Highway 30A

I know that deep in the winter when the ice has crusted every surface and the wind is howling through my drafty windows, I am going to be longing for those beaches along Highway 30A in Florida.  After our magical trip to Orlando, we headed east and relocated to Defuniak Springs for a few days.  No, there is nothing special about that little town except that my Uncle Dave and his family live there . . . and it is 30 minutes from the beach but less than half the price of staying at the beach.  As much as I would have loved one of those beach houses on stilts overlooking the water, we opted to go the cheap route for this leg of the journey and stayed in town at night, but drove down to Hwy 30A each day.  After the beaches of 30A, I want to move to the ocean now.  If we had no responsibilities here, I would already be job and house hunting.

Originally, this trip started out with a plan to go to Orange Beach.  Once we added the Orlando aspect, we started looking at Florida beaches instead.  All the tourist info, satellite maps, and Aunt Kathy concurred that the emptiest beach would be at Grayton State Park along Hwy 30A.  Indeed, it was the perfect beach for anti-social tourists such as the Ruckers.   Each day, we had plenty of empty beach to choose from when setting up camp.  The water and sand were clean, the other beachgoers more family types than party types, the shells abundant - in other words, short of having our own private beach, this was about perfect. 

I had been to the ocean once before on a trip with my grandparents to Florida for a wedding, but the weather was iffy and we weren't allowed to get in the water the one day we went to the beach.  There was no second day.  I have always wanted to go back, and Bell has been begging to go for ages - this was nothing new for my ex-Navy husband, but I am thankful he indulged us.  I am not sure what day was best - we had the best waves the first day but the sting ray and sea turtle were on later days.   I could have spent all day every day with my toes in the sand or playing in the water.  I just didn't get tired of it, but Bell did get tired, not of the ocean, but just plain old crabby, worn out tired so our days were shorter than I would have liked. 

We did manage a little family time as well with my extended family.  I have never gotten to know my grandfather's younger brother well because we have always lived far apart, but Uncle Dave and his wife Kathy graciously invited us over for supper.  It was definitely one of the best evenings of the trip.  They had a granddaughter a bit younger than Bella so she had someone to play with for the first time.  We laughed and visited and got to know each other a bit better - it was uncanny how much Dave is like my grandfather even though they have spent so little time together in the past fifty years. I had worried that it be an awkward visit, but the evening was a delight.

Day three got stormed out so we decided to go back and spend another day instead of driving home on day four as Jack had originally planned.  Then we found out that Jack's dad had gone to the hospital leaving Rubilee home alone.  Plans had to be modified.  We packed the car with the intention of going to the beach for a few early morning hours and then leaving directly from the beach, sandy bodies and saltwater hair and all.  By the time we left Grayton the next day, it was only mid-morning. Though I had not at all got my fill of sand and sun, I just felt guilty that we weren't home taking care of Harold and Rubilee like we should have been.

We wove our way east on Hwy 30A and stopped at a kitchy tourist shop since souvenir shopping had been neglected. We snaked in out of little beach towns, through Destin, into Alabama, into Mississippi.  It was different than our drive from Oklahoma to Memphis to Orlando, but just as pretty; I never got tired of watching the scenery and I remembered how much I love road trips.  The going there was as good as the there. 

As we drove, I felt tears hot in my eyes.  It was one of those moments of reflection, of knowing that this is as good as it gets - holding hands with Bell as she played in the water, laughing with Jack while we watched a fish swim into his shorts, all of us singing along with radio.  These are the moments that make the trip, not the where (even if the beach is magic).  Would there ever be enough of these moments to fill me, to sustain me?  I know we are not to fear or doubt or worry, but I am a worrier.  I fret about what might be more than what is.  I cannot know the future, but I know that we live but a moment, some for short moments and some for long ones.  When we started discussing vacation, there was some worry about leaving my in-laws.  They mostly do fairly well on a day to day basis, but there is always the threat of a fall or an ER trip.  They cannot do things simple like bring in groceries out of the car so leaving them for almost two weeks was risky.  We debated whether we should go, but we also know that if we put our lives on hold, we might be putting them on hold for ten years or more.  By then, I would have a 19 year old instead of a 9 year old, so we decided to go.  We also know that there is no guarantee of a tomorrow.  We know we have to live in the now, make these moments we have count.  That means taking the trips, singing the songs together, holding hands when we can.  As badly as I already want to go back to the beach, I am beyond thankful for these days living in the now.