When the ferry docked on the small beach town, I was surprised by how serene it was. I was picked up by a truck, and brought to the beach cottage that would be home for the next week. After pulling into the gravel driveway I heard the blues being played in such a manner that it gave me the imagery of a smoke filled bar with an old weathered man playing his much loved Martin guitar singing of better times. Upon seeing the people responsible for playing the live music I was greeted warmly by the two gentlemen. They told me that they had hit the devils water earlier that evening because one of them was going through a rough break up so they decided to mourn together. The way they played brought a smile to my face because they would just write ridiculous lines with even worse strum patterns to cheer one another up. They would only take breaks to take a sip of alcohol or a drag of a cigarette then jump back into song writing. The one going through the break up was really kind to me, and offered to buy me a burger at a local joint they were going to walk too. I just asked for a root beer, and was then shown to my room. The room had a singular full bed, with an old school desk as a nightstand, and a closet. On the desk nightstand was a stack of magazines for me to read that ranged from Thrasher to Surfer Magazine. I read those pamphlets for years after until they started to fall apart. I said goodnight, and fell asleep reading Surfer Magazine.

The next morning I woke to the house bulldog jumping on my bed, and nuzzling me until I got up. His name was Abe after Abraham Lincoln because they had the same birthday, and I thought you’d like to know that. I plodded to the kitchen, and was slapped in the face with the smells of coffee, bacon, and eggs. I found the root beer they had gotten for me the night before in the fridge, and decided it’s a great time as any to have a jolt of sugar for breakfest. That kitchen holds the memories of the first time I drank a full cup of coffee, how I was taught the rules of surfing, and was given a history lesson on the band Led Zeppelin. After breakfast we went down to the family owned grocery store, and got supplies for the week. The thing about Montauk is that it’s a beautiful place. There is a law that there are no chain retailers allowed within the area so everything is locally owned. Generations of families own the coffee, surf, and clothing shops that line the town as well as the phenomenal restaurants. Every time you go into a store you walk into a story, and someone’s livelihood. It’s one of the coolest experiences you can have as a human. Throughout that week I would walk into coffee shops, video/corner stores, and surf shacks where everyone knew everyone. There was a friendliness, and sense of community I haven’t felt since. I felt loved, and watched out by total strangers.

The surf community is one of the coolest out there. Yes, they are particular about who surfs where as they don’t want any old kook with a board messing up the lineup, but overall they are a lot more welcome to new comers. On one of the beaches (I can’t recall the name) is where I learned to surf. I instantly fell in love with how fast the board would glide through the water or the struggle. The struggle to get out to a spot to catch a wave for it to only end so quickly that you couldn’t get back through that struggle fast enough to catch another one. As corny as it may come off, surfing became my happy place. The beach was beautiful, and had a little food shack called Ditch Witch where you could get various food items all mixed with the sea salt air. I remember getting one of the best grilled-cheeses in my life there never to be duplicated again. Throughout my stay I watched classic films, listened to well-told stories, met unique people, ate homemade recipes passed from generations, and read various art books. One book in particular captured my attention so much that years later through a lot of vague Google searches I was able to find and purchase it. The clothing styles I saw, and the culture I interacted with inspire me now years later. I could go on forever, and go into more detail but I shall spare you. I’ll end with this.

I fell in love with Montauk, and the instruction I was given at that point changed me. It was for only a week, and I’ve only been able to go back once since then. I have a little dream, which is to recreate what I experienced wherever I end up settling down. It was the best type of living, and I want to share that with everyone around me.