I recently spent a glorious day at the beach. It’s what summer was made for, right?

Toes in the sand. Wind whipping your hair in every possible direction. The ocean stretching so far into the distance that you can lose yourself in its vastness.

Yes, it was one of those days I look forward to every summer.

But besides taking in the beauty of it all, there is something else I love to do at the beach.

People-watch.

More specifically, I love watching the kids.

Children have very few inhibitions—especially when they are filled with joy. They don’t care who is watching, what their hair looks like, or how much sand has worked its way into their bathing suits.

They are simply having fun.

Here are a few snippets from the shore:

Kids run toward the edge of the water, only to scream their heads off when a wave rushes in and knocks them flat on their bottoms.

Kids begin building sandcastles with their dads, lose interest after five minutes, and wander away. Meanwhile, Dad keeps building until he has created an elaborate beachfront fortress that would make an architect proud.

Kids stare in shock and disbelief when a seagull swoops down and steals a cookie right out of their hand. I understand their feelings about that. No one should come between a person and their cookie.

Kids gather around dead fish and crab shells with a fascinating combination of wonder, excitement, and complete disgust.

Kids dig enormous holes, fill them with water, and carefully place their “treasures” inside—shells, rocks, and the occasional terrified hermit crab. Then they battle the incoming tide as though they alone can stop the entire Atlantic Ocean.

And, of course, there are the children stomping behind their parents at the end of the day because they have been given the worst news imaginable:

It is time to go home.

Have you ever seen these little scenes of childhood at the beach? I love them.

Then there are the adults. Our beach activities tend to be a bit more sedate.

We relax in our chairs by sleeping, reading, eating, or quietly doing all three.

We walk and walk and walk simply because we can. There is no work to rush off to and nowhere else we have to be, so even a walk with no particular destination feels wonderful.

We chat with complete strangers because, for that one day, we already have something in common: We are all at the beach.

We watch seals, seabirds, and boats, which somehow seem far more interesting when we are seeing them from the shore instead of on a television screen.

And we study other people’s beach setups, chairs, umbrellas, wagons, coolers, and games while making mental notes about everything we are definitely bringing “next time.”

Yes, a day at the beach is special.

Maybe it is the sound of the waves, the warm sun, or the freedom of having nowhere else to be. Whatever the reason, the beach seems to bring out the playful side of children and the peaceful side of adults.

At least until it is time to pack everything up.

Then the chairs won’t fold, the wagon won’t roll through the sand, someone has lost a shoe, and half the beach seems to be coming home with us.

But even with the sandy car, the tired feet, and the slightly frazzled ride home, I always leave feeling grateful.

Because for one summer day, life slowed down—and joy was everywhere I looked.

–Peni

P.S. While I was watching all those children exploring the beach, I couldn’t help thinking about the little octopus Kiki in my book Kiki Finds Her Way. She may live beneath the waves, but she shares the same curiosity, courage, and determination I saw in those children along the shore. She is also a good reminder that adventures are often waiting for us just beyond the place where we feel most comfortable.