1960’s beach pictures – thehomeplaceweb

The beach is my happy place, as another blogger (thanks Dave) recently reminded me. It’s one of the only places where I truly relax. The other is my swing under the trees. Both involve books. So why is it August and I haven’t even been to the beach yet? Because getting there requires a hot-but-not-sweltering, blue-sky-but-no-clouds kind of day, with a bit of a cool breeze, low humidity and no wildfire smoke. No I’m not asking for too much…that is the way the summers used to be!

The other reason I don’t go to the beach very often is that it is thirty minutes away, and involves packing up a whole carload of beach paraphernalia – beach umbrella, beach towels, beach chairs, cooler for drinks and snacks, (sandwiches, chips for salt, fruit for potassium), a thermos of coffee, suntan lotion, (face and body and lips), books (preferably murder mysteries in large print for easier reading in the sun), sunglasses, straw hat, beach cover-up, flip-flops for the sand, those scuba diving shoes if it’s rocky, and lots of water for hydration…..and then there’s the cell phone, camera (for closeups of sailboats), keys and some money for the chip truck. It’s like packing for a wilderness trip, so it becomes a whole day’s outing, as there’s no point in loading up all that stuff for just an hour or two. I envy my friends who live a couple of blocks from the beach and ride their bikes down for an after-dinner swim, carrying nothing but a small towel to sit on the sand. (I live near a river, but there is no beach or public access to it, and the water is so deep and cold and the current so swift, it would carry a non-swimmer like me away.)

So, let’s return to the beach days of my childhood, when someone else (my poor mother) organized all that stuff and in the glow of nostalgia it was always sunny and perfect beach weather. (I don’t recall it ever raining then, so there was probably a law against it, like in the lyrics of Camelot.) As my dad had a dairy farm, family vacations were few and far between, but Sundays at the beach were a constant every summer Sunday of my childhood.

Before church (another constant, as you could go to hell if you missed mass) my mother would put a chicken and some potatoes in the oven in one of those big blue roasting pans, and after mass the pan would be loaded into the trunk of our Chevrolet, (because everyone drove a Chevrolet – see song lyrics below), with a big Thermos of orange Freshie or Kool-aid. We would change out of our church clothes, into our bathing suits and shorts, and eagerly anticipate the 45minute drive to the beach through the countryside. I can still smell the roast chicken, and hear the ice cubes clinking away in the Thermos. We always went to the same beach in a small resort town along Lake Huron because there used to be a dance pavilion there when my parents were dating. It was smaller and narrower but less crowded than the city beach, but more importantly the roadside was lined with trees and bushes so there was shade for when the sun got too hot.

But first lunch in the adjacent park, at a picnic table under the tall trees. My mom was happy when KFC came to town, because then we picked up a bucket of fried chicken, which we all liked except for my dad who preferred the home cooked meal. Does anyone remember the plastic piggy bank of Colonel Sanders – when it was full of change that would be our picnic money. As you could not go into the water until an hour after you ate – lest you get a leg cramp and drown, (one of those unwritten rules of the 60’s) we played in the park on the swings after lunch, and explored the ruins of the abandoned dance pavilion. All that was left was some remnants of the stone dance floor and the concession stand. Still you could imagine it in all its grandeur, dancing under the stars to the big bands.

To get to the beach you had to descend a steep sandy bank, but as the car was parked above right along the road, it wasn’t a chore to carry all the beach stuff down. (not like the city beach where you might have to lug the stuff for miles from the far parking lot if it was crowded). I remember beach blankets as being wool and scratchy, but I see there is a striped one in my old pictures, and some striped beach towels too, but mostly I remember old bathroom ones. There were aluminum web lawn chairs for the adults, but no sign of a beach umbrella. They probably hadn’t been invented yet, but you could retreat to the shade of the trees, which my dad promptly did, falling asleep on the blanket, leaving my mother on water patrol duty to watch us four kids. Does anyone remember the distinctive chemical smell of Coppertone – SFP8 and their early slogan – Tan, Don’t Burn – with the little girl with the tan line.

It was great fun to go in the water to cool off, and sandy underfoot once you got past the shore rocks. You could ride the waves if it was windy. But if the waves were too big we weren’t allowed to go in too far.

