LBI
Is it weird to prefer the off season in a northern resort town? I spend a lot of time on Long Beach Island in New Jersey. LBI, as it’s known locally, is an 18 mile long barrier island, about a mile or two off the central New Jersey mainland. During the summer season, between 100,000 and 200,000 people cram onto the island, equipted with beach chairs, floaties, jet skies and fishing poles. Traffic is nuts and food joints are packed. Mobs of teenagers roam in hormonal packs. About what you would expect for a nice spot about 2 hours from both Philly and New York.
Come Labor Day, most everyone leaves. The full time population drops to about 10,000, but I think that overstates reality. A good number of snowbirds exit before Christmas, when the last of the good weather and decent fishing ends. Restaurants and shops are closed … leaving only the liquor stores. The local joke is that LBI in the off-season stands for Lonely,.. But Intoxicated. I don’t drink, so why do I still go? It’s cold, gray and windy. Northeasters whip up the coast. It’s pretty miserable to be honest.
A few mornings ago, Rosie the dog and I went up over the dune and down onto the beach. It was cold and windy. I looked north and south along the waters edge, a few miles in each direction. There was no one. Not a soul. Rosie was off the lead, running free. For every 100 feet I would walk, she would walk 400. Back and forth, back and forth. I walked north about a mile, alone in my thoughts. Sometimes, this time of year, there are a lot of interesting shells or a nice piece of driftwood. Typically, nothing but solitude.
That’s the point. I have no idea intention of turning this into the common diatribe on the hectic nature of modern life. Truth is, living standards have never been better … folks spending $10,000 a week for a vacation on the island suffices as confirmation. But the opportunity for true solitude, close to urban chaos, alone or with another, are rare, precious. Savor it.
As I was coming off the beach, a man was coming over the dune, walking a manicured little dog on her lead. Rosie, as is her nature ran up to them. Seems the little pup did not appreciate it and some growling erupted. The guy flipped out at me, “put your dog on a lead … follow the rules” he screamed. Yes, it was my fault. It was also a reminder that summer is coming.
