Blowing Springs is not the ocean and the ocean is not Blowing Springs.

We met up with some friends (Hornicks, Lodens, Fuhrimans, Scheeles, and Harnishfegers) at blowing springs for a picnic and water play day. The kids played and explored and the moms did what moms do best and talked and talked and made sure no one got hurt (or kissed boo-boos) when someone did). 

Trails were hiked, caves were entered, 2 lizards and a frog were captured, and butterflies, fish, and many crawdads were netted. 

To be "cool" I picked up the fattest crawdad and dangled it at the kids to freak them out. My funny plan backfired when the little stinker reached its huge claw behind its back and totally pinched my finger! I screamed in shock and dropped it on the picnic table and everyone had a good laugh at my expense.  

Every now and then, I will recall a wonderful memory from my childhood and suddenly become very sad that my children don't have the same childhood that I did. They will get some of them when we take vacations, but they won't have the same expert knowledge for catching sand crabs or know not to feed the seagulls, or to set up blankets far enough from the shore that they won't get soaked when the tide comes in.  My children won't be able to just close their eyes and immediately recall the standing ankle deep in the ocean for hours while ice cold waves pull back to sea and erode the wet sand beneath your heels, swiftly carrying away the earth youre planted on in a way that almost makes you think you're moving backwards in the water, even though you're standing totally still.  Little memories like that are so fresh and distinct and the first thing I think of when I recall a day at the beach when I was little. My children won't have those memories because they live in Arkansas while they are little. They'll get a taste when we visit home but they won't know California the way I did. 

A friend of mine grew up in Utah and commented on how strange it is to think that she knew how to ski by the time she was the age of her youngest, and her oldest still has never even been on a pair of skiis. 

But we didn't grow up knowing how to lift a rock from the creek, then immediately swish the water with a net to catch a crawdad. I did grow up with oranges and pomegranates in my backyard, but it certainly did not have natural springs and caves and hundreds of oak trees in it like it does now. Difference in memories doesn't make one less magical than the other.  I'm happy for our blissful day at blowing springs last week.  The pure joy it brought my children reminded me how lucky I am to only be in my thirties and have already experienced so much of the earth's variety. A day spent filling butterfly nets amd eating watermelon in a creek is not a day spent at the ocean, and my children would still argue that it ispretty good childhood memory to have.