A few years ago, the purchase of our home on the shore of the Chesapeake Bay was the realization of a childhood dream. I’ve already grown to love Reedville though the town was initially unfamiliar to me. It was just another dot on the map of numerous small towns sprinkled throughout the Northern Neck.
In spite of the ample unknowns, and the ample unpacking ahead of me, I felt waves of sheer euphoria as I looked past cardboard moving boxes to the shimmering water just outside the window. My window.
I was finally back at the bay. As though I’d never really left.
However, I wasn’t born on the Northern Neck. By local definition I’m a “come-here.” Technically correct, the label doesn’t convey an accurate impression of my lifelong connection to the area. Thanks to my grandfather and uncle, a cottage at Windmill Point became a summer retreat for our extended family and it’s still used today. I “came here” from Richmond for the first time as an infant. I’m 63 now. That means a lot of trips over the bridge to White Stone. For as long as I’ve existed, and as often as possible, I’ve spent time on the Northern Neck.
A flood of nostalgic memories from those early years at the family cottage prompted me to begin shuffling through the small mountain of unpacked boxes. I groaned over those labeled “kitchen” or “bathroom” but smiled when I got to the one labeled “my junk.” What I was looking for would be inside. The little bear.
Stuart M. Perkins
Back in my early childhood years I had a random collection of small toys I took with me on each trip to the family cottage at Windmill Point. They were my “rivah” toys, Mama would say. She had chosen them herself and put the little treasures in a special sack that I myself toted back and forth between home and the summer cottage. I realized later in life that the “special sack” was a plastic Wonder Bread bag. I think Mama’s oddball toy and special sack selection meant she assumed I’d eventually lose them all to sand or tide, and if so, no matter.
I did ultimately lose them all. Except for one. The lone survivor of my mismatched rivah collection was a little rubber bear. Maybe an inch tall, dark brown, and if memory serves me he was Baby Bear from an otherwise long-lost Goldilocks and the Three Bears set belonging to one of my older sisters. Somehow he survived my early childhood summers to graduate from a Wonder Bread bag to a desk drawer to a box in the closet and a place of honor among memories of my past.
Over the coming years, I’d occasionally stumble across Baby Bear as I rummaged through those drawers and closets. Invariably, I’d pick him up and grin. No matter how much time had passed since I’d last seen him, he always reminded me of very happy days. Holding Baby Bear in my fingers I could just see his face covered in wet sand, remember the time I built him a sandcastle and still hear sisters and seagulls laughing by the water. He represented a happy, carefree time in my life spent at a place I loved. If I came across him in the dead of snowy winter, still, that little toy took me to a sandy summer cottage. Happy memories would wash over me.
I’d feel finally back at the bay. As though I’d never really left.
The little bear continued to resurface now and then as decades passed and life moved along. Today, my own children love the bay. They’ve even held Baby Bear and heard stories of my childhood “many times” as they like to moan. But the little toy always goes back in the box when we’re done. I suppose he’s waiting. For what I’m not sure. But whenever I need an uplifting reminder of my early years on the bay, there he is to trigger memories, never failing to take me back. I also have grandchildren now and they’ll hold Baby Bear and hear my childhood stories too. “Many times,” I hope.
For now, lots of unpacking left to do. I braced myself and began digging through “kitchen” and “bathroom” boxes but stopped to look around. What a beautiful place good fortune has allowed us to live in full time, not just during summer visits. The Chesapeake Bay is pretty magical. As is the entire Northern Neck. Some folks are born here, some folks come here. Me? Even while away I was still here. Memories have that power. I wiped off the little bear and returned him to the box.
I’m finally back at the bay. Baby Bear said I never really left.
Follow Stuart's blog at storyshucker.wordpress.com.
