Words for Wednesday - September First

  All September, and so also today, the first day and Wednesday of September, the prompts are given by Cindy at Of Dandelions and Sunshine.
  The prompt for today is a challenge: "They say a picture is worth 1,000 words.   Paint us a picture with at least 100 words of your favourite vacation spot."

  Could you - given this prompt - imagine me going anywhere but back in time to Unicorn Island?
  Remember that the non-magical parts of the tale are memories from my childhood. Susan is/was me, and here is the opening scene of Unicorn Farm, rewritten to suit the prompt.

  The long car ride was over. Susan and her sister and parents were warmly welcomed by their aunt and uncle and all helped carry things from the car into the house. After a hasty and late supper, Susan took her book outside to sit on the terrace. She sat there with the book propped open in her lap and her legs stretched out on the terrace boards, not really reading, only savouring the quiet and open space around her. The stars began popping out in the sky, and with them came the mosquitoes. She hurried into the garage and into bed.

Next morning, after the traditional first morning in the summer house breakfast of pancakes and syrup, Susan and her sister rushed off to see if everything was as it used to be. The summerhouse was totally uninteresting, just a place to eat and sleep between trips to the beach or to the other attractions of the island. 
  The excitement began where the hedges and the yellowing lawn stopped. Out in the corn field that everybody was allowed to play and walk in! You could build intricate complexes in the style of beaver holes, but you could also just go for a walk, picking grains and wild flower bouquets. You could sit quietly hidden, hoping that a rabbit came by. They often raced the rabbits, but the rabbits always won. Or you could just lie on your back and look past the slowly moving ears of corn up on drifting white clouds, that created always new patterns and pictures.
  They played in the grain field, making the almost ritual tunnel from the path down to the water. Then they ran down the path to see if the stairs leading to the water was still there. It was. Solid railroad sleepers curved down towards the shore. They ran down the sleepers loudly counting the steps 29, 30, 31, 32! Yes, they were all there. They first only waded in the water, because the waves were big that day. Big enough to push over a little girl. But after a short while the temptation grew too big. They shed their worn dresses and tumbled in the water. It was wonderful, Susan loved the big waves, it was just fabulous to skip through them, and over them, tumbling like a dolphin.  It was everything as delicious as she had expected, but cold still in the early June days. As they sat drying on the huge, warm boulders  a boat sailed past, loaded with strange looking people in Icelandic sweaters and with looking glasses around the neck.
  "It's probably the ornithologists, our aunt talked about," Susan said, feeling relieved to have remembered the strange word.
"Oy," her sister replied, "why do yo always have to use all those big words. It's just a boat full of bird watchers." Susan resisted the temptation to answer that she had read it in a book somewhere, partly because it was not true, partly because she did not want to start the holiday with a quarrel.
  After having dried somewhat at the large stones, they went looking for belemnites in the rubble below the cliffs. Today her sister was the lucky one lucky and  found the first one, but a little later Susan found a petrified sea urchin half hidden in a stone. They agreed to go home again, it would soon be time for lunch. So they raced one another on the paths back to the summerhouse.

580 words.