Tara Paige Morton
April 6, 2012
1301 North Magnolia Rockport, Texas
Every year, every summer, there was one thing that all four of us kids looked forward to. We’d pack our bags for a week, or two, long trip. Bathing suits, towels, sandals, and other beach apparel would be stuffed into the backpacks and suitcases. For the ride we would take books, colors, music, and different games that would keep us interested. Games that only seem fun when you are at such a young age, and almost seem ridiculous as an adult. As we waved goodbye to our mom we would prepare for the three hour long trip that consisted of two to three stops; one for food and snacks; mountain dew was always on the list, one for restroom breaks, and every once in a while a special stop by the side of the road to pick ourselves some cotton. I remember the smell and feel of the fluffy, cloud like, freshly picked and deseeded cotton. The first thing that we would do when we entered that always special town was roll down the windows and smell the salt air. Even though every year that I can remember we would go down to that same small town and take the same windy and curvy road the salt air never smells as good as it did when we were young. It had always seemed as though the house got more beautiful and scary at the same time.
The house to our left and the ocean to our right, we’d take a detour and head towards his favorite pier. Walk out as far as we could, to the very end at times and just bask in the steady moist breeze from the gulf. After we’d reminisce in the salt air we’d beg and plead our dad to let us walk back to the house, even though he was timid about us walking two blocks at such a young age he would allow it only on the first night because we were so excited.
Thinking of these memories makes me want to drive that long drive and go to relive those days. I think of the exact spots we would stop and make sure to drop in. As I enter the store...