carey farrell

Kevin, Liam, and me proudly showing off our prizes from the Third Beach Family Fun Night sandcastle contest, August 1985. I am holding a glow-in-the-dark neon yo-yo, which was my favorite thing in the whole wide world for at least one full hour.

My Great-Aunt Dee passed away last week after a long battle with Alzheimer’s. Dee was, among other things, the first woman in our family to go to college, a librarian, a lifelong learner, a devout Catholic, the family photographer, and one in a long line of amazing women who’ve shaped me. She was there at every baptism, first Communion, and Confirmation; every birthday, Christmas, and Easter celebration; every graduation from preschool to college. She was the original owner of the 1994 Mercury Sable that saw me through the last eleven years, until it was totaled by a tree during a thunderstorm last fall.

Until she moved into assisted living near my parents’ house, Dee lived outside Newport, Rhode Island–and vacations in Newport were always the highlight of our summers. Cramming into Dee’s tiny apartment (which, as we all recalled at the funeral, never once felt crowded), falling asleep to the sound of foghorns, trips to the Naval War College and the Newport mansions, shopping for books and toys at Brick Market Place and the Christmas Tree Shops, sundaes and Awful Awfuls at the Newport Creamery, riding the carousel and the bumper boats at Easton’s Beach, and of course, spending every morning and afternoon at Third Beach.

I wrote this poem in fourth grade. I think it was for a school assignment: “Write a poem using as many adjectives as possible; bonus points for extraneous commas and words containing three or more syllables,” or something like that. Of course my mom sent it to Dee, who sent it to the owner of Third Beach, who framed it and hung it up in the beach clubhouse, where it stayed until the beach closed down. It’s a terrible poem, no doubt about it–but it’s one I’ll always be proud of. Thanks, Aunt Dee.

Summer At Third Beach
I see the white gulls flocking upward
And the foamy, monsterous, bursting, waves.
I feel the fresh, cool breeze on my back and the freezing, salty water.
I gingerly tread on the burning sand.
The roaring sound of the splashing water, and the monotonously, shrieking gulls travel to my ear.
The salty air hangs above persuading me to plunge into the water.
Jenny and I walk up to the beach store, almost tasting the inviting aromas of hot dogs and candy.