Growing up in a small, rural area there was nothing more terrifying than thinking I would never leave. I wanted sidewalks and bookstores and interesting people. I wanted to be able to see my friends whenever I wanted, not just when my mom was “going in town” to the grocery store. As I got older I wanted all of that and less confederate flags ( Pennsylvania, that great Southern state). I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with PA. I can call it Pennsyltucky but you may not (unless you are from Kentucky, then fine, as we are also making fun of you). I tried to find my way, in this state that had always been my home. I tried small cities like Harrisburg and larger ones like Philadelphia and while I love them both, staying was not what life had planned. I feel fairly confident I would have stayed in Harrisburg had my mom not died. My apartment—an adorable 700 sq. ft. house within walking distance to my favorite bookstore and bar— was the last place I saw her and after she died, I never went back.
I could say this more eloquently but I won’t; it feels shitty to be so unmoored and to have that feeling last for years. With few exceptions, I have been able to find something I’ve loved about all of the places I’ve lived but I have never loved the actual feeling of the place itself—a place that could give me all of my favorite things without having to travel far—until I moved to Delaware.
This is a love letter to a place I know I am not meant to be, but a place I love all the same.
The first thing you figure out when you are living in a beach town is how to spot a tourist. Their skin is half tan/half red, a marathon of trying to get a beachy brown before the week is up (unless you are the pre-tan tourist but alas, you are easy to spot too), their beach towels are too crisp, their beach bags too new. They wander through aisles saying, “Henry, have you seen the hotdog buns? Why can I not find the hotdog buns?”, as if they are an alien from another planet and have never once stepped foot in a grocery store. But the easiest way to spot a tourist is how many small children they almost plow down by driving through crosswalks. It does not matter how many signs are posted about fines, how many blinking lights are flashing, when Dad Tourist sees that parking spot two blocks ahead he will always almost run down your child so he doesn’t have to listen to his children complain one minute longer.
Much like Pennsyltucky, I can make fun of tourists because I live here. But the truth is, all the wonderful places I love wouldn’t be possible without tourism money and I am glad other people get to enjoy those places too, even if it is only once a year.
It wasn’t until recently that I began to appreciate how lucky I was to be able to see the ocean every day if I wanted to. I am not a beach person in a traditional sense; I will never want to sit on a beach all day and I do not love sand. But I love the water and I love seashells and other random treasures the ocean sometimes throws back to us. I love how quiet this area becomes in October; although it is just as lively. When I started going to the sunrises, I saw a group of men hanging out on the boardwalk that I started calling The Old Man Group. Over the Fall and Winter months, I saw them most mornings I was there (like true locals, I assume they went into hibernation during tourist season). They seemed so happy bundled in their coats, holding their coffees and laughing. I’ll take sitting in the stillness of a crisp beach morning over the afternoon sun any day.
Last year, I participated in an Osprey survey with The Delaware Inland Bays and thus began my ongoing obsession with them. They are fascinating birds, not very attractive as birds go and incredibly fun to watch. I was sitting at a brewery recently and heard one flying overhead and I knew they were one of the things that I would miss the most. They have flown through my yard, have yelled at me when I got too close to their nest on my kayak and have given me hours of entertainment. I know that I will take this wonder with me, this appreciation for little joys. And because they mate for life and return to the same nests, I know they will be back year after year if I should ever want to visit them.
When I was planning my “last week”, I thought I’d spend most of my time at all the restaurants and breweries that I love (of which there are many) and wake up every day for the sunrise but as I write this, I’ve mostly spent time with my dog, in my favorite place here that I can go to for free : The screened in porch. We call this porchy because I am a weird person who speaks to her dog weirdly. She’s a little iffy on commands but if I say porchy, she runs to the door so quickly she has several times almost knocked me over. We can spend hours out here, and we do. It has been my writing space, my working space, my reading space, my refuge. It is where I watch all the birds that visit my feeders, the occasional turtle and rabbit and the many deer ( all of whom I have named Susan, regardless of gender). I wish I could pick it up and take it with me. But loving this spot has made me realize when I have a place of my own, I can recreate this. I don’t have to give it up. I am naturally feeling like I am losing so much, but I do not have to carry that loss with me forever. I do not have to always mourn porchy or the ospreys or the most delicious shrimp and grits I have ever had in my life. I can create those things elsewhere. They will not be the same, but they don’t have to be.
I hope someday I bite into a large piece of salt and think “fuck, is this sand in my food?” and know that it can’t be but fondly remember all the times it was. Looking at the ocean, a body of water so incredibly powerful and mysterious and beautiful—it’s hard to care about a little sand in your food when you are witnessing all that.
So, if you are planning a beach trip to this area in the future (which you should), here are my recommendations as a soon to be former Local :
I hesitate to tell you about my favorite nature spot because it is mostly a locals hangout so just don’t tell everyone ok? —
James Farm Ecological Preserve - Ospreys, beach on the bay, kayaking, about a half mile walk through woods and tons of horseshoe crabs. Go at low tide.
Good Earth Market - Home of the best shrimp and grits I have ever had. I have also eaten almost everything on their menu and I have never been disappointed. Sit in the garden.
Fenwick Island State Park - Dog friendly beach. As touristy as other beaches but seems to have less teenagers. I love kids but unsupervised teenagers on a beach; not a fan.
Grab and Go Taco - You really can’t go wrong with any of them but I recommend the fried shrimp. I get 2 but you do you.
The Buzzed Word - Technically, this is a little outside of my area in Ocean City but it is the cutest bookstore and Mickie, the owner, is so knowledgeable about wine. Ask her what to buy.
Juice Box - I have had approximately 682 mango smoothies. Their hummus is also very good.
Dewey Beer Company - Get all the sours and the jackfruit BBQ sandwich
Blue Coast - The food is fantastic, but the view is why you go
By far my biggest recommendation though, is to get up for a sunrise. You won’t regret it.
“I hope you realize that every day is a fresh start for you. That every sunrise is a new chapter in your life waiting to be written”
I love this. ❤ You captured the tourists identity perfectly. 🤣 Also I appreciate that deer are also Susans. I'm so excited for what your next journey will bring. 🥰😍