The taste of salt lingers in the air, as the sun rises above the Scottish bagpipers in the distant field. The popular beach town is quiet for now, only those who live here are out and about. The clamor from downstairs grows as the time passes, while I pretend to be fast asleep upstairs in my room, when I was secretly out on the balcony, taking in the fresh air and warmth from the sun.
As a child I spent my summers in Ocean Park, Maine, a small beach town situated on Old Orchard Beach. The beach was a popular tourist destination for day trippers and tourists alike. Our house was an old white castle looking cottage, with the white paint peeling, and sand from the 1900s stuck in the floorboards of the porch. The house was rich in character, going unchanged since my grandmothers parents bought it when she was a young child. The house was home to eight people including myself and three crazy and rambunctious dogs, so the struggle to find anytime to myself was a challenge; this was until I found my secret spot.
My secret spot, which really was not a secret at all was the second floor wrap around balcony, that was unused by the rest of my family. The wrap around balcony ran along side the second floor of the house only on the side facing Anconia Drive. It was no where near a perfect spot, but it was the perfect escape for me. The black floor mats stained my skin, and the peeling paint often got stuck in my hands, but it was not the place that mattered, it was my emotional journey that did.
After a long day spent on the beach playing in the cool crisp waves, the sun burning my delicate white skin, and sand covering my body, I would escape to the balcony. What I chose to do while I was there is unimportant as compared to the healing mechanism it provided me.
No summer was ever perfect; unlike a novel about summer at the beach, every day was not always sunshine and rainbows. My time alone was the perfect time to reflect on the day. Fourth of July came with great joy and I flashed a smile from ear to ear out on the balcony, as I could barely contain my excitement for the day ahead. This though was contrasted with the roughest day at the house; the day we found out that my dog went blind in her right eye. Dakota at the time was just a young puppy and acting strange, usually bouncing around the house in hopes of getting to go swimming at the beach, was instead having a hard time remaking her way outside without bumping into every object in her path. The vet confirmed our fears, and her glaucoma had taken over and she would need surgery to remove her eye and take away her pain. This day was filled with uncontrollable tears, as I escaped to the balcony to grieve in peace.
The beach house was my favorite summer spot, but everyday was not always as expected, but the lasting memories outweigh any hardships faced over the years. My feet charred from the black mats and hands covered in chipped white paint are the memories I favor the most, the ones where I was able to be alone on my balcony. As I grew from a young child into my pre teens my relationship with the balcony only grew stronger. I was able to let myself breathe and let my fears and emotions fade out with the breeze. The balcony was a place to call my own, my own little piece of paradise, although it did not look like paradise to others, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
As a child I spent my summers in Ocean Park, Maine, a small beach town situated on Old Orchard Beach. The beach was a popular tourist destination for day trippers and tourists alike. Our house was an old white castle looking cottage, with the white paint peeling, and sand from the 1900s stuck in the floorboards of the porch. The house was rich in character, going unchanged since my grandmothers parents bought it when she was a young child. The house was home to eight people including myself and three crazy and rambunctious dogs, so the struggle to find anytime to myself was a challenge; this was until I found my secret spot.
My secret spot, which really was not a secret at all was the second floor wrap around balcony, that was unused by the rest of my family. The wrap around balcony ran along side the second floor of the house only on the side facing Anconia Drive. It was no where near a perfect spot, but it was the perfect escape for me. The black floor mats stained my skin, and the peeling paint often got stuck in my hands, but it was not the place that mattered, it was my emotional journey that did.
After a long day spent on the beach playing in the cool crisp waves, the sun burning my delicate white skin, and sand covering my body, I would escape to the balcony. What I chose to do while I was there is unimportant as compared to the healing mechanism it provided me.
No summer was ever perfect; unlike a novel about summer at the beach, every day was not always sunshine and rainbows. My time alone was the perfect time to reflect on the day. Fourth of July came with great joy and I flashed a smile from ear to ear out on the balcony, as I could barely contain my excitement for the day ahead. This though was contrasted with the roughest day at the house; the day we found out that my dog went blind in her right eye. Dakota at the time was just a young puppy and acting strange, usually bouncing around the house in hopes of getting to go swimming at the beach, was instead having a hard time remaking her way outside without bumping into every object in her path. The vet confirmed our fears, and her glaucoma had taken over and she would need surgery to remove her eye and take away her pain. This day was filled with uncontrollable tears, as I escaped to the balcony to grieve in peace.
The beach house was my favorite summer spot, but everyday was not always as expected, but the lasting memories outweigh any hardships faced over the years. My feet charred from the black mats and hands covered in chipped white paint are the memories I favor the most, the ones where I was able to be alone on my balcony. As I grew from a young child into my pre teens my relationship with the balcony only grew stronger. I was able to let myself breathe and let my fears and emotions fade out with the breeze. The balcony was a place to call my own, my own little piece of paradise, although it did not look like paradise to others, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
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