My mother’s parents built this house on some high ground about a quarter-mile from the beach for their retirement in 1967. In September’s final weeks, there’s a peace that settles over the land, which juts out about 35 miles into the ocean off the mainland. By this time of the evening, my back is sore from spending all day wading with a fly rod in hand, and, if memory serves, there’s a bourbon on ice just below the bottom of this frame. (2007)