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Getting a beach fix at Brackett’s Landing | Home Again


September 21, 2018

The Sunday morning weather gradually eased from nighttime rain into a hint of blue sky and scraps of sunshine – one of those fresh, clean mornings that slip in between summer and fall.

By 10:30, the sun and a stiff breeze seemed to be winning the day, and I impulsively drove to the beach at Brackett’s Landing on my way home from church.

Sometimes, I suddenly need the beach, need the sight and sound of salt water. If it’s been a while, I remind myself that someone living in Edmonds – especially someone who grew up here – simply needs to find time to go to the beach.

Occasionally, on my way to the waterfront, I sit in my car on the east side of the tracks and wait – or stand and wait, as I’m usually on foot, thankful that I’m not in a hurry, while a freight train rumbles past.

Then I cross and follow the sand or the sidewalk to the small jetty where the old Edmonds Boat House stood for many years.

I watch the ferry come and go, just to the south, the big boat sometimes pushed a bit sideways by the wind or waves.

Sunday morning, as I sat waiting as the train rolled past, I remembered putting pennies on the tracks as a young girl, then stepping way back and waiting with my friends until a train came by.

As the train passed, it created flattened copper souvenirs, still warm when we picked them up after the train disappeared.

Now I’d be horrified to think of my grandchildren putting pennies on a railroad track – or doing a number of other activities nobody considered dangerous back when I was a child in Edmonds.

But when I was a child, kids still in elementary school walked or rode bikes all over town – definitely to the beach – without parental supervision.

Our moms probably told us to be home in time for lunch, or for dinner, depending on the time of day. And away we’d go, carefree small-town kids.

Sunday morning, my favorite sight on the beach was a young family with four children. The children concentrated on building a sand castle, molding sand into towers, adding small sticks of driftwood for flagpoles with bits of dried seaweed for flags.

Their parents sat on a nearby log. I could imagine the pleasure they felt, watching their children working together on the castle.

I think sitting on a log and watching children is one of the best things to do at a beach – sun, sand, the tide easing in and out, children’s voices floating on salt air.


Divers, heavy with cold-water gear but light-hearted and glowing with exhilaration, emerged from the dark waters of Brackett’s Landing. They described Sunday morning’s dive, surrounded by swarms of tiny fish, hundreds of them.


Sunday at Brackett’s Landing – on a fresh clean morning that slipped in sometime between summer and fall – six pale gulls stood motionless near the shoreline, backs to the water and the wind. One glossy black crow strutted self-importantly among them, poking about in the sand.

Nearby, the children finished their sand castle. An elderly couple strolled past, holding hands. As the ferry eased into the dock, I walked back to my car.


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