A less sandy beach
Started the morning with a shouted call to “Rise and shine” from the noisy neighbours who had installed last evening. For what seemed like hours, as they labored to build a shelter over the picnic table in the dark. I wasn’t the target of the reveille, but as someone else put it, “In camping, the walls are thin”. They left before my morning coffee was cold, and when the wind shifted, so did their makeshift shelter. So goes life.
Once the car had been refueled (we do that a lot, despite the tiny motor), a trip to Montague was first on the list. Chili special and more cinnamon buns. And with food supplies replenished, we turned back to the north and east, to visit Sally’s Beach. A wonderful shelter for picnics, empty at the peak of the afternoon, and a boardwalk along the rocky shoreline. I know, the name. Turns out that a lot of the sand has ended up in farmyards over the years, and the stuff doesn’t grow as quickly as believed.
We also detoured by the former site of the Ark, now turned into cottage lots. Money over common sense, just like on the mainland. Not my role to recount the history of the Ark at Spry Point; it has nothing to do with Noah and everything to do with poor government budgets.
After going for a steak at the train station (a long story, for another day), it was time to drive up and down shore lanes, marveling at what (a lot of) money can buy.
