Summer Air & Salty Hair
It’s a rare, exciting time when summer provides a full weekend of sunshine to enjoy. The seagulls were circling ahead in the warm air, calling us to the beach, so to the beach we went.
Firstly, across the border and a Cornish blogger BBQ where we dodged the showers and enjoyed the thankfully cloudless evening sky that followed. Drinking mojitos, the men competing for the title of BBQ king and telling tales of our childhoods as the summer air cooled around us on the sand. As I’ve got to know Anna, Alex and Hannah better, I appreciate that side of blogging even more, the opportunities it has brought, the people I’ve met as a result of us sharing one core similarity.
On the Sunday, the sea met the sky, powdery blue on the distant horizon as we wondered through Mevagissey, exploring this new-to-us Cornish fishing town town that felt so familiar. Walking hand in hand to the harbour wall, not caring so much for the typical tourist nooks, but rather enjoying the beauty of the little things. Rusting fishing boats lying lazily on the slippery stones beneath them in the absence of the tide. Lobster pots merrily stacked against stone, hand tied and much the same as they’ve been for years. Salty hair escaping my ponytail in the breeze. Staring out to sea without the need to talk, the town bustling behind us with young families and holiday makers, the early part of the season before the real rush arrives.
We drove through the lanes, winding our way home with the windows down, singing old songs our parents used to play when we were children, occasionally with the full expanse of the ocean in front of us.
One Saturday morning, I got to meet up with more bloggers for brunch. Discussions explored each others lives both in and out of the blogging world, but our shared hobby once again brought us together over coffee and fresh sourdough. Though the wait for refreshment was far too long at the bakery I’ve frequented happily on many occasions, walking along Royal William Yard has it’s own charm and beauty that I think is unrivaled in Plymouth.
Then yesterday we took to the beautiful villages of Cawsand and Kingsand, just a short drive across the water on the Torpoint Ferry. Picking up strawberries on the way that would later be enjoyed atop our picnic blanket, lying in the afternoon sun enjoying the summer air. Despite the heat, the water was particularly biting, taking tentative steps together talking our way deeper into the shallows as fingers and toes got used to the temperature. I kept stealing glances at the ridiculousness of Adam’s mustache that he’d spur of the moment shaved to entertain my hungover Saturday morning.
I dream of living somewhere similar, with slate covered walls and windows that look out to sea. I long to row again, and spend every evening with sand between my toes, sipping wine above rock pools and watching the light sink beyond the boats moored in the calm water before us.
