So you may know that I am a Californian; grew up in the beach. Big winter waves and while colder than the rest of the year, a sit by the sea is a doable proposition in the coolest of months. Take the dogs. Make a run of it. Listen to the roar of the crash of the ebb of the flow. Smell salt, taste salt.
I have been to the Atlantic Oceanside in winter once, twice now. It's nice, but it is not the beach in Santa Cruz. We took the dogs; ostensibly a good idea for this vacation. Sharon's first serious time off the property in over a year. We went as far as we felt we could: Savannah and Tybe Island. We loved it all: these three precious days.
But the dogs couldn't go on the beach and we had to keep them on the leash at all times save for at a lone dog park that we found in the city. The waves were three inches tall and the sea was remarkably still. The sunrises were beautiful and the dogs made certain that we saw them. The window cracked by the bed at night let in temps in the mid-20s and the slight sound of the trickling ocean waves. I spent one short afternoon on the beach-front patio sitting in the sun, eyes closed, while Sharon took a rare and precious nap, almost as precious and rare as the time away itself. For a while the dogs settled down and we all just let it be. The Eastern Sea is a different thing to a Californian. Kinda like all the differences between the wineries in Fauquier: each nice in its own way and different from the next. A group of the winery owners met last night and discussed all the ways we can work together to help each other and to remind folks of the diverse and distinct beauty of our wine region. It was a good gathering and I am hopeful for great things. More to follow.
Back now and excited about the weekend.