I have a place that I call my Annual Hug.  It is an old family home on what has been considered the Gold Coast of Connecticut.  

Outside of Niantic, is a little place on the southeastern shore of Niantic Bay, called Crescent Beach.  It is a place where my lifetime friends live – people I have no memory of not ever knowing.  I remember when I met all my other friends, but these people have been in my life for so long, I don’t remember how we met.  We played on the beach together in the summers, took swimming lessons, sailing lessons, played on the pier and breakwater when that was built, swam to the raft, threw each other off the raft and engaged in jelly fish wars.  We went crabbing, climbed the rocks, popped seaweed, collected mussels for crab bait, ran from spider crabs, collected sea glass, built sand castles, buried each other, walked to Frosty Treat (no matter what it’s current name became), walked to the corner candy store, ran along the bluff and sucked on honeysuckle, draped towels on our heads and played “nuns with blue hairâ€�, chased the ice cream truck, watched the fireworks at McCook’s Point, snuck off the screened porch to run around at night during a slumber party, played Parcheesi, and Chinese Checkers, and Clue, stole pears from the pear tree next door, chased the dogs when they ran off, washed the dogs in tomato juice when they came home after tangling with a skunk, got blue feet from going into the yacht club barefooted as the old vinyl floor aged, spied in the club when the older siblings were at the dance and we weren’t allowed in, removed splinters from our feet from going barefoot on the docks and pier, borrowed the car when my sister and her boyfriend were out in a boat on the Bay and thought we were so smart. 

All these memories and more came flooding back as I was there earlier this month for my nephew’s wedding at the cottage.  We have always called it the “cottageâ€� despite the fact that it’s a 2000 square foot Victorian built in 1900 with six bedrooms, one full bath, two half baths and an outdoor shower.  There is a large rock in the front yard that Nana always told us was probably placed by the Indians and used to send smoke signals to the Indians at Wigwam Rock and other places of note.  Doesn’t really matter where it came from it is our rock and we’ve over 70 years of photos of kids sitting on that rock summer after summer.  This summer I took the first picture of our 5th generation on that rock!  

We have a height wall in the house with measurements of family members and friends long gone. We’ve measured dogs and Barbie’s on that 100+ year old piece of lumber.  

We have a circle of rockers on the screened  porch and my father created a rule many years ago that whenever someone comes out to the porch the youngest has to relinquish their rocker.  That rule continues to evoke tears as realization sets in that we are very serious about this rule.  My sister is the oldest cousin, I am second oldest.  We can boot anyone out we want except our mother!  It’s pretty empowering! It is a place of stories told and retold, laughter, quietude, puzzle solving, casual dining and lots of drinking.  It is one of the biggest anchors of my life and much of the source of my being.  It is family and dear friends and it is truly what matters.  

When I arrive after a long, tedious drive up I-95, walk in that front door and drop my suitcase, I heave a sigh because I am finally home for another short visit to my Annual Hug.  Where’s your Annual Hug?