The Stuff of Memories

The beach.  There's something indescribably primal about being at the beach - the rhythm of the waves, the infinite cycle of the tides, the call of the birds, the salt on the breeze, the isolation of realizing how minuscule any one individual against the vastness of the water.

We're exploring the beaches of Cape Cod, up near the end where there are fewer people and more conservation areas and wilderness marshes.  It's very minimalist here.  And it couldn't be more lovely.  We can walk to the marsh and low tide and marvel at the sheer distance the water travels between the tides.

The boys loved walking over the sand dunes.  This part of the Cape is just one big sand dune covered with sea grasses.  And tiny holes in the sand providing homes to tiny hermit crabs.

We arrived late in the afternoon, so we were only supposed to be scoping beaches to see where we wanted to come back to set up camp for the day.  But when you put kids near the water, the lure is just too strong and they must go in.

And what is it about boys and the wet sand of a beach?  If their feet are touching sand, they must drop everything and dig in it.  Now.  Don't get between a boy and his sand.