Mini Vaca 

Greetings from the beach! 

In the midst of a crazy crazy few months, ok let’s make that a year, this gift fell in our laps. Without hesitation we packed a few bags and headed deeper south where did we land? Glad you asked, we are on Top Sail Island in North Carolina. It is part of Wilmington and the outer banks. 

We’re old Oak Island vacation’ers from years back. So we were excited  to check out a beach close to the place near and dear to our hearts. 

Normally our family likes to rent a house and just eat, drink, sleep, play in the sand….well you get the idea. We are definitely beachfront people.  

This trip puts inside a condo, but still beachfront. And, the views, well, let’s just say that if you ever wonder just how small and insignificant you really are, visit an ocean (or the mountains) and you will understand. 

As I sit here working on this blog my view is so fabulous it keeps distracting me! The condos are literally right on the beach with the hallway leading out to walk way and steps down onto the beach.  Literally, you become part of the ocean during high tide. It’s an experience beyond explanation to stand on the walk or deck as the waters come rushing around and under you.  One right after another, each white cap gathering up momentum, and then running headlong into the beach, roaring and crashing into the sandbar. 

​I am reminded of one of my favorite poems, 

Sea Fever, by John Masefield:

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking, And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

 I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide, Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;  And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

 I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.