Seal Harbor was another favorite beach. We’d swim out to the floats and sun ourselves like the eponymous sea creatures. Dad would lie on the beach, reading the “New York Times”. Sometimes I’d come out of the chilly Atlantic waters and lie on his sun-warmed back, putting my cold, wet face on his sun-warmed neck, my towel over me. It must have been spectacularly uncomfortable for him, but he never complained.
The Rockefellers had a summer place there, and when my sister was a baby, she observed the boats in the harbor: “Boat, boat…BIG boat!” That was the Rockefellers’ yacht.