Where were we?

Ok!  So to top our zoo day we decided to take James down to Wildwood, to the boardwalk, for an exciting morning of watching him ride the tiny kid rides, and maybe winning for him one of those gross, awkwardly manufactured stuffed neon dogs or something.  However: alas!  We had looked up the times that the rides open before we left, and Google told us 9:30am.  But that, apparently, is when the pier opens, not the rides. So the whole thing was a big 'ol waste of time.  We thus wandered among the shuttered rides of the pier in the hot sun, like the Scooby gang amid the creepy ruins of an abandoned amusement park.  The grounded flying elephants and motionless merry-go-round figurines clearly piqued the boy’s interest, but he was to be disappointed on this day. 

No, not.

The cruelty of Morey's Piers' management at play on the pathetic face my child

Pink Elephants, not on parade

As an aside, Wildwood advertises itself as the “world’s largest beach.”  Now, it is giant, comically so, in fact.  The southerly current along the Shore washes down the sand from the beaches of Seven-Mile Island (where Stone Harbor is) and deposits it in Wildwood, building a beach there that is so wide that shuttles have to ferry beachgoers 3 blocks from the boardwalk to the water’s edge.  Not a great beach on which to have forgotten your sunscreen back at the hotel room. Nevertheless, this claim is, geographically speaking, dumb.  There are obviously much wider tidal flats all over the world.  For example, have a gander at the Wadden Sea (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wadden_Sea), whose beaches (of sorts) just go on basically forever.  But also, do you really even want to be the largest beach?  Is that a thing to be desired?  Because it kind of sounds like exactly the hassle it actually is.
  

Anyway, while I waited for Erica to change James' diaper in the public toilet under the boardwalk, Justin and I wondered around some of the nearby arcades, which we mostly empty.  In one, I stumbled across this harrowing scene (below).  

Bruce searched his whole life for existential consummation on the Shore, but apparently missed this bodega in Wildwood

We tramped back to our car, hot and bummed, but salvaged the rest of the day hanging out at the beach and drinking down those Yuenglings.  In the evening, I lost in consecutive games of Hearts (which I enjoy playing despite my lack of history with the game.  As its been the official Walter family card game since time immemorial, I'm more or less helpless against Tom and Justin, and even Erica, who plays despite not liking to.)  

Day 3 or 4 or 5?

Saturday evening drifted by vacation-style: a family game of hearts and Trivial Pursuit and glasses of wine and beers on the deck.  Sunday, James was up at 5:30am, peering at me from over the lip of his pack n’ play and giggling my name.  I got him up and out of the house so everyone else could sleep, and we walked the mile+ downtown to wait in line for the bakery to open up so I could get some coffee.  On the way back to the house, we stopped and played for a while at a neighborhood park.  By 8:00am, it was already 83 degrees.

I managed to get a nap in late morning, and the afternoon was a strictly beach time affair for all.  I smuggled down to the beach a few bottles of Yuengling (Tom bought it; I normally abstain because of the Yuengling family’s arch-neoliberal views regarding what laborers do and don’t (mostly don’t) deserve, but the beer was bought, so who I am to blow against the wind?) and quaffed them with nary a hassle from the local beach constabulary.  I also body surfed for a bit, and then took up a session of frisbee with Jake, during which I seriously messed up my throwing shoulder.  I recognize that my athletic skills have eroded as I’ve gotten older, but apparently I’ve physiologically degenerated to a point where I can’t even perform the rudimentary movements of play. 

James loves the beach now, which is a marked difference in his attitude since even Cocoa Beach this spring.  He spent the better part of the afternoon playing in the hole in the sand I dug, springing up suddenly and running into the surf, getting scared of the waves, and running back to the hole.  There has been some sand eating, but not a ton.  Erica spent what part of the afternoon that was not devoted to James care asleep, mouth agape, in her beach chair.  James thought it was funny to tell everyone “Mommy ni-night”.

This morning Erica did the good turn, and took our little early riser out for a long walk.  I slept in until 8 (unheard of, people) and enjoyed coffee and a bowl of Kix(!) while watching joggers on the beach.  Tom, Cher, and Aunt Mary Kay then joined the three of us on a trip to the local free zoo, which was pretty good by free zoo standards.  The Cape May County Zoo and Park is built in a patch of woods just on the mainland, and consists mostly of a series of raised wooden walkways that pass through cordoned off sections of the forest, under which its animals roam freely.  Pretty efficient design.  James really enjoyed getting carried about by his Papa, but started to get a bit squirrely toward the end, and prompted our early exit.  Here are some pics from the pre-meltdown portion of the trip.

  

Goat

The first of these types of pics for the Gholson clan/probably not the last

Kind of a safari vibe to this picture; probably the hat and peasoup green shirt

The evening was again mostly just hang out time on the deck, chatting and listening to waves.  We did attempt to get some good family shots while the sun was going down, with mixed results--the best of which are below.

Roll Call: Grant, Erica, James, Tom, Cher, Justin, Mary Kay, Joe, Joseph, and Jake

The 2:40am wake up call was a bit much, but alls well that ends well, eh?  Our flight took off from Midway at 5:30, and despite the objective awfulness of the early morning/very late at night start, we managed to land in Philly, collect the rental van, nab Uncle Justin from his west coast red eye, and get to the beach, all by noon.  Not bad!  James took the plane ride in stride, chatting animatedly with his nana and papa, squirming lots, gorging on snacks, but mostly being quite the genial gordito.

Stone Harbor, where we’ve plonked down for the week, is on the Jersey Shore, but it’s not “Jersey Shore”, if the reader takes my meaning.   That Jersey Shore, the one of Springsteen fame, and, later, the show Jersey Shore, is the Shore.  This part of the shore is more like Cape Cod or Cape Hatteras, or at least Stone Harbor and its sister city, Avalon is.  Just south of here are the piers of Wildwood and 45 minutes to the north is Atlantic City, and those have quite a bit of Shore-ish charm to them; to wit: a kind sleeveless machismo that sees you putting your hand in the butt pocket of your girlfriend in public.  Here, though, it positively reeks of class, and salt water taffy and free fudge samples.  Erica’s Aunt Mary Kay and her husband Joe have had a “cottage” (read: manse) on this strip of beach since 1978 and most of Erica’s summer vacations growing up took place here.  This is James’ first time visiting (it’s my third), which means that he earns another feather in the ol’ state capper, to go alongside Illinois, Indiana, Florida, California, Delaware (car only), Oregon, Pennsylvania, and the US territory of Puerto Rico.  Not a bad haul in 16 months!

I’m still super proud that we made yesterday a vacation day rather than a travel day only, and another plus of getting into the surf on Day 1 is that everyone slept like logs due to the combination of the savagely early start and the fresh salt air.  Erica and I even managed to sneak away for a bit of a date night, quaffing a few adult beverages (me: a Cape May Brewing Co. IPA and a Dogfishead Namaste wit; Erica a Moscow Mule, ordered in haste because she couldn’t decide between the drinks on the menu and the waitress was waiting and because she forgot she loves margaritas until I mentioned it was strange to me that she hadn’t ordered one) during sundown on the deck of a rather swanky outdoor hotel bar that overlooks the gorgeous harbor.  This morning we woke up slow, drinking coffee on the porch and watching the waves roll in.  After breakfast, we set up shop on the beach and Jake, Erica’s cousin Joe’s son, dug a giant pit in the sand for James to play in.  

Justin reads a trashy novel aloud to the waning sun

(note: due to lack of internet access on vacation, these posts are being uploaded ex post facto.)