I will always see our first trip to Seabrook as a treasured memory. Something similar to a stamp of a land abroad, deliciously surprising, in one’s own passport. We came with our good friends, excited to see the little house we craftily had chosen together in this quaint getaway. A house that could accommodate my large Shepard/lab, and our two families with two energized boys ready to run and play, wildly. Driving down the winding road, surrounded by the beautiful landscape of the Northwest and the sounds of the Pacific Ocean, we chatted excitedly about what lay ahead as we got closer to this unknown place called Seabrook. We turned left, then left again, perhaps a right and then perhaps another left and there it finally was, our little cottage. Getting out of the car, my senses were overcome by the fresh crisp air, intermingled with the scent of firewood burning in the distance. Walking towards our cabin with seashells crunching under my feet, and cheery colors on the doors and window sills bringing my tired body a feeling of mirth and warmth, we become enlivened as we greeted our good friends. We all excitedly prepared for the rest of our weekend by walking to the little market just around the corner. There we could buy so much of what we needed, and we endulgingly did. For the rest of the time, we relished each other’s company in walks on the beach, nights going out to dine and drink wine and beer, and fun quiet afternoons playing board games, as we enjoyed the warmth from the smoldering logs in the wood burning stove.
Now, so many months later, we rarely get to connect with our good friends because their work visas ended, and alas, were not renewed this time. So, instead we talk over WhatsApp once in awhile, reminiscing about our time at Seabrook. We then drink in a dream of another time, perhaps when they get to come back to the US from India. A time we can once again find ourselves walking on shells in a driveway towards a little cottage here.
