Fire Island

What is it about children and the beach? Such innocent and intense joy! My little one was so happy to go that she left love notes all over the house for her father and me: “I love to go swiming, I love the water, love, me.”
Ecco, Fire Island. It’s no Truro, and I have a wistful love for the Cape, in all its scruffy pine and sandbar glory. But neither is Fire Island 5 hours away. (Unless you leave for the ferry at the wrong time on Friday afternoon). It’s an hour and ten without traffic, and then a short ferry ride.
Ocean Beach has a honky tonk strip where too much raucous music spills out of bars and too many yahoos hang out, beer in one hand and cigarette in the other. Deer roam the sidewalks and every time I see one, I think: yikes! Lyme disease!
But… the beach, the beach, the beach. It’s beautiful. It’s fun.

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