The amazing thing I found down at my York River beach

The beach at Harbor Hills

At least a few times a week, perhaps more, I walk a few blocks down to the neighborhood beach on the York River at the end of Harbor Hills Road. I walk by a piney lot that a neighbor told me is the final repose of the bones of slaves resting in unmarked graves. I wonder if that's true. I have no reason to doubt, but I find it startling. And mysterious. I walk down a hill where on the corner is a house with distinctive Cape Cod-style siding that always reminds of something I might see on the Oregon Coast. It takes me back to the Yaquina Bay Bridge in Newport. 

There's a couple of spots on the road where I've encountered snakes. A copperhead once with its distinctive brown diamonds and then a long, skinny black snake another time. It's quite a journey down to that beach.

One time I glanced out my kitchen window and saw a summer storm had cropped up. I was hustling down to photograph the sinister clouds as they rose in ambush over the York River. I was nearly there to capture it all when the clouds unleashed their thunderous fury. I turned for home and ran, chugging uphill in a downpour as the pine trees bent around me, arriving home soaked, my ears ringing. I remember feeling quite happy I made it.

I'm drawn to the beach and it's dun-colored sand for the view, the peace, the water, the sky and the sun. It's a place to pray, a place to think, a place to ponder and wonder. I've been visiting the beach for a little more than two years. There's an inlet from the river that flows high and low with the tide and opens up into a long, narrow pond that's like a shallow natural harbor filling the low spot between two stubby hills. I suspect that's where the area got its name, as a harbor among the hilly bluffs jutting up above the York River, but I'm not quite sure. It's all silted in now and I wonder if it was once a place of shelter for boats, maybe back to colonial times. Who knows. Google doesn't seem to know.

The most remarkable thing of all has been how much the beach has changed in such a short span of my visits. The inlet's path changes almost daily sometimes. The wind, waves and tides alternately heap up sand and drag it away and the inlet's path and mouth has been altered steadily, moving farther and farther downstream of the river.

The changing path of the Harbor Hills inlet

I like to take my kids down there. When the weather is warm for a good part of the year they love to frolic in the little stream and catch minnows and small blue crabs. They don't notice the influence of the greater forces on that little stream. I imagine they're not like me, watching the stream carve out a path through the ever-changing sandy obstructions. Or noting how the new path of the stream yields little treasures, like a bed of colorful pebbles and stones that surprised me the other day. The pebbles, shells and even pieces of smoothed glass seemed so out of place, like they had been dropped there. I posted a photo of them on Instagram and said they were stars that had fallen out of the sky onto my beach.

Unexpected treasures, or fallen stars

As I've watched that little stream change course I've come to appreciate it. It always finds a path, no matter the barrier. I like to listen to it on its meandering track back to the river as it whittles away at the sand in its course, never relenting, always moving one way or the other depending on the tide. When it's warm out you'll find me wading in the Harbor Hills stream, sometimes alone, often with my kids and fishing for crabs and minnows.

Mostly when I get down there I see footprints. Several people like to take their dogs down there. There's people who walk around and I can see where they stop at the water. I wonder if they're like me. If they notice how the beach is changing. How it's captive to the fury of the storms that gather force across the mile-wide river. I wonder if they notice the unrelenting stream, the life of that little stretch of beach.

A Winter Respite, A Taste Of Spring In Virginia

Our beach

A week ago we were snowbound here in Virginia, the kids sledding down our homemade toboggan hill in the back yard. Today it hit 66 degrees and we trekked a few blocks down to the beach. We didn't exactly work on our tans -- it was windy and the water is cold, cold, cold -- but we had a blast and were joined by our friends from Harrisonburg, Matt and Karmen Basinger and their 8-month-old son Mason who spent a couple of days with us.

