Mark Dansak

Despite an unorthodox childhood, we had one traditional pastime: the summer vacation to the beach. We stayed at “Orange Beach Cottages,” where pastel cottages named after flowers nestled on a rustic spit of land. 

Tall loblolly pines, old and craggly, provided shade leading up to the bay. We played at the land’s edge for long hours swatting mosquitoes, chasing minnows, and paddling in the shallow water. 

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