Finally surfed a place I’ve been meaning to surf for years. Not as grand as Harbor or Patrick’s – the places I swear I surf each winter when fall hasn’t quite hit and all things still seem possible – but beautiful and full of history. A work trip expanded into a brief family getaway. The waves rolled in waist-high, super glassy, with long lefts and occasional rights that ended in kelp-covered rocks. Small, clean summertime surf in a summer that hasn’t had much of it. We surfed for hours. My arms hung like overcooked spaghetti after, making lugging my board up the road such a challenge that I forgot to grab my sandals. My long-suffering husband kindly trudged back to the log where I’d left them. Lucky, lucky me.