Photoblogs
A Cold Winter Run on the Boards
By Jeffrey SmithNovember 21, 20173 min read
How many memories were made in that little room?
Five construction workers stand in the biting wind on the boardwalk watching the dismantling of the hotel. They stop me as I pass and I see one room still there, the door open, the curtain on the window swaying a little in the breeze. I can almost see a young boy there at the open door staring out at the ocean, begging his mother to let him go out to the beach, to jump in the ocean just one more time before they depart. His sister reads a book while his father helps his mother pack up their clothes. The week is over and now it's time to go home, he tells his son. The boy sighs and already begins to look forward to next year.
There will be no more summers in that room.
Here's something else I never noticed when running the boards in summer: a giant gorilla sits atop the Safari Motel on 12th Street staring out at the ocean like he's dreaming of dipping his feet in the cool winter water. Maybe like so many others who visit the boards in winter he came in the summer but stayed because the beach was too beautiful to bid farewell.
Smoothing the beaches.
Ocean City Public Works tractors plow the beach at the north end of the boards. Their diesel engines drown out the gently rocking surf. Up here there are no fences and winter storms pile dunes next to the blue sea wall. In order to keep Ocean City beaches smooth for summer visitors crews work all winter redistributing the sand.
Touch the yellow spot when you run the boards.
At the end of the boards I hit the yellow dot on the sign that as a writer always annoys me. It's either missing a preposition (with) or using the wrong contraction (you've). I touch the spot anyway and turn back. My running companion cheers from his stroller. The sun is in his face and from here we can see the beach and the ocean and winter's quiet in Ocean City. A place that feels, on a cold day like this, to have been built just for us.About Jeffrey Smith
Jeffrey Smith started writing at fourteen on a Smith-Corona electric typewriter he borrowed from his father. His most recent book, Mesabi Pioneers, tells the story of the immigrants who turned a remote area of northern Minnesota into America's greatest source of iron ore. Jeffrey lives in Berlin with his wife, daughter, and three cats. He can often be seen running along the streets, boardwalks, and trails of the Lower Eastern Shore. That's probably him there, in the orange.
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