I throw open the creaky front door of my light yellow Victorian house. My bare feet leap down from my porch, covered with cracked white paint and sandy shoes. I look across the street to the dry field as my eyes follow the lime green frisbee that some middle-aged locals are tossing. I catch myself giggling as one of the men runs towards the wooden gazebo, yelling at the other player because she threw it too hard. My eyes glance passed the mixture of aged houses and newly built mansions, while I feel a sense of adrenaline every time I place my foot over a small pebble. The early autumn sky beats down on the small winding tree at the end of the road that I once thought of as a jungle gym. Then I stop, trying to work up enough energy to run across the steaming black road between the two beachside inns to get to my destination.

For holidays, mostly Christmas, everyone on my father’s side, including distant relatives, would join together and celebrate on this beach. After the Christmas feast everyone would hurry to the frigid shore in our sweater dresses and ironed suits. Some would run into the ocean searching for sea glass, while others conversed about the poor horseshoe crab they found washed up on the sand, or maybe about what unimaginable desserts awaited us in the kitchen. With each gust of wind pushing past our ears, it was as if the beach were trying to spark up a conversation too. Maybe about how rough the summer was, or about how happy it is that we were all back again.
On the rare occasion that we would get a snow storm, I would be at the beach all day. I remember my father pulling my bright pink winter hat over my eyes because we were in such a rush to get started. As we ran out of the front door with our multicolored disk sleds wearing snow suits that resembled giant marshmallows, we would try our hardest not to slip to our deaths. The winter wind on the shoreline made me livid, but sliding down the frozen dunes face first was worth the frost-tipped nose on my face. Being so small at the time, I was drawn to the conclusion that I was sliding down mountains. As we descended for what felt like an hour, I would scream a scream that could shatter glass. Thankfully it never snowed too often, but when it did you would know where to find me.