One of the things that's always been remarkable about our time here in Virginia over the past almost 12 years is how winter can have these lovely spells of pleasant weather. I remember years when we've had a week of 70s and even 80s in January, the kids playing outside in their t-shirts and shorts and even the occasional winter mosquito bite. The warm days -- not the mosquito bites -- are a nice break from the onslaught of cold. I'm not a fan of cold. Actually, I hate being cold. Every year about this time I dream about relocating to Aruba. Today, no so much.

The weather here can definitely be schizophrenic. Or maybe it's bi-polar, like what looms ahead. The forecast calls for 70 degrees and even thunderstorms on Wednesday. Thunderstorms in early February is plain crazy. Then Friday just might put the polar in the bi-polar weather forecast when the North Pole might pay a visit and there's a chance of snow.

Julie said it best today when she was talking to Matt and Karmen about Virginia winter weather. You never put away all the summer clothes -- the kids broke out shorts today, for example. But you also never put away the snowsuits too early. Late this afternoon I took another jaunt down to the beach at sunset. Here's what I found.

Captivated by winter in Virginia

The Futility Of Chasing Seagulls And Other Deep Thoughts

Diggin' the beach, not the seagulls

We are very nearly halfway through January. Mind-boggling, eh? Does time go faster when you get older? Or is it because we had a one-week vacation and time goes faster during vacation?

Time is as elusive as those seagulls on the beach. I've had 14 kids and not once has one of my kids caught a seagull on the beach. That's 26 years of futility. Only the Cincinnati Bengals can match that kind of failure. (In case you are wondering, I'm a huge Pittsburgh Steelers fan. So yeah, Saturday night's glorious Pittsburgh victory over the dreaded Bengals in the NFL playoffs was thoroughly exhilarating, not to mention exhausting.)

Let's face it, seagulls look dumb. I mean, they just sort of stand there on the beach, looking at the ocean, not really doing anything. Do they have a job? Besides pooping on the sand?

Do they catch stuff to eat? I mean with robins you can watch them thrust their beak into the ground and bag a worm now and again. Chickens scratch the ground and cluck and maybe root around for some grubs and stuff. There's a purpose to it.

But seagulls? It's my opinion they're just sitting around waiting for a handout. That's not living. No way, no how.

And they're always baiting my kids. For literally decades my little shavers have "snuck up" on seagulls, stealthily tracking their prey only to be thwarted at the last second by those beguiling birds.

It's like watching Charlie Brown try and kick the football as Lucy holds it. Or watching Wile E. Coyote try to trap the Roadrunner. Ain't gonna happen.

So maybe that's the point. Maybe, just maybe, the sole purpose of seagulls is to sit around on the beach and bait kids like mine into chasing them to give the kids an outlet and a little exercise.

Maybe I should go easier on the seagulls because as you'll see from the video I'm linking to below, they can be pretty entertaining.

Link: Sabo vacay video

Family Vacation Time In South Carolina

Boys on the beach are all about digging

There are many different philosophies when it comes to family vacations. There's the "Manic Trip to Disney" family vacations where parents exhaust themselves taking kids to Disney or some other theme park and try to do as much as humanly possible in a limited time and blow the equivalent of the GDP of a small Caribbean island in the process. Been there done that ... and have the photos and scars -- physically and emotionally -- to prove it.

There's the "go see the kinfolk" vacation where you traipse off to visit relatives and spend some quality family time with people you may rarely see and hardly know but share the same bloodlines. It's a noble pursuit but, like going to theme parks, can be exhausting because you're staying in someone else's house with different rules, regulations and parenting philosophies. I've heard some real horror stories about these kinds of vacations.

Olivia loves the beach, even if the sun is really bright!

Another form of vacation is the Sabo personal favorite. It's the weeklong getaway with no agenda, no plans and no duties, obligations or places and people you "have to see." This is our specialty. We head down to South Carolina, get a place on the beach for a week and wake up every morning and wonder what we'll do that day. It's perfect for us.

Sabos storming the beach in South Carolina!

