Boomshackalacka

One place that makes me feel at peace is Boomshackalacka.

Well that’s the code name my sister and I use, because we’re not supposed to go there. It’s at my grandpa’s vacation house in Maine, and the house is located between a bay and the ocean. Boomshackalacka  is at the ocean side of the house. I can picture sneaking out of the quiet house urging my sister Ging, to come. Often she would say no so I would go and persuade my Bella, my dog. Bella and I would sprint down past the stagnant mosquito ridden pond (were Bella would often take a pit stop) and stop at the neighbors juicy raspberry bushes and silently go to the coast hopping through the patch of poison ivy. Bella would stand sturdily on top of the dock with a mesmerizing pride about her. We would look out at the calm ocean with occasional white ripples caused by lobster men collecting their traps. The dock is crusty with sea spray and dried up coral. When Ginger comes with me we scurry down from the dock and collect sea glass scattered around the rocks. After we collect enough merchandise and have our pockets full of sand and rocks from the coast we go back to the house to asses our winnings.  Boomshackalacka is not a white sand Hawaii beach, its more of jagged rocks and slippery seaweed clashing with the salty ocean. Theres hidden coves with thousands of snail shells scattered around and round ocean worn  stones.

 Oh I forgot the reason I’m not supposed to go to Boomshakalacka is that it’s technically the rich snobby neighbor’s property. One time, Ginger, Caroline, Maddy and me wrote a script and were filming a zombie movie. I timed it perfectly so it would be sunset and just as I said “action” the frigging  Smiths come and yell “get off my property.” I never got to make the movie, but I did get revenge. The next day Maddy and me went to town and bought snappers and laced the Smiths driveway with them. I waited in the by the peach tree with unripe green peaches all morning to hear the sweet SNAP POP and then the “what the hell just happened.” I left after a while getting bored but I saw the next day that the snappers were snapped.

Ive been on numerous adventures to Boomshack (for short), including one time when Ginger, Caroline and I decided to travel to the faded  light house in the distance. I didnt realized how far it was when I embarked on the journey, but it took over three hours of carefully stepping over seaweed and collecting sea glass. I thought we finally arrived when I could almost touch the chipped red stripe of the light house but there was still a couple hundred meters left. We walked up the scattered boulders but even though we were so close, we never made it to the light house. There was an abandoned warehouse place behind the beacon of light, and also some shady guys on motorcycles. Ginger and Caroline got scared so we ran back for about 20 minutes. Then in order to make better time I had the stupid idea of going thought the woods to get to the road. After getting chased by a dog  and silently passing the “Trespassers will Be Shot” signs, we finally made it to the main road. I realized how far we got because I didn’t know where we were at all. The shady motorcycle guY  passed by us twice which motivated us to move faster. Sweat dripping down my brow, I could see two peninsulas, one of which was where my house was. I chose the right peninsula, and it turned out to be right. We came back the same way we left, secretly and pretended  nothing had happened.

 

 

 

 

Jammin' In Jamaica

When I was a kid, I used to go to Jamaica every year. It was something I looked forward to; to feel the warm sand beneath my toes, sometimes heating up so much that I had to run around not to get burned. The ocean was kind and aquamarine blue with hundreds of colorful fish all about. With my family , we would go on glass bottom boat trips with Jack, a local Jamaican man with a pleasant weathered look to him. We would go on adventures snorkeling  in forbidden caves where only the bats lurked. The coastline was jagged yet smooth from the ocean constantly smashing against it. White foam would mist up and sting my eyes, but I didn’t care because I was happy. Looking back, as a kid I never saw  the bad part of Jamaica, only the good. I would hear Bob Marley’s music and the smell of freshly cooked jerk chicken instead of the poverty and dangers of people’s greed.

The last time we went to Jamaica I had a glimpse of how it was not all good memories, because we were robbed in the middle of the night. Someone came into our room, broke into the safe and stole most of the money. Thankfully, no one woke up. I swear to god I knew who did it. It was the sketchy security guard who had connections and one eye that was slightly off.  I think everyone knew, but the hotel manager argued that “his dad was a police officer so it couldn’t have been him.” Despite this, I was still happy because I got a colored band that allowed me to get free fruit smoothies and the delicious rum raison ice cream at the beachside bar.