I grew up a short walk from the Cove. Nearby were a few shops, including a bakery. The aroma of fresh donuts mingled with rotting fish. The firehouse was also there back then. A horn blasted out the fire’s location in a code you could look up on a listing we kept taped to the back of a kitchen cabinet. I learned to swim at the Cove. We’d be issued kick boards and sent into the water with orders to kick our way back ashore. If there were jellyfish, we’d have to scoop them up with our kick boards and dump them on the sand. The water was always cold. We didn't care. The ocean called to us, and we could never refuse.