The end of summer is always a mixture of sadness and relief: sadness as I recall all the things I didn’t get to do and realize that now, with summer ending, I don’t get to do them, and relief in knowing that lazy days will turn into a finely orchestrated schedule of work, school, soccer, and piano lessons.
This was my mindset as I said goodbye to summer at Refugio State Beach.
Located just north of Santa Barbara, Refugio Beach has fine white sand and warm, clear, blue water. Okay, the water’s pretty cold and you get tar on your feet in the sand, but in my mind it’s the Caribbean. Our kids seem to think so, anyway. There are bike trails, a basketball court, and swing sets for children. With its placid nature and shallow ocean floor, it’s always been a great family beach.
Year after year, we spend our free time on its palm-lined sand, moving our beach blanket away from the encroaching shade until the sun sizzles into the ocean. This year, we were able to secure a campsite, too—something we’ve been unable to do for the last seven years. The great thing about camping at Refugio is the beach is just steps away from the sites. It’s a great thing, that is, if you can get a campsite. On Feb. 1, they open up campsites for July. Then, by about noon that same day, every campsite is booked for the summer and we try again the following year. This year, I got lucky and found an available Saturday.
We took care in packing the camping gear, wet suits, three surfboards, two boogie boards, firewood, extra blankets, a basketball and a soccer ball, a baby stroller, and two days’ worth of food—and then realized we didn’t pack our three kids. So we took two cars.
As we unpacked our gear 45 minutes later, we realized that camping for just one night with three kids isn’t worth it. After two hours of setting up camp, we finally made it out to the beach. More accurately, after two hours of my husband setting up camp, he finally joined us on the beach.
Maybe it was the end of summer that drew crowds to catch the last bit of sun, but unlike previous summers, the beach was incredibly crowded. Colorful umbrellas covered every bit of sand. Guys in Speedos and speaking various European languages walked along the water. Little children ran around sans clothing. But we found a little spot to call our own.
Sebastian, who, at four months old, camped for the first time, was a trooper. (Any baby who doesn’t mind a little sand in his diaper will fit in perfectly with our family.) Jake and Chase didn’t fight and we spent a wonderfully warm night under the stars. We awoke, however, to a slightly chilly, overcast morning.
I attempted to make a fire for warmth until the marine layer burned off. My boys and I huddled around a smoking pit as I tried in vain to get a fire started. All I got was enough smoke to easily put in a breakfast order to the Santa Barbara IHOP via smoke signal.
After half an hour of this, I popped my head in the tent and pleaded with Ron to come out and light a fire. We sat around the pit and watched the door to the tent, anxiously awaiting Ron, the Fire Starter. He appeared at the tent door, bed head and all. As he let out a roaring yawn and lifted his arms in a stretch, miraculously a fire reached out from the depths of the smoke-filled pit.
“Fire, fire, fire,” my boys yelled, and jumped out of their chairs. “Thanks, Dad!”
It was for this misplaced credit that Ron was later convinced I would sabotage his camping prowess. But, in fact, the seagulls were the ones that did the sabotaging.
The gulls at Refugio are pretty gutsy. At one point, Ron left two chicken halves browning on the grill. First mistake. He also left me in charge while he went to the bathroom. Second mistake. Shortly after he left, I flipped the chicken and sat in the sand with the baby. I contentedly watched Jake and Chase in the water on their boards, as the baby sat on my lap in the shade—until I heard Ron yelling, “The chicken! The chicken!” I turned around to see Ron with arms waving crazily, seagulls with shreds of chicken falling from their beaks, and a whole crowd of beachgoers staring at the mess.
I knew that all day long Ron had been battling with the birds, but I never thought a gull would nab a chicken off a grill. I mean, there are flames!
So with sandwiches in hand, we finished our trip without further incident. The crowds usually start to diminish after 3 p.m. That’s also when the air drops to a comfortably warm temperature. We said our goodbyes to summer in our family’s own way, waiting once again until sunset to leave, tired, baked, and catching the slightest hint of fall in the air.
Arts Editor Shelly Cone may have said goodbye to summer, but she never leaves the beach. You’ll reach her there with her laptop at scone@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Aug 21-28, 2008.
