Beaches and Forests

June 30, 2017

by Cynthia Gunnells

Lounging on a Fire Island beach a few days ago, I started to reflect upon how much my present has been shaped by my past.

Summering by the sea is a luxury I never could have imagined growing up in suburban Detroit. As a kid, I spent June through August in a Northern Michigan forest camped out in communal bliss with a slew of family and friends. They were truly happy times.

These days I waste away summer by the shore, lulled by seagulls, sunsets and Cher songs – so far removed from the life I once lived it makes me dizzy.

Sometimes when I least expect it, homesickness rushes over me in such a visceral way the pain brings me to my knees. The smell of leaves after a rainfall, the stillness of night, a plume of campfire smoke or the taste of 

wild blueberries plucked straight from the bush can pivot me right back to those halcyon days with a sucker punch to the gut. The grief and sadness I feel is partly due to missing people and places, but it’s also because I’ve realized it's impossible to recreate something that once was.

My brother and I recently sold our piece of the family forest – a decision we agonized over for years. I live too far away to enjoy it – or maintain it –  and downtime is so rare for us both that when we do take vacations, we prefer something a little more comfortable than a cabin in the woods with no electricity or plumbing.

But the real reason I let it go is because it’s haunted by ghosts of the past: my uncles laughing and joking and driving pickup trucks full of cousins to the lake to get clean, only to take us through the mud again once we finished; my aunts preparing feasts of fried chicken over an open fire; my parents young and carefree. No matter how many times I went back, it was never the same without those who made it so special. Time moves on, children grow up, people die and nothing stays the same – except the things that do. Like the memories and experiences and love that shape the adults we become.

This is what I think about at twilight on the beach, and I'm thankful for every moment.