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My Beach Vacation

By Susan Oloier

For the past 11 years (or more) I have wanted a beach vacation - hinting at it to my husband and, at times, begging for it. And while I know there are many places that fit into the dictionary definition of beach - the part of the shore of an ocean, sea, large river, or lake washed by the tide or waves - I have specifically been longing for a vacation of the ocean variety. The Cayman Islands come to mind. So this summer, we ventured to the beach. Not the Cayman Islands, but Heron Lake.

Located near Chama, New Mexico, the lake is labeled as "no wake," so the waters are calm, quiet, and perfect for kids. We had a beachfront campsite and, after touring the area, we realized we possessed one of the premium properties there. Justin wanted to venture down to the coastline as soon as possible, so I lathered him with sunscreen and we hit the beach. Now, when I envisioned a seaside vacation, I dreamed of white sand, salty waves licking the shore, and boogie boarding as a viable option for extracurricular activities. There was none of that to be had at Heron Lake. The coastline is thick with shale that clinks under your feet like change in a coin purse. It is not exactly the type of shore where one can build sandcastles or run sand through the toes. While my thoughts lingered on an exotic locale, Justin had a blast wading in the water, chasing minnows, and avoiding crawdads. And he wasn't the only one. Down the way, a group of children played "Not It" with their family and friends. I realized that I was not making the best of my beach vacation, so I joined Justin in skipping stones - something he managed to accomplish on his own with no training from me.

Unfortunately, as my attitude took a turn for the better, my stomach took a turn for the worse. Earlier in the day, we stopped in Chama for a burger. My first thought: food poisoning. All of the tell-tale signs were there. So instead of hitting the beach with the family, I spent some 12 hours in bed, fighting the urge to get sick. I lost. Half the beach vacation was gone.

The next day I was feeling better, so the four of us hiked down the Rio Chama Trail to the river. From a distance, there appeared to be something resembling a beach: water, people, a few specks of sand. We staked out a small section beside the water's edge. Justin immediately dipped into the icy current, stirring the mud from the river's bottom with a stick. It reminded me of hot chocolate swirling in a mug of water, not exactly how I remembered the Florida coast. My memory of the beach must be fading with age. I know I'm getting up there when I long for the Brady's vacation in Hawaii Bound.

Justin tried to create an ocean-type atmosphere for me. He pretended the shards of broken shale were the dorsal fins of sharks lurking in the water. Never mind the fact that this is one aspect of the ocean that I always hope to avoid. After a short time of wading into the water up to our kneecaps, we decided to head back to the lake. The night of dehydration took a toll on me. The quarter-mile hike out was agony. I stopped to sit and rest a number of times, feeling as though I was recuperating from a night of daiquiris and piña coladas - without the joy of sipping them. Eventually, I told Justin to go on without me.

That evening, a storm was brewing. The waves crashed a bit harder against the shore. Justin, who seems to share my love of the water, sat next to me in his camping chair, and we watched the waves together. Justin's voice broke the quiet. "Mommy, I want to tell you something." "What?" I asked. "I love you."

As I pushed my expectations aside, I began to enjoy the setting. If I tried really hard, I could almost pretend that I was on that ocean beach that I have been longing for, but why ruin the moment with what ifs. As the rain started to lightly plunk into the water and feel like sea spray on our faces, I realized that this was all the beach vacation I needed right then: my oldest son and me creating a memory together on a beach vacation of our own.