Growing up, the annual summer vacation was the drive down to Grandpop’s house in New Smyrna Beach. I vaguely remember early years with my brother in a car seat and one of us vomiting for half of the 20 hour trip. At the time, there were a few houses on his street, hardly any traffic, and an entire 3 miles of beach to use as we wish. Gram would pack water jugs and a cooler full of lunch – turkey, bread, a tomatoe and, if lucky, a little mayo. Maybe even a hard boiled egg. It’s amazing how food, family, a basketball and a couple boogie boards made for such great times.
30 years later the houses are packed in like sardines, the once public path to the beach is a 4 million dollar second home, it’s hard to find a spot to throw a ball, and you actually have to pay for parking. That does not effect the sound of the waves, the smell of the ocean, or the nostalgic memories of being a kid.
Until just now, I always thought it was 27th street beach. After confirming on google maps, I guess it’s actually Avenue. Either way, it was bitter sweet to find this cover on 24th “Avenue” – a stones throw away from where we spent many wonderful years.
Original Artwork is ink on canvas.