Not like these kids, as there was no lifeguard like at the city beach.

I’m liking this little swimdress. I bought one from Old Navy this spring.

It was also fun to build sand castles with plastic pails and to bury your siblings…..and get buried yourself! The sand was damp and cool and you could easily spent an hour digging a hole deep enough to get to China.

After awhile my dad would wake up, and go for a swim, (he could swim a bit, but we could not as we never had swimming lessons) and then play with us for a bit. A bag of chips would come out, and some Freshie from the thermos. But all too soon it would be time to go home, where he would have to do the chores and milk the cows. As he often worked two jobs, no wonder he fell asleep on the blanket on his one day off. We would usually leave by 5pm, everyone washing their sandy feet off in a beach pail, so as not get sand in the car, another rule of the sixties before there were car washes with vacuums.

Sunday suppers would be casual – leftovers and sometimes bacon and cheese melts which were my favorite. Sunday nights were always Walt Disney, and Bonanza if I could stay up that late. I would usually in bed early, tired out from being in the sun all day.

I was always sad when the Labor day weekend came and it was time to wave goodbye to the beach.

Looking back at these old pictures I can make a few observations. I had a nice collection of bathing suits, but my mother had good taste and children’s clothes were cheap then. Oh how I wish it was so easy to find one today! Second, I used to tan when I was a kid, judging from my brown arms and legs in the first picture. I grew up on a farm so we were outside a lot and I don’t remember burning, but maybe the sun was less intense back then? But when I was a teenager I was always the one with the sunburn which peeled and never turned into a tan. Certainly the summers seem to be hotter now and the UV index higher. There are still families at the beach, but perhaps not as many now that more people have pools, or know people who have pools, and splash pads are so popular. I fail to see the fun in a splash pad but I suppose it’s better than nothing…and there’s no sand to drag into the house. Third, camera quality has really really improved. And fourth, my mother took us to Pierre, her French hairdresser which explains the short haircuts and why I have a thing about too short bangs to this day!

Healthy lunch – note soon to be burnt foot!

So last week we had 3 nice beach days in a row, and as the summer was slipping away, I decided to go to the city beach on the holiday Monday. It was actually a bit cool with a north wind so I didn’t go in the water. I sat under my beach umbrella and finished a book – The Guilt Trip (3 couples go to Portugal for a destination wedding, one person ends up dead), a perfect beach read. It was crowded being a holiday, but nice, so I went back the next day too when it wasn’t so crowded. (one of the perks of being retired is you can go to the beach any day you want). I read another beach book – Things to Do When It’s Raining – set in the Thousand Islands. It was hot, so I went in the lake 3 times – the water was warm and perfect, refreshing but not shocking like it can be sometimes when you first go in until you get used to it.

There was lots of sand, and it was clean, unlike a few years ago when there was only a narrow strip of dirty beach from the lake levels being so high. Now they are too low, and even the groynes are buried under the sand. I finished another book, but was so absorbed in it, I did not realize the sun had shifted and my feet were now exposed from under the umbrella.

And no, I was not trying to match my skin to my nail polish. By Tuesday night I realized my feet were burnt.

It was my own fault, and I should have known better. Although I had put sunscreen on my face that morning, it only works if you apply it, and I didn’t. I felt I was safe under the umbrella and just going back and forth to the water had limited exposure. I hate sunscreen. I’ve yet to find one that isn’t sticky or greasy, especially the waterproof ones. You have to scrub numerous times to get them off, and then scrub the bathtub out too. I’d rather cover up, but I didn’t. Blame it on the book, or the medication I was on, as I think it could have been a photosensitivity reaction (like an exaggerated sunburn) as my feet weren’t exposed that long.

So seven days of pain and misery, and I’m just now reaching the itchy peeling stage. Repeated trips to pharmacy to buy Solarcaine/Lidocaine spray, Aloe Gel, bandaids for the worst parts. Feet and ankles so swollen I could not wear socks or shoes for a whole week. (I wore moccasin slippers to the hairdressers on Friday.) It reminded me of my teenage years, the chills and blisters and miserable Noxzema nights, before I got sun-savvy.