We always come down to South Carolina beaches in the offseason. For one thing, it's easier for many of our older kids in college to work out joining us. Also, did you know that Charleston, S.C., is farther south than Los Angeles, Calif.? When we hit the beaches of South Carolina in fall or winter, there's no hordes of people to fight, the weather is usually quite pleasant and it's still nice enough to hang out down at the beach. We swim indoors, play games, relax -- Abram is out on our fifth-floor balcony that overlooks the ocean right now soaking up the late afternoon rays -- and Julie and I often spend a day getting away. This year it will likely be a day trip to Savannah, Ga.

Sabo ladies enjoying the beach!

Our vacation is how we recharge. Judah even has his own term for our vacations. Because we stay at resorts that aren't really houses but not really motels either, he always asks when we can "go to the other room." When he hears we are going to "go to the other room" next week, he gets totally stoked.
We were on the beach this afternoon talking about what our vacations will look like as a family as the kids are getting married and starting their own families. We were kicking around several ideas. Maybe book several rooms -- like 10 or so -- similar to the ones we're staying with at this resort on Hilton Head Island. Maybe it will be to rent a huge house -- or lodge? -- and fill it with Sabos.

Like mama like daughter

However our vacations look in the future, and however many Sabos will be able to make the trip, there's a few things I know will happen. We'll laugh a ton, Ethan will do and/or say something crazy,  we'll take a ton of photos and we'll relax and rest up. Now if I could just figure out how to vacation like this about six months out of the year.

When these finish digging, hopefully there will be some beach left

The Day Seth Turns 3 Years Old

Seth rocks the shades he made at church.

Another day, another Sabo birthday. I have this standard joke that the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is ask myself if one of my kids has a birthday today. Yesterday it was Gabe's. Today it is Seth's birthday. I just heard Julie say that she can't believe she had him three years ago. Neither

He is a one of a kind Sabo kid. He's built completely differently than all of our other Sabo wee lads and lasses. He's just solid. That's the best way to put it. While our kids traditionally have been on the petite side at a young age, Judah broke the mold. He weighs more than Judah -- who is 1 1/2 years older -- and might weigh more than Olivia, who is almost 5 years older. That just means there's more to snuggle with.

He's affectionately called "Seffers" by most everyone in the house. It's a nickname we believe was coined by Evie and it's stuck. In fact, when he tell him he is "Seth" he disagrees. "I'm Seffers," he says.

He's a gentle guy with a kind heart and he's best friends with Judah. The other day they were having lunch together at the table and had the following conversation:

Judah: "Hey Seth, you want to play a pretend game where you're my brother and we're eating lunch together?"
Seth: "Okay Judah."

It's pretty cool when pretend and reality collide. Nothing but good times.

He likes Star Wars and Frozen and going to the beach, seeing his friends at church and snuggling with Mama, not in that order. He's very partial to Mama. And let's just say Mama loves snuggling with Seth. We all do. For however much longer it lasts.

A Year In Instagram Photos In Gloucester, Virginia: Rivahstyle

We live in a little 3-bedroom house with 2 bathrooms that's 1,600 square feet. Well, almost 1,600 square feet. Basically there's kids everywhere. We rack 'em and stack 'em.

But one of the things I love about our little house is that we're three blocks from a white sandy beach on the York River. The sunsets are amazing. The kids have a blast down there. I love to walk down there and enjoy the peace of the tidal saltwater. I thought I'd share some of my Instagram highlights from the past year of living on a peninsula, a few blocks from the beach. If you'd like to find me on Instagram, I'm @jmatthewsabo and I'll follow back!

Do you have a favorite?

A Time To Reflect, A Time For Thanks

It is officially Christmas Day, 2015. It's somewhere the other side of midnight and things are out of whack -- outside at least. It's a warm, steamy night in Virginia. Thick clouds obscure the full moon and stars that are up there somewhere and the windows are open and the ceiling fans are humming. And still it's hot in here. I refuse to turn on the AC. It's late December. That's ridiculous. Even if it means I can't sleep because I'm too hot.

