CAN’T GO HOME AGAIN

Today I decided to go back and trace the steps I took in my youth. It meant going back to the quaint little village of Bellport, the village on the bay.

As I journeyed down the main drag that led to the dock and little beach where I spent my time, I became more excited the closer I got. Remembering all the bike rides, walks, concerts and swims, the summer art shows and the ice cream.

The street seemed not to have changed in the 40 or so years ago that I recall. The grass is still green, the trees heavy in foliage, and the street quiet. The old turn of the century; homes remain as they did long ago, well cared for and manicured to perfection.

What I also recall about the village is the fact that it had a somewhat snobbish air, an attitude that interlopers would be dealt with. It said that if you made a poor man’s living, don’t come by. If you didn’t live in the village, you would be trespassing. It also said that the natural beauty of the bay, the sand and reed, the tall grass and blue sky would be denied you. Not that anyone owned it, but being poor, you had no need for neither it nor any pleasure that was natural and God given.

As I got closer to the bay, there stood a large sign at the center of the entry to the bay and dock area. “STOP” it said. It pointed out that one could not go any further than that point. You could not park there and violators would be towed away.

I wonder who is violating whom.

It is a shame that we must be burdened with this gross violation of human rights to the seashore. Because people live where they do, I guess they need to protect their environment, and the things around it. Frankly, I understand their reluctance to allow outsiders. Just think what that beach would look like if anyone were allowed there. The disregard for the natural wonder that it is, would be violated. The garbage alone would turn my stomach.

I guess I can flip-flop with the best of them.