The beginning of my summers growing up consisted of going to the beach at Gulf Shores, staying in a stilted, un air conditioned house that was grandfathered into a wildlife refuge. It was easy to romanticize this place, thinking back to the birds and waves and sunsets. We stopped going when the house changed owners. A couple of years ago I returned to the exact spot on the beach where we used to go, noticing the everpresent oil rigs on the horizon, and bits of trash tangled in the beach grass. I wanted to create an updated version of my memory.