For Twenty Five Years

As we were driving toward Chincoteague on Sunday I realized that I’ve literally been coming here for twenty five years.  I can’t say that about anywhere else.  Not the house I grew up in (moved there when I was three), not a church or a restaurant.  Maybe that bar my mom started taking me to when I was a newborn.  KIDDING.  I think.

My grandparents used to have a place down here and my parents brought me for the first time when I was just a few weeks old and haven’t missed a summer since.  This is where I would normally insert an adorable picture of three week old me in a bathing suit on the beach.  But I didn’t think that far in advance and all of those pictures are scrapbooked away somewhere in my parent’s house.

So all week I’ve been saying, “Well you know, I have been coming here for twenty five years.”  And with those twenty five years comes a bit of experience.  I happen to have excellent crab picking skills.  I don’t actually eat the crabs (one) because I don’t want to and (two) because I’m allergic to some shellfish so I just use that as an excuse not to eat anything that comes out of the sea.

But I do get quite the enjoyment from picking the meat out of the crabs.  Which works out really well for my sister since she (one) does not like picking crabs and (two) isn’t very good at it.

This is as close as we actually got her to picking a crab:

Look, the hubs makes an appearance!

At least she can’t gloat about being the best crab picker.

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