My grandparents were snow birds. In the fall, winter, and spring they spent their time in the Florida Keys and in the summer, they lived at their beach house in the sleepy New England beach town: Black Point. Because they were only in CT (where I grew up) for a few months out of the year, we spent a lot of time visiting them at their cottage. 
Their house was just a few up from the beach and I have so many fond memories of walking down to the shore: towels, buckets, crabbing lines, carried down to the water where we would spend the morning; begrudgingly heading home for lunch where we'd eat on the patio in our bathing suits, covered in sand, before running back down to the beach to spend the rest of the afternoon. It was here that I grew to love the ocean and the creatures that called that place home. I loved to dig out tide pools and collect hermit crabs, green crabs and sometimes minnows to observe in the shallow water before the shifting tide would consume the small pool and swallow up the tiny habitat; freeing the occupants from their temporary enclosure. Here's my ode to those simple summers spent searching for green crabs.