Take Off Your Shoes

Amster and I took the boys to the beach today.  

We didn't get on a plane, we used barely a gallon of gas, we didn't pack sun screen or towels or toys.  We piled Mr. 7 and Mr. 9 and their friend and another friend's dog into the car she's inherited from The Firefighter and drove north to Catalina State Park.

The dry wash is teeming with runoff from the mountains and yesterday's rain.

Amster's toe shoes were perfect.

Sasha's paws were handy, too.

Mr. 9's feet, on the other hand, had issues.

The slip on shoes were too heavy and kept falling off.

The socks collected grit and hurt his tender tootsies.

The plan seemed to be to cover the soles entirely with sand and use the beach against itself.

It wasn't a perfect plan, but he couldn't convince us to leave, so he gave up arguing and resumed having fun.

I, comfortably ensconced on my sweatshirt, watched the world go by.

To be precise, I watched the world try to traverse the watery barrier.

There were some rocks, but not many of them.

Not all of them were were stable.

Many of them were too far apart for a shorter person's stride.

Some people didn't care. 

Others were a bit more fearful. 

 The boys offered their assistance.

and, as outriggers, got her to her destination, dry as a bone.

It takes so little to be a hero.

The boys had the right idea. 

The answer was obvious.

Take off your shoes.

 Young or old, it was the only way to go.

First, you remove the shoes.

Then, you walk across.

 Then, you towel dry.

and put the shoes back on your feet.

 For some, equipment was the way to go.

This woman walked back to the car for the hiking poles.

As she gained confidence, she picked up her pace.

 And off they went.

For some, it was Mom-as-transportation.

For some, the pooch led the way

 and there was no arguing,

no arguing at all.

It was dry on the other side, after all.

Though others eyed it, 

only these two tried it.

I was laughing too hard to take the picture when they fell in.

Clearly, it was time to go.