Wading River

When I was a little girl Granddaddy and Yvonne owned a beautiful beach home in a sleepy little town on the far north shore of Long Island, New York, called Wading River.  My ten brothers, one sister, and I longed for Summer months when we would pile in the car and travel for two and a half hours from suburban Westchester over the “ooo-ooo” bridge, (we called it the “ooo-ooo” bridge because of the sound the tires made as they rolled over the drawbridge it made the sound “ooooo  ooooooo”.)  Next, we went over the Whitestone Bridge and onto the long highways that led us to Wading River.

As we approached the town the questions “are we almost there?” stopped. We noticed everything in the town. There was an unusual Catholic church named after Saint Francis, it was a large stucco building painted a beautiful golden yellow, with dark chocolate brown wood trim. Then we’d round the bend into town. There was a dark green pond filled with mallards, and white geese, lush green grass and a white split rail fence surrounded the pond.  Directly across the road from the pond was the General Store.  The shelves and floor of the store were filled with treasures for kids such as; penny candies, pea shooters, kites, flip-flops, rubber balls, fishing tackle, pails, shovels, and all the festive foods and trimmings of summer. The  foods that we bought there were our summer treats such as; hotdogs, hamburgers, chips, pickles, marshmallows, graham crackers and Hershey bars.  We wouldn’t stop in the store on the way to the house but we’d be thrilled with anticipation because we knew once we had arrived and unpacked we could leisurely make the mile walk back down Sound Road.

Now though we were turning onto Sound Road. My heart was beating wildly inside my chest.  Everyone clamored to be the first one to see the house.  The house was actually about halfway down Creek Road, but there was a wide expanse of open marsh where we could see the houses on Creek Road as we were riding up Sound Road. We began to squeal and scream “I see the house! I see the house! I see the house!!! I saw it first! No, I saw it first!”

The feeling of peace and thrill at the same time would wash over me like waves as we pulled up to the house.  It was the prettiest house on the road.  It was white with a green roof and lots of windows.  There was a little parking area across the street from the house that had a big green grassy field surrounded by a white split-rail fence; there was a graveled area close to the road where we parked.  The fence had red roses growing up trellises attached to the fence; there were beds of beautiful orange daylilies, and white daises growing together.  In the yard beside the house there were more roses, and a profusion of petunias in pink, purple, and white.  There were swallows nests in the eaves of the house and the sounds of baby swallows chirps as their mother and fathers brought them food.

As we entered the house the smell was a little musty like someplace that had been closed up all winter and was anxious to have all her windows and doors open and hear the sounds of bare feet running through her. The house embraced us and smiled. The furniture in the great room was rattan with cushions whose fabric was prettily designed with dark green leaves and rust colored flowers.  There was a black lacquered dining drop leaf table and black lacquered chairs with woven seats.  The rest of the house was filled with bright white wicker furniture in the bedrooms.   The sitting room that looked out on the large expanse of beautiful blue salt water also is filled with white wicker chairs and tables, the chairs were so soft and comfortable with their thick bight green cushions.  It was a perfect place to look out to sea and dream and read.

The best part was running outside across the steaming hot deck down the steps of the bulkhead to the rocky beach.  The beach was filled with mostly smooth rocks they were a wide variety of pastel pinks, tans, browns, white, and gold.   The beach beckoned us to run on it and collect rocks, shells, and sea glass.  We quickly developed “rock feet” because we loved to run barefoot along the sand and rocks. We leaped and dove into the water sometimes we would stay in the water for hours. We’d come out with blue lips and prune like skin. When it was too hot we’d play for hours in the cool, damp, sand under the house.

The late afternoons were filled with crabbing, fishing, and sailing.  There were huge cliffs at the far end of the beach and one of our favorite activities was to climb the cliffs and then run down them as fast as we could. We’d often lay sprawled at the bottom laughing and spent with our mouths full of sand.  All twelve of us reminisce about what a privilege it  was to have had such a treasured place as an integral part of our childhood summers.