I never really considered myself a "beach" person. I say this, though, as a born-and-raised East Coast lady with limited mountain exposure. As a child, for every spring break, my family drove down to Hilton Head Island. Then we got into Caribbean cruises. And then, in a penultimate move for my parents, we turned family vacations into Florida-home-location-scouting opportunities. I learned over time that my dad used to crab pickles and run down to the beach (I think Jones Beach State Park?) as a child in his summers with his cousins and friends. My sweet mom has pined for a pool for as long as I've understood words. These truths did not converge for me until they were ready to sell my childhood home.
I don't know if I've mentioned it here, yet, but my siblings and I are pretty succinctly Virginians. Northern Virginia, to be sure, but my sisters and I all received some higher education in Southern Virginian staples of education (to be sure, my sisters achieved the lofty UVA and William and Mary degrees... but hey, it makes sense for me, the art kid sister, to have gone to VCU for my Master's). And though I went to Baylor and somehow wound up buying a place in the DFW area, I still don't feel like I was made for or fit in well with Texas. Not that Virginia is a perfect fit, either, but it is home, and there is something to be said for being surrounded by that same culture.
Upon the decision to sell what we've long-called my mother's "Barbie Dream House" (a stately colonial at the end of the cul-de-sac pushing up and spilling into parkland on a river, full with windows, artistan wood inlays in the floors, and lofty ceilings--perfect for my mother's hosting dreams), my parents realized they did not want their young adult children descending from school (and for me, my squatting location with my older sister in TX) into their market-ready, showing-always house for the holiday season. They got a long-term rental in a town they'd frequented, and we spent Christmas 2020 there.
As grazed over above, I was sort of squatting at my sister and BIL's at the time. Remote work and not being sure about this whole COVID situation (so sad), I had delayed getting my own place with the hopes that a full-time job would call me anywhere. Being so ~flexible~ for that point in time, I'd decided to stay for the entire 3-month rental with my parents in their 850-sqft rented condo.
Also, I'm realizing that I've been out of writing for a month. As such, I'm doing that blogger thing where I've written like 20-years worth of exposition for... what is... in reality... a 9-photo post, paving the way for a post I'd like to prep and share later.
Sometime in the middle of that third month of the rental, I made a comment about how we'd need to start packing up and figuring out what food to eat when before we drove back to Virginia. My off-hand remark settled onto my mother's face like the mention of end-times, and she quickly realized she could not return to Virginia without a concrete way of getting back or date to return. So, all that to say--before the month ended, they had closed on a condo in the same complex and have been happily enjoying their remote WFH life with beach-front views. This Christmas, again, I was able to spend the holiday season with them and my family in their ~newer~ condo, and I got to take better photos with a better camera (well, I hope they're better. I should've taken photos on the 26th, but was too chicken and enjoying the moment too much to run back and grab the camera. I really dawdled and missed some beautiful water and conditions, but... we'll see soon!).
These photos were taken last year, and editing them a month ago informed how I shot photos again this past Christmas. I wanted to capture that split moment where the water looks like a glass sculpture just before the wave crashes onto itself. Lighting for sure is off on all of these, but I'm struggling to figure it all out.
Anyways, I'll be sure to get these up in my shop a bit later this week! Enjoy!
Hope you enjoy! And I hope I get to share some additional pieces soon.