At the Icy Beach

At half past three I told my husband I should probably start making soup for supper.  He rolled his eyes at my lack of enthusiasm, and then we stared at the youngest kidlets who were running and sliding and running and sliding on the hardwood floor, energy in terrific abundance.  We looked at each other and said, “Maybe the beach?”  We abandoned the idea of soup for supper, and bundled everyone up for a short drive to the rocky beach.

Every year in this season I am completely amazed at how the shoreline of the beach changes daily.  Each day it seems to be sculpted out completely differently.  There may be hundreds of feet of ice shards piled up against the edge of the water, or none.  There may be icicle teeth grimacing off the rocks, or smooth, round eggs of ice pummeled onto the beach.  There may be sheets of flat, smooth ice, or splinters covering everything.  It changes all the time, constantly being sculpted in a new and different way (God is so creative!).

The big question on your minds, I know, is “Did the kidlets go swimming?”  You probably recall how the crashing waves of Lake Superior are so irresistible to the kidlets, regardless of the frigid temperature of the water.  The kidlets were dressed in their snowsuits and boots.  For awhile they managed to stay dry, but those big waves just came roaring up and caught ahold of their feet.  It was quite a game of cat and mouse, those kidlet feet and the waves played.  One kidlet remained completely dry.  Two were, well, completely soaked from the knees down, but they had so very much fun.  Even Dr. Peds got in on the adventure, when he sat down in an ice cave and got a little surprise on his bottom end.