But the other side of being sleepless in Gloucester is that the kids are all in bed, the house is quiet, the Christmas tree is lit up and the presents are spilling out from beneath it. It's like this every year for me, these nights that by the light of the Christmas tree I take a few moments to reflect on my life over the past year.

I'm not going to lie. It's been a hard stretch in many ways going back the past 14 months or so. The thing that comes to mind first is two miscarriages. Two blessings we've missed out on. Our babies give us so much joy as a family, there's an excitement and an anticipation that builds through the pregnancy. There's a sense of wonder with the little kids when we bring home a new baby. For so many years we've celebrated another birth, welcoming a new baby brother or sister so routinely it's become a part of the fabric of our lives. There's always been another baby and those days are drawing to a close. Or maybe they have drawn to a close. Either way, I miss them.

I've had some ongoing health issues over the past year that doctors can't quite figure out and on some really rough, painful nights I've trundled 2-year-old Seth into our bed. I like to listen to him breathe and I put my head right up against his soft cheek. He's a snuggler and he'll burrow into me and for a little while I forget what's ailing me. He comforts me the way our babies always have. There's been many nights when it's me and a baby in my arms in a darkened house and listening to those fast, little breaths, feeling that skin like cotton and smelling that new baby smell and everything is alright in the world.

My work as a missionary ended earlier this year and it's just ... I don't know how else to describe it other than painful. I was unable to raise enough support to continue as a missionary working with an organization that launches Bible-teaching schools in Africa and Haiti. The cold, hard truth is that I wasn't any good at asking people for money. It's a flaw of mine where I pretty much stink at asking for help. I don't like goodbyes either but that's another flaw, another story. The missions organization I was with is doing work that changes lives and offers hope both spiritually and economically to downtrodden young people and I loved being a part of it. The people in the organization are wonderful and they're doing great work. I've seen and met many people whose lives have been changed through it. It feels like failure to leave it behind. It's hard. I don't really know how else to put it.

I'm extremely thankful and grateful for the work I'm doing now and the opportunity some friends of mine here in Gloucester gave me to work with their PR & marketing firm after leaving the missions work. It's a huge blessing and I really believe we're doing great work. But it's just one of those things I wrestle with, where my heart is to spread the gospel and to elevate lives and I was a part of that ... until I wasn't. It's an ongoing conversation I have with God, wondering what it's all about and why. But learning to trust in His plan when life doesn't make sense is essential Christian living. A Christian is believing -- knowing -- God has something else afoot and is waiting. Always waiting as it says in the book of Hosea, to wait on our God continually. Always expecting. Always ready. The life of a follower of Christ is gripping the faith to take the next step when you don't know where that foot will land but taking it anyway. I'm learning it. I'm working at it.

But in so many ways these are all such little, trivial things. This past weekend at Taylor's wedding affirmed what a gift I have with my family. My kids all love Jesus. That's a blessing. We're happiest when we're all together and my kids are patient, kind and loving to each other and they love to be with Julie and me, even the older ones. Sadly, that seems all too rare in this culture.

In a few hours the kids will all be up. The little kids will frantically be trying to get the older ones out of bed and we'll gather in the living room in our pajamas. The kids will pass around the presents under the Christmas tree, many of which they got for each other and we'll take turns opening them. I'll fix my traditional seafood chowder and I'm thinking it will be so nice outside that maybe we'll walk down to the beach. We'll have the whole day together. That's the best part. Really it's the only part that matters.

Adventures in Parenting, Vol. 1. `Hey Dad. Where Are You?'

Let's see...a Taco Bell run or this sunset?

Do you ever get to a late Sunday afternoon, take stock of your life, check your mutual funds, contemplate the meaning of life, wonder if anyone working on Wall Street who engaged in shady mortgage fraud and insider trading deals has a soul ... and weigh whether it's worth it to cook dinner?

