One of the best summers of my young life was spent a few miles away from Menemsha, the “quaint fishing village” in Chilmark, Massachusetts. Most days I would get on my single-speed, fat-tired old Columbia bicycle, and pedal down to Menemsha for hours of exploring, fishing and general wandering around. You could not ask for a finer summer. Young folks who pass their summer time this way are referred to as “wharf rats”.
The other night, three generations of “us” drove down to Menemsha for a summer supper at “The Galley”, a harborside eatery. The Galley’s right on the water, and has a little back porch with varnished picnic tables. You order and pay in the front, and wait in back until the number on your slip is called. We were numbers 29 and 30.
While we waited, the older grandson started to explore.
Hmmm, what’s over here?
Look! A jellyfish!
Mr. T has no lack of enthusiasm.
Nor does he worry about getting wet.
Nor does he worry about getting in deeper.
Because look what you can find!
He found jellyfish and periwinkles.
I found wharf rat memories.