Waves on the Peconic Bay

Waves on the Peconic Bay As long as I can remember my family and I would vacation to Southampton on our summers. At a young age I found it hard to believe that this could qualify as a vacation. The drive was only about an hour away from my house in Nassau County but maybe that’s because of how my father drives. My grandmother lived out in Southampton after she had retired and had taken over her mother’s house or my great grandmothers rather. She was widowed and had seven successful children scattered across the country. Although the majority of my grandmother and grandfather’s children lived on Long Island it seemed as if the small country house was a thing of the past to most of the kids. It was a quaint country home; it consisted of three bedrooms and two baths not to mention the outdoor shower. My brother and I would always complain as to why we would have to work on our vacations. We would also ask why my father had made us walk to the bay which was about a mile away but still very practical. “It’s not that bad,” he would tell us. We would bring our toys and boogie boards and eventually we would lose our grip and they would fall on the floor like the stereotypical tourist visiting the flashy beach town. All me and my brother knew was that there was water; little did we know that the bay failed to produced ocean “swells” or simply “waves” as most people would refer to it as. We walked and walked and walked and boy was it hot. We were always so thirsty and we could complain about anything that had come to mind. “I’m hungry. Yeah me too,” me and my brother would yell. My mother would then offer us some type of snack or fruit. “I don’t want that,” my brother and I would answer. “If you’re that hungry you will eat it,” my grandmother would reply. At this point it didn’t seem like a vacation, it almost seemed like torture at a young age. It was nowhere near both of those ideas I would soon learn. It wasn’t vacation; and we were most definitely not staying at an expensive hotel with a swimming pool and hot tub. We would not learn to play tennis or go golfing with the upper class. The restaurants were way too expensive for my parents not because they were poor but simply because my grandmother would cook us the same thing for free. I didn’t get to watch what I wanted on television but instead I had the privilege of watching the feature movie that was broadcasted that night. If you didn’t like it, well then you could read a book because trust me there were plenty. When my brother and I first got to the bay we didn’t know what to do. Then we realized that fish still swam in the water. We realized that the rocks were a lot more fun than the sand. We saw mansions on the water that were the most beautiful homes on Long Island. We saw birds that would fly over and make interesting noises. We saw the locals that would swim out to the jetty for their workouts. “Man that’s far,” my brother and I would say. The truth is, it wasn’t far at all. We would bring our baseball gloves and footballs the next time because we came prepared. We would listen to the radio, even the Yankees. Soon, before I knew it the winds would pick up and I would hope that a wave would come along but no such luck. That didn’t mean I would give up the next day. I always looked down all the way to the end. My father would tell me about how he would come to the same place when he was younger. Now, I could ask him questions and learn more. Later on in my life, my grandmother passed away and we were forced to sell the house. I think back to all the lawn work my father did and I realize that we had it easy. If the mile walk to the Peconic Bay was the worst part of our trip we couldn’t complain. When the house sold, the memories left as well but I still remember most of my summers on the Peconic Bay. When I got older I started surfing. This time the waves were real and sometimes scary. I’m not a huge surfer but I go when I can. Often times I will be sitting on the beach and be excited about the smallest waves out there. My friends would make fun of me and tell me there are no waves. What do I do? I go out and I paddle and paddle and hope that the waves pick up, just hope that the winds and waves pick up. I started to realize that part of the ocean and water is just making the best out of what you have. It’s not always going to be the best conditions; it’s not always going to be as fun as you think. You have to keep your hope and keep on paddling. It says a lot about how you handle situations. Often times I hear my friends and classmates taking trips to the Hamptons to party alongside celebrities and the rich. I immediately laugh. That isn’t the Hamptons I know but I wouldn’t want it any other way. It taught me everything I know in life. Right when I paddle out the wave immediately gets better than it was before when I was watching on the sand. Many things can’t be explained but I think I may be getting some help from the Peconic Bay. One will never know but one can always hope.