There's something about fixing Sunday night dinner that I find particularly agitating. Even daunting, repulsive and annoying. And I'm a dude who loves to cook. I can't put my finger on exactly why I don't like to cook on Sundays. After shedding my pastor duties after church I tend to "check out." You might find me in the garage piddling around making a coffee table. Sometimes I nap. I might take a jaunt to the store and act like I'm shopping for the week's meals and blow it all on ice cream and non-essentials like fancy coffee creamer and crazy cheeses made in Holland. Does this make me a bad person?

I mean, I'm usually a pretty good guy. I recycle. I put my shopping cart in the cart corral in the parking lot instead of in the space next to the van, even in hard rains. I clean up the lint screen in the dryer. I yield in the traffic roundabout and stop for pedestrians trying to enter crosswalks. I buy Julie raspberries because I know she loves them even though they're really expensive this time of year. Really expensive like cheeses made in Holland.

So we got to Sunday afternoon just before 5 p.m. and there were all these kids looking really, really hungry. The thought actually crossed my mind to cook something. The other thought I had was that they wouldn't starve if they didn't have dinner. I mean, we have bread and peanut butter in the house. But then I'm not going to eat a p.b. & j sandwich for dinner ... so I was faced with what's known as a "parental dilemma." You know the one. Where you have to decide if it's in the best interests of your family to eat at Hardee's or Taco Bell. I had a hankering for a burrito so the choice was fairly easy.

I got the lowdown from everyone of what they wanted from Taco Bell, loaded Seth in the van and took off down the street ... except I glanced at the sky and it was on fire. It's a three-block run down to the beach from my house and my intention was that I would race down there while obeying all traffic laws, snap a sunset photo and then get to Taco Bell before my children suffered privation leading to acute starvation and other health-related issues.

I got to the beach, told Seth to sit tight, ran out to the shoreline, snapped a photo and ran back to the van. Piece of cake. Except I knew that the show was just beginning. It would be a monumental sunset because literally the sky was aflame ... so I fetched Seth out of the van and we frolicked on the beach while I documented our interlude via my iPhone. Yes, I had total disregard for the well-being of my family. Yes, I got a phone call from someone high up in the Sabo household who was surprised to learn I had not even made it out of the neighborhood.

But I got some killer clicks.

Seth gets photo-bombed by the sunset.

Ultimately, I made it to Taco Bell. No one in the Sabo house had starved. They appeared perplexed at how long it took for me to make a Taco Bell run considering it's literally a few minutes away. But hey, boy did Seth and I make some remembories, as Evie used to say when she was a little girl.

When Everything Is Right In The World

Striking a pose

It was Tuesday night and it was five of my boys and me. Again. The ladies of the Sabo house were off to women's Bible study, two kids were at soccer practice, one was at work and so it was the lads' night out. We made a quick stop at the True Value hardware store to pick up some supplies for my new found DIY woodworking projects and then headed for the beach at Gloucester Point. These lovely fall evenings (note the lads are in shorts & t-shirts and it's late October) are too alluring, too perfect not to enjoy with one of the last romps at the beach.

When we arrived down at the pier that juts out into the York River (you don't need a license to fish from the pier, which means fishing is better in Gloucester) the boys started hamming it up and I snapped some photos. Then we noticed lots of people with cameras around. A kindly gentleman ambling out the pier informed us that an Antares rocket was supposed to take off from the Eastern Shore and we should be able to watch it blast into orbit from the pier. It was 6:15 p.m. Lift off into the October sky was scheduled for 6:22 p.m.

Heading out for a better view of the rocket launch

News that we would watch a real-life rocket launch caused quite a stir among the Sabo boys. This was more than we bargained for. Are you kidding? This was really good news. Like, really good. You go to the beach trying to kill some time and you're going to watch a rocket streak into the night? For reals? Dude. From Gloucester Point to the launch site on the Eastern Shore of Virginia at Wallops Island, as the rocket crow flies, is about 70 miles -- it's double that by car -- so supposedly we would have a real good view from a safe distance.

