I Must Go Down to the Beach(es) Again…

Holy Isle, early morning

Writer Gini Andrews on a January walk on the beach dunes of Plum Island.

If you’ve ever been there, you will know exactly where this is…

On a bluff above a beach at a Wisconsin lake

Lindisfarne dock at dawn

burr on Lindisfarne

My grandfather took this photo on a Boston beach in 1903; I found the negative among his things. This is an adjusted scan of the inverse.


Sheltering in place (from the midges) by a remote Scottish highland loch

Norway beach in late October

Berwick-upon-Tweed (ok, not quite a beach, but the sea is just over the horizon)

Green man gazing out on the Bay of Fundy, near Moncton, New Brunswick

my grandfather on Wellfleet Beach, ca. 1920

(the title of this post is of course a variant on a famous poem by John Masefield, one recited to me repeatedly throughout my childhood, by a beloved bard for whom it was, far more than a poem, a lifelong calling of the heart)



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