🏗️ Wrecking ball vs. Shore cottage | Down the Shore

The unofficial end of summer is here, and I’m (Jason Nark) back to write one of the final Jersey Shore newsletter of the season. I’ve done a few of these end-of-summer newsletters over the years, and they get me feeling a little introspective. I’ve written about getting ditched by my teenage kids on the Wildwood boardwalk in the past, the ebb and flow of nostalgia I experience there, and the joy of getting to do it all over again with a toddler.

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And that’s what I’m doing this year, too.

For almost 30 years now, most of my Shore time has been at my parents’ two-bedroom condominium on Hereford Inlet in North Wildwood. It’s been a real blessing, particularly with my four kids, and I’ve grown more grateful for it as time passes. I made a few trips to other shore towns, like Asbury Park and Ocean Grove, this summer that really cemented that for me: I couldn’t afford to spend even one night there.

I’ve always been concerned with the affordability of the Shore, how that goal of a weekend at the beach must be a real struggle for working families, and the hassle of finding a hot shower if you’re a day-tripper.

I visited North Wildwood irregularly myself this summer, a few days here and there with my daughter but never anything too long. Still, I found a nice rhythm, some real peace in walking my dog, Wanda, at night — bless my parents for letting me bring her — after my daughter went to bed. I’m talking two-hour walks, along the sea wall, on side roads, past the bars, etc. During many of those walks, I just studied houses, watching people watch the Phillies or hearing them laugh on a deck. Some were too brightly lit, others a bit cookie-cutter for my taste, but I found myself pausing at the interesting ones and the smaller homes with faded siding and old screen doors. I take photos of them, sometimes, from afar.

One of those houses, a 760-square-foot cottage that was built in 1950, was up for sale. It was bright yellow and charming. It was going for just over $2 million and, as I suspected, probably wouldn’t be there next summer.

“They’re not buying the house, they’re buying the location,” a local real estate agent said in a Facebook video about the home. “Most likely, this place gets torn down and replaced with a luxury shore home.”

The wrecking ball has been cruel to me in the Wildwoods, taking the Thunderbird Inn, the Golden Nugget ride on the boardwalk, and the postcard-perfect Château Bleu hotel. There are too many to name.

I’ll feel it a bit next summer when that cottage is gone. I’d love to be wrong.

As I get older, I’ve tried to loosen my grip on nostalgia, to not waste emotions worrying about the long-gone Lamp Post Diner, or bait shops that seem to be barely hanging on.

I’ve even accepted that my parents’ place may someday change hands. They are older now and deserve to reap the rewards of a wise investment, whether it’s retiring there or selling altogether. They get plenty of feelers from real estate agents.

Still, watching my daughter — she’s 5 — on the beach this summer, seeing her eat all the pepperoni off her slice of Sam’s Pizza, or work up the nerve to ride the log flume I’ve been on 100 times, I feel nostalgia’s strong grip again. I’m not sure I’d be able to afford all those memories without that cozy, little condo.

“I love it,” my father told me when I asked why he’s held out so many years. “Plain and simple, I love it.”

My parents’ place is in a whole unit of condos, and I couldn’t fathom it being torn down for something larger, but I’ve been wrong before, and stranger things have happened… in Avalon.

📮 What do you think about the tear-down trend at the Jersey Shore? Do you see it as progress? Does it hurt a bit, or can you look on the bright side and see the rising tide — property values — lifting your boat, too? Let me know what you think by replying to this email. Have ideas or news tips about the Shore? Send them to us here.

— Jason Nark (🐦 Tweet me at @jasonnark. 📧 email me here.)

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C. 16

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If you think you know the answer, click on this story to find out.

We asked our text group The Shore Line about changing manners down the Shore after a reader observed that people were angling for the right of way even on mobility mats leading to the beach.

Here’s a sampling of the response:

An end of summer memory from Jacqui Delario:

My sisters and I grew up in South Philly and summered with my aunt and uncle on Cresse Ave in Wildwood Crest. I live in Margate now; nothing was as magical as Wildwood in the 60s. Just before Labor Day, we always had a big crabs and macaroni dinner. My dad purchased the crabs somewhere offshore, with corn from a Goshen farm.

Aunt Betty declawed the crabs — she wore sturdy black shoes and wielded her kitchen tools like weapons. My mother and Aunt Sue were inside preparing the rest. Aunt Betty and Uncle Joe had a big picnic table. They removed the umbrella and added newspaper. Shortly before sunset, we started eating. First was the linguine. The crab gravy was so sweet you hated to stop at one serving. Then magically, the crabs appeared, later the corn. We stayed at the table for hours. My mom and my aunts somehow kept the food coming while never appearing to leave the table.

But it was also a bittersweet occasion — a highlight of the summer, which was ending.

Keep sending us your Shore memories! You never know when Down the Shore will pop up in your inbox. In 200 words, tell us how the Shore taps into something deep for you, and we will publish them in this space.

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