Beach Forts In January

I’ve embraced, with fervor, the drastically warmer winter weather we experience here in coastal Carolina, after so many years of living in Chicago. It should come as no surprise then, when the lunch hour news today reported current temperatures in the 70s and a cooler front on its way (Heavens to Betsy, Earl, it will only be in the 60s tomorrow!), that I grabbed baby-girl and headed to the beach.

On the way, we decided that this time, she would determine what pictures to take. After three seconds of intense deliberation, she declared the dominant theme of today’s pictures would be “Fun Forts.” As you’ll see momentarily, she has a rather loosey-goosey definition of the word “forts.”

It began with this one, and her assertion that she and her brothers could have fun playing amid all the tangle of growth here.

This was followed by discoveries of several smaller holes in the undergrowth like this one, all of which she deemed fort-worthy.

Oh, and here she found a “log fort.” I tried to question this one, but was only met with a look of “Have you gone daft, Mother?” as a response, so I didn’t pursue it further.

We discovered a little aquatic friend living in a tidal pool on the beach. Baby-girl pled her case about taking it home as a pet, but I was not to be persuaded. I’m the person who’s plant-challenged; small sea creatures meant to live in the ocean would only meet with clear and present peril in my hands.

She even instigated a temporary takeover of the camera and took a shockingly semi-normal picture of me, something LCB has yet to master. Seriously, every time he takes a picture of me, I notice a new flaw in myself, like two of my teeth that I now know are slightly misaligned thanks to a fabulous angling of the camera on his part, or my unfortunate tendency of appearing moderately inebriated when I smile in bright light.

Okay, I did sneak in a handful of these while she was preoccupied with collecting shells. Forgive me, but sometimes I can’t help myself.

As we headed home, she found another small hole in the foliage.

“Mom, it’s cool,” she pointed. “Take a picture of it.”

“But what is it? What’s cool?” I asked, unsure at first of what exactly she wanted me to capture.

“It’s Cool,” she answered, and after two more requests for clarification on my part, I realized she was, in fact, naming more than describing.

Oh, to be a little girl again, eyes drawn time and again to all the small, seemingly inconsequential spots in nature.

The adult in me would miss them entirely, if it weren’t for her.