I was armed with two cameras -- my iPhone5C and my Canon T5i -- and was really stoked to try the time-lapse feature on my iPhone. I figured that would be killer for a rocket launch. As we waited at the end of the pier, we encountered one variable that threatened to derail my photography efforts. Seth seemed intent on seeing if the water was still warm and kept leaning through the rails, even as Gabe wore him like a straitjacket. In the interest of safety I reluctantly herded my gaggle of Sabos back onto the beach. We still had an unobstructed view out over Chesapeake Bay where the rocket was allegedly going to streak into the nearly cloudless indigo twilight, but better yet, if Seth was intent on taking a dip at least we could fish him out before he got in way over his head.

It was 6:21. Seth was getting wet and was covered in sand, the four other boys were having races up and down the beach and some people behind us were getting the play-by-play of the rocket launch over some sort of hand-held device. It wasn't a Walkman, I know that. I was focused on the eastern horizon with my two cameras -- in between preventing Seth from becoming a mini-Jacques Cousteau. The people behind us, a mom and dad and two kids, started the countdown. The four Sabo boys slowed down then stopped to watch, their labored breaths mixing with the sound of the river washing ashore in tiny waves. Seth eyed the water.

Houston, we are ready for the rocket launch

The voices behind us got louder as the countdown got closer to one: "...three, Two, ONE! LIFTOFF!" We scanned the horizon, squinting intensely. My cameras were focused. I was prepared to blow up social media with our rocket photopallooza. We watched. We watched harder. Seth headed for the water before Gabe rassled him ashore despite his sharp protestations. And then we watched some more ... and then the cry from the dad behind us: "It exploded!" The boys looked at me. I shrugged. The boys went back to racing. Seth headed for the water.

I'm not going to lie. I was pretty bummed. I've never seen a rocket launch live, even from 70 miles away. The evening had taken an unexpected turn. It veered hard from your run-of-the-mill, ho-hum evening at the beach with five boys -- three, count them three, couples we encountered looked on in amazement at the collection of Sabos and remarked how full my hands were ... if only they knew -- into tantalizing excitement territory. I guess I shouldn't really be disappointed because just minutes earlier I had no idea I could have seen a rocket launch. But when the unexpected becomes even a glimmer of reality, only to literally crash to earth, there's still a sense of loss.

I've thought about this all day, actually. When the unexpected roars into your life, only to vanish seemingly as quickly. I won't go into details, but I feel a sense of personal loss on a completely different level. There was something unexpected that happened in our lives, only to be taken away. There's hurt, there's pain. It's not fun. I'm sad. I guess that's the best way to put it. Just sad. It's nights like these that I like to wander in to where our youngest is sleeping, in this case Seth. So peaceful. So beautiful. So perfect. Such a gift from God. I like to hear him breathe. I'll stand there and watch, listening to him breathe and for a little while everything is right in the world.

Three Things I've Learned When I Feed My Creative Juices

The ruins of Rosewell

Over the past year I have been shooting a lot of photos from around Gloucester. It began when I started using my iPhone as a camera. I also have a Canon T5i that gets lugged around the county to snap shots of sunsets, landscapes and landmarks. And kids. Plenty of kids. Here's three things that I've discovered about what happened when I started shooting photos and the surprising things that resulted when I launched a new creative passion.

1) What you will find when you take the time to get out in nature will surprise you.  

I started shooting photos after getting on Instagram and fighting a sense of inadequacy. I have friends out in Oregon who were posting these amazing landscape shots -- majestic snow-capped mountains and rushing rivers and desert sunrises -- and I felt like I had to compete somehow. But how? We have no mountains here -- the highest point here  is like 60 or 80 feet above sea level, unless you count the 90 feet height of the Coleman Bridge as you enter Gloucester -- our rivers are amazingly wide but languid and the closest desert is thousands of miles away. So I started exploring. Living on a peninsula has its advantages. The sunsrises and sunsets on the rivers are spectacular. The trees and foliage tell stories. The frequent storms usher in extraordinary cloud formations that refract light in stunning ways and are enhanced when they are reflected off the water. There are hidden treasures and gems off the beaten path; historic homes and crumbling plantations and weathered houses. I've learned a ton about watching sunsets and the timing of the most glorious light. You'll be surprised. You'll be amazed. Your life will be enriched when you get out there.

