Road to Summer

The windows are down, so the wind is blowing ferociously into the car as we speed down the highway. The sun glistens off my thick sandy-brown ringlets as they disobediently bluster around my face and smack into my cheeks. Normally for most of the trip I would frustratingly try to tame them to no avail, but not today. Today this is a comforting feeling, it means summer has arrived. I sit back, put my feet up on the dashboard, hang my arm just slightly out the window, letting the sun warm my skin, and then close my eyes.

When I awaken we’ve slowed down and started to amble through the towns. My favorite part.

First we come upon Southhampton and it’s huge sprawling perfectly emerald lawns with big white shutter-board estates in the distance. Then Watermill, with Penny Candy Store; a primeval ramshackle, but one of the last genuine family-owned stores in the whole stretch. Also, the personification of candy heaven, possessing anything from brightly colored sour gummy worms, to chocolate covered marshmallows.

This is followed by Bridgehampton, with the Walmart that tries to fool itself into thinking it’s high class because it’s situated in a shopping center that is made up of all hoighty-toighty clothing and home goods stores. Next we meander through Sagaponack and Wainscott, which consist mostly of endless corn fields and strawberry patches, with a few carefree farm stands sprinkled on either side of the road, boasting, “Pick your own.”

If you continue down this road East Hampton would be next, but instead we turn off onto Stephen Hand’s Path, (a way only the locals know about), to avoid the center of town. It takes you through the woods, or whatever you want to call them, and past the “underground house.” A house built partially underground into a small hill where only one set of windows and a roof pop-up out of the dirt. I intently stare out the window to get a glimpse, but within seconds it’s gone and I’m back to watching the patterns that the sun makes as it shines through the trees onto the road. At this point, I’m also counting down the minutes. Were close, I can smell it.

The salty air is starting to combine with the fragrance of freshly cut grass, manure and tree; soon it will take over completely. We make the last turn onto Springs Fireplace Road. On the right, the trees open up just enough to give me my first peek at the brilliant teal bay. Ever so slightly I can hear the swoosh of the water as it hits the shore, or maybe I’m just remembering it from last year and the image sparked my ears to hear something that isn’t there. Either way, my heart sighs at this landmark and the rest of my body follows suit, letting out all the tension it has kept inside all year.

We make one last swerve and I spot the dilapidated wooden fence and then the snug beachy house set back from the road a few hundred feet; trying to hide itself, but failing terribly. We swiftly grate into the driveway, which is paved with shells from Gerard Drive, but before the car has even stopped, I’m out the door, shoeless. Letting my feet soak in the crushed shells, sand and light dirt they have longed for all year.

The salty breeze that drifts off the ocean nearby brushes past me, sending chills down my spine. I can hear the pitter-patter of young feet on the huge back deck, my grandfather and father built together the summer before I was born. The clattering of pots and pans floats from the kitchen, along with a pungent smell of garlic and melted butter, maybe were having lobster for dinner. I walk up the steps and open the side door, letting the screen door slam behind me, letting the rest of the family know I’m here.