Growing up in northern New Jersey, we were twenty minutes from the George Washington Bridge, but a world away.
The small town of Old Tappan was semi-rural at the time, with working farms and no traffic lights. We walked to school and rode our bikes to the baseball fields and friends homes. Everyone knew everyone.
I lived at the bottom of a steep hill at the end of a dead end street. Our home bordered on acres and acres of forest owned by the Water Company, an aquifer district filled with runoff streams and swamps. Long Saturdays were spent roaming through the woods and building forts. We made up countless stories about the monsters and faeries who lived in the forest.
In summers, my family would head down the shore to Normandy Beach, a small town on Barnagate Bay. I loved that scent of salty air, signaling the start of summer. We'd spend our days in the sun, between swimming lessons, sailing lessons, the beach and the boardwalk, the summer seemed endless. I loved life at the shore.
Today I live along the sandy shores of Cape Cod. New England life reminds me of my summers down the Jersey Shore, but now I share my days with my husband, kids and two large and demanding dogs. The dogs insist on walking on the beach every day of the year, rain or shine. And I still love the smell of the salty breezes that now blow through my life all year long.