Considering my age (80 in two weeks), it's not surprising my memories of the El Morro beach are more detailed than the recent residents who have reveled there for some years. Now, I have nothing against reveling, having done my share in times past.
Coming from Long Beach as a young child on Sundays, I remembered my family driving down the two-lane Coast Highway and always pulling off the road to the El Morro beach, deserted by people but framed with beach grasses and a good many different types of bird life.
The first repast after the early and substantial breakfast at home was unpacked and the fragrance inhaled seemed so different than lunch at home. My mother believed in food. As she unwrapped the waxed paper-covered sandwiches and special picnic treasures, she always remarked that a hard-boiled egg wasn't really good unless it had a bit of sand on it.