Rhody house

Despite my best efforts, I have gotten the cold I thought I was too smart for. So I decided if I was going to have a headache and blow my nose all the time, it would be better at the beach. When I pulled into my driveway I was listening to Louis Armstrong sing the Beale Street Blues. “I’d rather be here than anyplace I know.”

The freshness, the haunted beauty, the frailty and ferocity of this place and the way it constantly changes is humbling and medicinal, too. This is the closest thing to religion that I have. To experience awe on a regular basis like this just puts everything in perspective.



Gun turret ripples

The gun turret was a rippling tidepool of clouds. No one can tell me this place isn’t enchanted.

The little blue house at the end of Spruce Street has been inching closer for awhile.

Its sidekick, a scrappy-looking Rhododendron, managed to come up with a few pink flowers in June.

Last Sunday, February 20th, it had fallen off the bank.

You could see it had been a cute little place, with ’50’s style furniture and colorful carpet squares.

There were still frilly curtains in the window, and they broke my heart.

'Til death do us part.

The Rhody was faithful to the end and beyond, and even landed on its feet.



About washybeach

Washaway Beach This Week is a blog by photojournalist Erika Langley. See more work at www.erikalangley.com.
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2 Responses to Rhody house

  1. Jana M says:

    Thank you for this! This cabin was my Aunt & Uncle’s. My mom and dad owned the property next to it. We celebrated many family reunions there, dug LOADS of razor clams and truly made family memories there. This post tugged at my heart. So sad to see it go.

  2. Susan Niemi says:

    My parents build that cabin when I was a baby. 42 years later, I have many, many wonderful memories. Losing the cabin is like losing a close friend. Luckily my brother bought property close by and we’re creating new memories!

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