One of the most enjoyable parts of our trip to the east coast was spending the night at my Aunt Linda’s house on Long Beach Island. My mom grew up in New Jersey, and they had a house at the shore. They bought the house in Beach Haven in the 1948. It was a tiny house on the bay side with 4 lots. They paid $500 for it! My mom spent every summer there from the time she was a little girl until she was married.

I can even remember spending time there when I was around 4 years old. There was a little shed in the back of the house that I can remember playing in. My mom’s dad, who died before I was born, and my dad’s dad built the shed together. I think it is so neat that they were friends like that. Everyone always says that they were a lot alike. That makes me kind of feel like I knew him, in a small way. My dad’s dad, Pop-Pop, was a kind and hardworking man. I can still remember how much he liked working in his garage and how organized it was. Everything had its own place, and he knew immediately if someone had moved things around.

All around the house there were these small tan stones. I can still remember the crunch they made under your feet. Those stones still remind me of Beach Haven. My mom said that every year or so they would get a new load of them, and they would have to spread them around. There was a water tower in the back yard, too. My mom said that every summer some neighborhood boys would climb it and get in trouble!

We went to see the place where her old house used to be. We knew that it was gone, my uncle had visited recently and told us that they had torn the house down and built a new one in its place. I felt sad when I looked at it. I imagined the old house there and the fun times that we all had there. I wished that the house was still in our family, and that it still looked the way I remembered it from my childhood. This little house across the street was for sale. A part of me wanted to buy it and recreate the fun beach memories I had for my kids.

This is the house that stands in place of our old house. It is a nice house, but it isn’t our old house. The trees on the lot are the same ones that my grandfather planted. The stones look like the same ones that were always there. The same water tower stands in the back ground. The house was different, but standing there I still had those same old memories running through my head.