Treasures from the Sea
December 20-21, 2023
Six loaves of freshly baked bread.
Nine dear little children and one more to join the revelry in just a few short months.
A long awaited new home for our dear friends.
A large pot of creamy chicken soup with fresh sourdough bread and butter.
Six little girls with their hair tied up in rags before drifting off to dream of the curls that will bounce upon their pretty little heads in the morning.
Three little boys armored with wooden swords and shields and capes.
A live performance from The Neverlands as the children played their parts and carried on in their roles most remarkably.
A glass door to the outdoors, whereupon a foot bridge leads to grand adventures, and just beyond a cozy cottage is found to be a welcome dwelling for a winter respite.
The glass door opens and closes. Children passing in and out, sometimes with sweaters and boots, and sometimes without as the unseasonably warm(ish) December air does not require the same labor of layering we are accustomed to.
Three mothers perpetually find their hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea or coffee and conversation comes naturally and easily as if no time is ever spent apart.
Sweet dreams for the little children, more chattering on and warm drinks for the mothers who sit fireside among the soft glow of the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. At long last connected by wool blankets and old quits draped across their laps, rather than long roads and telephone lines.
Time feels as still as the December night outdoors, but onward it ticks nevertheless and the stroke of midnight sends us off to our own happy dreams.
Morning arrives draped in cloak of fog. Children shuffle about coming to realize they are still at the sea and in the company of friends.
Cinnamon, vanilla, and sausage fill the home with a warm and comforting aroma as breakfast is prepared and little rags are untied and curls are let down.
The children wander freely back to their Neverlands, narrating new chapters in the most endearing little accents.
French toast and sausage are served. Bellies are filled. Coffee is brewed and a dollop of raw cream rests on top.
Gingerbread cookie dough is set upon the counter, while our once very small children, now independently roll the dough, cut the shapes and prepare the baking sheets. Fresh cookies are to be packed for an afternoon picnic at the beach.
The last of the freshly baked bread is sliced and more than a dozen peanut butter and jam sandwiches are packed into a basket, alongside freshly baked gingerbread, raw cheese, sliced apples and cut carrots.
We arrive at Shipwreck beach, a familiar haunt to some of the young, and a long awaited dream come true for the others.
Little red, woolen berets and knit caps bob to and fro among the winter gold dunes.
Sandy hands make for sandy sandwiches and sandy apples. Nevertheless, spirits remain full of joy.
Boots are scattered and collected among the waves of sandy dunes.
Cheeks glow rosy red. In part from the running and climbing, in part from the brisk December wind. A jolly little glow indeed.
A shipwreck explored at low tide, we join the ranks of visitors who have walked among the vessel’s remains for over 100 years.
Pleads, cries, and even a few earnest tears for more time together. More time at the sea.
A round of hugs, and another round for good measure. Long drawn out goodbyes. Dreams and discussions of a next gathering, hopefully sooner than latter.
Into the dwindling daylight we depart as darkness descends at its earliest hour, the winter solstice.
Home again with full hearts and the gifts from the sea to remain with us in our boots, the deepest crevices of our pockets, and then weave of our picnic basket— which have made us smile often as little grains of sand are left in the wake of the basket as it moved from place to place.
These are the treasures we have brought home with us from the sea. Not all are tangible and can be picked up and held in remembrance. But I have scribbled them all down on my scrap of paper so that when we think of December at the sea, when we think of our first venture to shipwreck beach, we shall also remember the richness and warmth of our time spent in the merry company of such dearly beloved friends.
In closing to this journal I do want to add a short note addressing these precious woolen beret’s. They are not just any beret. First, I shall like to share that they are officially named the “Marnee Beret”, and Marnee means “from the sea”, which I find so utterly romantic, especially considering these dear little hats are one of the treasures we brought home from our trip to the sea. The second, and most meaningful (to me) detail of these hats, is that they are knit for us by none other than our dear friend Marlys, who lives among the waves and dunes and was at the very heart of our venture, our most gracious host.
If anyone who finds themselves among these words and pictures, and reading to the end of this page, should like to know a bit more about how to get a Marnee Beret for themselves, you follow this link to Marlys, and send her a message stating your interest. Simple as that.