Summer On The Beach
For a few years my father, mother and I lived at a resort about 60 miles south of Duluth. We lived in a trailer, and I had free reign of the campground, beach, bar, and dance-hall. It was a renegade pre-teen delight.
I wasn’t the only kid on the block. We were a nomadic band of ne’er-do-wells, roving the roads, woods, and back buildings from early in the morning until well into the late evening. If our parents didn’t know where we were, someone else s did.
I had my first cigarette, kiss, and beer on these travels, and all well after sunset. Each one tasted amazing.
Ahh, but then there was the music.
The jukebox would play from 8 am until midnight. There was a speaker set up outside so you could hear every song. Five songs for a quarter. Twenty-five cents bought you about 15 minutes of bliss.
Sitting in the sand by the lake, I heard every song there was. Johnny Cash, The Doors, Derek and the Dominos, Stones, Beatles, Dylan, Monkees, Archies, and Don Williams.
But one song played over and over, and every time I hear it I am instantly taken back to those days of not so innocent fun.
Here it is. And I’m back on the beach.