Guarding Over Us All by Barbara Quinn

The lifeguards were cleaning up the beach yesterday, storing equipment, closing down for the season. Behind them, the waves were large and the riptide strong. This wasn’t a gentle end of summer surf. Soon, they were rescuing five children who were being swept out to sea. What a relief that they were present and able to help. Last summer the worst that could happen did: a child drowned while swimming in the unguarded evening surf.

Today, the ocean was still churning, roaring a clear message to proceed with caution. So even though the official beach season is over, there were guards posted at one beach for swimming, while others patrolled and prohibited swimming elsewhere. I’m grateful to the lifeguards for responding to this unusually strong surf. Being a lifeguard requires so much focus. They understand the riptides, look out for sharks, watch each head in the water, and spring to action on a moment’s notice.

When I caught a wave today, the water was rougher than usual, but not unpleasantly so, partially because the lifeguards were still there watching over us. It’s safe fun losing myself in all that power, tumbling about in the roiling water of nature’s amusement park. The wind was intense and salty, coming directly from the ocean to the shore. The surfers were out having a wonderful time. I could feel the rip current pulling straight out from the shore. My swimsuit was coated with sand because there was so much of it swirling about in the water. Wise parents kept small children close.

On days like this, with the sun beating down, and the water so warm, it’s hard to believe that the summer will ever end. But soon the sun will set earlier, the breeze will be colder. The memories will be bottled and shared in the future. I’m grateful that the families of those rescued children will be able to tell a tale about the time one endless summer when the waves were so high that they had to be rescued by the selfless guards of the beach. My thanks go out to all the guardians of the beach who risk their all. They are the guardians not only of our happy shore memories, but of our futures. Thank you!

Ode to a Wrinkled Tomato by Barbara Quinn

Is there anything more perfect than an end of summer tomato? I’ve been eating them on a daily basis for the past couple of weeks now. They’re sweet, juicy, and so far removed from the pulpy mid-winter variety that they should have their own name. A little salt, olive oil, basil, parsley, and a clove of garlic smacked with a knife are all it takes for tomato heaven. The red juices color the oil and beg to be sopped up with a crusty bread. They’re tasty enough for a tomato sandwich now: tomato and a little mayo on a couple of slices of bread.

Last night I visited the local farm stand and picked up some heirloom tomatoes. There are a lot more of those heirlooms this year in the market. I enjoy the odd shapes and colors which are quite beautiful sitting in a bowl on the counter, though they don’t last long there. I’ve had a constantly changing still life on that counter.

I also picked up some heirloom plum tomatoes: plump, long, and perfect for cooking. They were the basis for a fine sauce that simmered with herbs and lobster claws and crabs. Oh, this was an end of summer meal to savor and linger over. My husband and I added a nice bottle of wine and let the sun set while we had our fill of the great bounty that is available to us in this country.

I’m grateful to the farmers, and the fishermen who work to bring us this amazing variety of food. And I’m most grateful for the local purveyors whose simple goods are fresher, and purer than the commercial variety. I’d rather have a small, oddly shaped heirloom tomato any day, brimming with flavor beneath its unshiny skin, instead of a perfectly formed, chemically enhanced red globe. Talk about deceptive advertising. I guess tomatoes are like people. The lined and wrinkled ones have so much more to offer than the artificially enhanced ones. Spending time in the garden means aging to perfection. Here’s to intense taste behind a not so pretty exterior. Eat a tomato. Love those wrinkles.

September Gratitude by Barbara Quinn

Summer is drawing to a close here at the shore. The ocean is still warm and inviting and I would like that to linger, though I know it cannot. This is the time of year when the tourists no longer throng the beaches and restaurants. We shift back to being a sleepy beachside community. The economy needs the tourists, I understand that, and people need vacations so they flock here to have a good time. During the season I enjoy seeing the happy families enjoy the boardwalk and waves. And I appreciate how lucky I am to be here at the ocean all year round. I also appreciate how most people who live and visit here do take care of the place and keep it special for all.

There is another side to being grateful at this time of year. It's is not the usual way to be grateful, but I have to admit I am thankful when the disrespectful folks, the ones who grate like sand in your bathing suit, disappear. There is a local derogatory term for these tourists: “benny”. Some say that comes from Bayonne, Elizabeth, Newark, and New York, the places most likely to visit this area of the Jersey shore. These are the people who leave behind plastic bottles and litter when there are trash cans right on the beach, and the people who play their radios too loud, who bring large coolers with lots of illegal alcohol, who kick sand onto you when they pass, and most dangerously, the ones who are oblivious to the fact that they and their children must swim in lifeguarded areas or risk drowning in a riptide. I found a seagull chomping on a condom one morning.

Next week the tourists will be gone for the season. So will the lifeguards. I will swim wherever I wish without shrill lifeguard whistles piercing the air. The ocean's rumble and gulls cawing will be the predominant sound. I will go back to my favorite restaurants even on weekends, and chat with the staff again. The pace will slow everywhere. The underlying hint of fall with its cooler air and rustling leaves heralds the passing of another season. September is still warm and lovely, and oh so empty here at the shore. And for that I am slightly sad, but oh so grateful!