It had been a while since my last visit.
I stopped in the mom&pop fudge shop and picked up a pound of vanilla chocolate swirl as a thank you to M&B for having me over for dinner. It was a Sunday afternoon and the tourists where everywhere, the season in full swing. I decided to drive by our old house. I took the slow route along Dune Lane, which parallels the beach. Every driveway was overflowing with cars. Out of state plates; Ohio, Kentucky, Michigan, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Massachusetts, New Jersey. As I navigated the S-curve at Jacanna the curbs were loaded with local pickup trucks. “Must be high tide,” I thought to myself. As I approached Nighthawk I noticed the old Lancaster house was gone, replaced by an empty lot and a yellow laminated building permit. “Another ugly McMansion,” I thought to myself. Speaking of which, there was still a for sale sign on Joe’s oceanfront. Our old place looked smaller than I remember. The driveway was empty but a tilted monstrosity of rental bicycles occupied the space in front on Olive’s office window. The side yard was overgrown and they had installed an ugly wooden fence around the new pool in the back. All my sellers regret was gone. I felt nothing but gratitude and wondered how we had managed to live amidst such a sandy ant colony for so very long.