salt water.
Evidently, Leslie had a small case of diaper rash that was aggravated
by the sting of the salt water. Jessi then appeared in the covered
area and said it was too hot for Leslie down on the beach and the two
girls told me they wanted to be under cover. It was now nearly noon.
I then placed my “last load” on the picnic table and began the
ritual of moving all the equipment from the beach to the picnic
tables under the covering. I had a chance to admire my work in
placing everything around our sandy area for a couple of minutes, and
then I continued with the seven trips up to the girls’ location.
It took me less time, about forty minutes, to breakdown our perfectly
architected sandy location and relocate everything under the
covering. I admit that I was less meticulous with placement, opting
instead to pile the items on adjacent picnic tables. Once again, I
had a “last load” and I had just arrived under the covering. I
was hot, sweaty, thirsty, and the time was roughly a quarter-to-one
in the afternoon.
My loving daughter looked at me and said, “Dad, please don’t get
mad.” I assured her that I was far too tired to be angry. Jessi
then added, “We’re pretty hungry.” I then realized that I was
also hungry. I was still holding my second “last load” and,
without a word, I just turned and took it down to the car. After the
ensuing seven trips and about twenty minutes, the car was reloaded
and we were driving out of the National Seashore, looking for lunch.
The car was quiet, like it had been on the drive that morning.
Our family had spent nearly three hours at the beach and I had yet to
don my swimsuit. Further, the decision at lunch was to forgo the
beach, check into the hotel, and use the hotel pool, which would be
kinder to Leslie’s bottom. I agreed to this plan, though I told
both Wendy and Jessi that we would never pack like this again for any
trip to the beach, and we never have. All I need to do is begin
recounting this story and suddenly the list of what we need for a
weekend at the beach dwindles to one suitcase and one armful of
items.
-- Steve Scheider, Oct. 2006
