Their First Trip to the Trail to Sandy Beach

This beach is so sandy that the children want to walk along it in the water,
perfect splash marks each time a foot hits the water.

This morning, just as Richard and Miranda were packing, I took their children on one last minute run along the now dusty road and down to the beach.

I was thinking about their long six hour drive home.

I didn’t know if they had seen Sandy Beach this year so I choose that as my destination.

I knew that there was a new leg of David Pilling’s Trail just a little east of Shady Beach that led down to that beach, so the four of us set out to find it.

They walk faster than I can, although I admit my run looks like a walk.

Alice has worn her swimming suit down to the water.
When it takes her more than a nano-second to take off her leggings
she just pulls them back up and gives up on a swim.

My only gift to them is to talk about what I see as we make our way along the road – this time it was about the CPR heavy machinery some of it on the road and some on the third track at Annis Siding.

“Look how lucky we are. We can walk alongside these machines.”

... standing by a CPR vehicle is nothing new to them ...

“Hardly anyone has access to the view we get here of these big gears.”

“Look at all of those railroad rail nails.” 

“How many steps is one of these tracks that are about to be laid down?”

I go on and on hoping to catch one of them in conversation.

That doesn’t work.

Michael run down to the ramp saying, “I will meet you over at Shady Beach and I will be sitting by the round table.”

I guess he thinks I might not be able to find him.

He is there, at the round table when I get there.  He has adopted a pose to make me think he has been there a long time before I have arrived.  That makes me laugh.

The path to Sandy Beach is straight ahead.

A few rocks lay along the beach.
I calculate how many trips that would take me
to move them, but I don't do that.
I have a compulsion to clean and tidy.
But here the point is to let nature take its course.

There are other trails that split off there, one going down to the other beach and the second one going over the railroad track.

I am surprised.  Someone has put three planks across the Robinson stream.

That is a new feature and a lovely one for me, since now it is much easier to cross that stream.

I am glad that I don't have to jump down into it and then take a big step out of it.

When the view through the bushes and the trees open up and the beautiful sandy beach is ahead of us the kids really run ahead.

I stop because a wasp has landed on my forefinger.

I know to let it investigate and then move on, so I am very still, hoping that will happen.

But Michael running along the beach is swinging his arms through the air.

When he grabs one to his body I am pretty sure a wasp has stung him.

“Grandmother? It hurts. I have sworn under my breath four times.”

“Which word did you use”

“Shit,” he says.

Michael  holds his arm behind his back all of the way home.

That seems to give him relief.

He is probably still whispering his 

chosen word for deep pain as well

For some reason it pops into my mind that shit was the word of choice for his great-grandmother, Bessie Johnson.

I ask Betty to stand under Moiya's peach tree.
It is laden with fruit and I know it will make a good shot.
She goes and stand beside the water pipe.
I ask her again to stand right under the p.each tree.
She doesn't comply but gives me a smile.
I take what i can get.

Moiya's tree is spectacular.  
She has to use a 2 x 4 so that the branch doesn't break

“Can I borrow one of your walking sticks so I can make it home?”

When Betty sees he has one of the walking sticks, she asks if she can have the other.

When we get home I show Michael where my tube of After Bite is although I don’t think it will help.

He confirms that it makes the wound sting a little more.

Still it seems comforting to him, so I give him the tube, thinking he might just like to have it near on the drive home.

Arta