We navigate through the canopy of umbrellas shading the beach, and head up the coastline, lead by our mother on a mission. The people fade away, leaving only the old fishermen and us. We reach a restricted beach, open to nesting piping plovers only. Judging by Mother’s excitement, this has been our destination all along. Armed with her camera, she passes over the border, and watches for the little scampering birdies. When we realize she no intention of leaving, we skip and play back to our umbrella, writing messages in the sand for her to read on the way back.
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