At The Gut

This is Shannon, our daughter, at the Gut in Wellfleet.

Shannon, Riley, Babbie and I have been visiting this secluded spot on the Cape for several years. We always called it Our Secret Beach.

When we were on the Cape last week we discovered its name: The Gut.

I just looked gut up in the dictionary. Besides meaning your entrails, strings made from animal intestines, personal courage, etc., it also means a narrow passage or strait.

In high school I was nicknamed "Guts" by a football coach. I was proud of that but a little embarrassed when friends called me that in public.

At The Gut it was windy and cold. Shannon turned the collar of her fleece jacket up. I pulled up the hood on my sweatshirt.

The sun was setting and the sky was dramatic. Riley picked up seashells and stones and put them in her pail. She and Shannon found a couple heart-shaped stones and handed them to me.

That's a tradition based on a series of paintings I did incorporating hearts.

We had a great time at The Gut, Head of the Meadow and Marconi - all beaches. Riley rode her boogie board (see photo in my July 15 post) and learned to dive into the waves. She swam out over her head. She would stay in the ocean so long her shoulders and forehead would turn purple.

She said she's going to be a surfer.

In contrast, I was a wimp. I went in up to my waist but no further. And that was only once. So much for Guts.