Bitty Girl is humming to herself, the never-ending soundtrack to her little life. Sometimes she throws in a phrase or two when it’s pertinent to her activity, but mostly she hums as deliberately stabs her little pink-handled shovel into the soft gravel. She watches as the smooth rocks cascade to the ground.
Small waves crash a few yards away, casting salty spray against a massive rock that has captivated my husband and three eldest children. I watch them scramble to the top and dash about far too close to the edge for my comfort. I wonder how many mothers have lain right where I am, warmed by the sun above and the soft rocks below, as their progeny stretch their wings on this rocky beach.
Everything about this beach oozes of history.The caverns carved by crashing waves, the rock island in the middle of the cove with time-worn paths made by curious explorers climbing its sides, and the blanket of rocks worn smooth from centuries of tides.
Even the name, Spooners Cove, sparks an imaginative tale of adventure and mystery. How many pirate ships put in here to bury their treasure? Who were they hiding from? What wealth and stories were buried in those heavy chests? Did the Pirates ever return to dig it up, or did someone else find it first? Or better yet, is it still buried somewhere underneath me?
Bitty Girl has graduated to a larger shovel and is peacefully scooping away at the pool her Daddy dug out earlier. Perhaps she’ll uncover a treasure eventually…

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