I didn't take the picture; it's not quite this green here in March, but it is the view from our hotel of Carne Beach, on the Roseland Peninsula
The amazing thing about this trip is that Ross planned it all. All of it. I used to be the family travel agent in my first marriage, a role I actually liked. But I have to say, I like my new role (the person presented with options or, better yet, presented with a plan just short of booking and asked, "How does this look to you?").
My parents ended up buying land close to Scarborough Beach and building a summer house there in 1962. They rebuilt it into a year-round house in 1983 and retired there. My siblings and I inherited it, but I really didn't feel the atavistic pull of the beach the way the others did. I can't say why not, and I can't dispute my brother's comment that it's a magical place. I just found that I resented time spent there as it wasn't Harmony, my current home. Despite all the sea water in my childhood, I'd fallen in love with a tiny patch of the Endless Mountains in northeastern Pennsylvania, and wanted to be there more than at the beach.
Of course, I'd love to come back here when it's sunny and warm (as opposed to sunny & chilly, the way it is today) but we're going to have to win the lottery or make a lot of money some other way. But I'll tell you this: if health care reform (or something) doesn't happen in the US soon, I might seriously consider retiring to Cornwall. It's very sleepy and quiet, but a whole lot less snowy than NE Pennsylvania.