“You can run but you can’t hide!” my cousin yells as he chases after my younger cousins.
This is what we are greeted with as we entered the main foyer of my grandparent’s beach side home in Prospect, Nova Scotia. The sound of mumbled adult conversation, cooing of babies, and screeches of toddlers were among the various sounds that filled and still do fill their comfortable home. Roast beef is slowly roasting in the oven and the smell makes my mouth water. As my parent’s made their way to join in conversation the first stop for me was always the beach on those summer days.
The sound of the ocean slapping the sand and rocks as it rolls in and out, mixed with the soft smell of salt water and fresh air were enough to bring my 7 year old self down to the shore. I would play and dig my hands in the sand, wade into the water under the supervision of my older brother and climb the large rocks lining the shore. This was my sanctuary.
The days rolled on and finally my mother would call me and my 20 other cousins to stop our playing and get inside for supper. As always my grandmother outdid herself. Roast beef, potatoes, rice, vegetables and for dessert hot apple crisp that my grandfather INSISTED was topped off with vanilla ice cream. The thought still makes my mouth water.
One day, about 10 years ago, this routine came to a halt. My grandparents moved to a condo in Halifax. The family dinners continued, our family remained close, the same noises fill their smaller home during our get togethers. The same smell of roast beef and grandmas dessert fill your nose at arrival. During these visits my mind is still, to this day, drawn to the beach. My sanctuary.
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