Boats in a Gloucester marina

2) Exploring creativity opens paths of more creativity.

When I started shooting photos and thinking about settings, sunlight, natural light, reflections, angles and other aspects of photography, I've found it started opening doors to other creative avenues in my life. By no means am I an accomplished photographer. I want to make that clear. I have friends who are professional photographers and it's a huge leap from what I do to what they do amazingly well. But in my own little way I'm exploring something new and trying to stumble through learning a craft. Perhaps it's the time I'm taking to appreciate the scenery God has given us in this little corner of the world that is spurring other creative juices. Whether it's dabbling in making videos, writing, woodworking and making a coffee table out of 60-year-old reclaimed hardwood flooring, I've found that creativity feeds creativity. There's just something that happens when you start stimulating your brain in new ways. Challenge yourself. Take the time to find something new to take on. You'll be surprised.

3) You will feel, and be, blessed.

Being out in nature has renewed my love of God's creation. He's made so many beautiful places and we all should spend more time enjoying them. It's also been a time for me to meditate on God's word, to pray, and to think about how richly God has blessed me. The other night when I had five of my boys down on the pier at the beach in this lovely, peaceful setting was one of those times. We made a memory and those last forever. There are times I've looked up in the sky near sunset and saw the clouds and the way the light is arcing through the sky and told Julie or some of my kids to get in the van because we're heading down to the river to enjoy the sunset. As I've worked on my coffee table I've been able to listen to sermons from pastors and I've thought deeply about what He's doing in my life and where He's taking me and how I need to yield more to His will in my life. Creative time can be periods of slowing down, assessing and reflecting. I experience a recalibration, a deeper understanding of what's valuable. First and foremost of value to me is my relationship with God and the eternal gift He has given us of His son Jesus. My family is a gift from God. What I experience, all of it, is a gift. I am thankful. I am blessed. 


Finally, here's a link to a collection of photos I've taken from around Gloucester that I assembled in a video. The music is kind of cheesy ... oh well. Enjoy.  Gloucester vignette

When Times Are Tough, Head To The Water

Gabe & Seth on the pier.

Yesterday evening was one of those days. I had a ton of things I wanted to get done and nothing was getting done. You ever had that feeling? Things were going way south attitude wise for me and so I loaded into the van the five boys who were left with me after everyone had dispersed to soccer practice, Bible study (for the ladies) and work. At first I had no clue where to go. The sun had just set but it was a beautiful evening, still 70 degrees.

We headed down to Gloucester Point beach. It's a five-minute drive and we walked on the pier until the wind kicked up enough to prompt shivers. It was lovely. Peaceful. Beautiful. Seth was enchanted by the water. As he trundled back across the beach the waves kicked up and crashed onto shore from a passing boat that sped by. He paused, watching and listening to the commotion and I could see him trying to figure it all out.

I grew up in the Oregon High Desert. Where the sagebrush and open range meet the piney slopes of the eastern Cascades Range. Snow melt water flows icy cold off of the mountains and is a precious commodity where I'm from in Oregon. The rivers are narrow enough to easily throw a rock across them.

Out here on the Middle Peninsula, we're surrounded by water. Big saltwater rivers that yield bountiful catches of crabs and oysters and fish. The sun rises and falls spectacularly across the rivers here. The white sandy beaches are play spots and we're close enough to the neighborhood beach on the York River that the kids can load up the wagon with buckets and nets and head down to the river to fish out minnows and crabs from the inlet that meanders inland.

I love the desert. I love the solitude, how the sky is so blue, how it's filled with a million bright stars at night and how you can see forever. I miss it. But I've been out here for a decade and remain enchanted by the water that surrounds us. If I ever were to leave, I know one thing. I would miss it.