August has always meant family gatherings, beach days, ripe peaches and fresh corn and a string of long hot afternoons that drag straight into a starry night. For as long as I can remember August has ruled the summer. Bathing suits and towels slung over deck railings, everyone talking around a table filled with farm fresh everything, sandy feet padding about on sandy paths, berries popping from vine to mouth and all the time in the world to do nothing. Hands down August wins every time.
There is no doubt about the healing power that water holds. Up and down every coast you find people packed together to dip their toes into the surf, maybe even brave a plunge. From sunrise to sunset we sit on sandy blankets along shorelines listening to the pulsing tides, and something that might have been slightly crazy inside us settles down a bit. We may be 60% water but it is far more than that physical fact that drives us to land’s end.
In today’s ever expanding world being a fifth generation anything feels remarkable. Knowing that your name, and your ancestors’ name, and theirs before them, all belong to a well-respected family institution, causes one to swell with pride. In my case this pride is compounded with the recent Christening of my namesake tug boat, and thus having an even more direct connection to this mighty fleet that has endured all the trials of the last 150 years. Being a 5th generation McAllister never felt so wonderful as when I broke a bottle across the stern of the Moira McAllister!
Nine Cent Girl 