Plum Island

When my mother came up from her home in Texas to visit, I knew she wouldn't want to peruse any museums, amble the historic city streets, or explore the night life. But Massachusetts is a state of diversity -- it has something for everyone.

Uncertain of how well it would go over, I drove us up 95 North to Newburyport; a quaint town on the shore near Plum Island. It's the location of a Visitor Center equipped with pamphlets on wildlife conservation and unique hiking trails, as well as adorable knick-knack shops and restaurants with views of the water.

First things first, we shared lunch on the back patio at the Black Cow (a sit-down restaurant within sight of the Visitor Center) where my mother and I split a bowl of steamed mussels and a lobster crescent sandwich. The latter was especially perfect because earlier she had refused to eat a more traditional lobster roll, insisting that it is disrespectful to stuff lobster in a hot dog bun. We agreed that it was both delicious and culinarily appropriate.

With full stomachs and smiles, we took a short drive through town and suddenly we were crossing the "bridge" to Plum Island. It appears a very sleepy town from what we could only assume was the main drag, so without much else to see, we found a parking lot and walked about 200 yards to the beach.

The sand was warm and soft, peppered with small glittering shells and long seagull feathers. A few visitors had brought their dogs who, free of their leashes, relished in kicking up sand and being photographed by me. After snapping a few photos, I turned around to find my mother doing the same -- she was texting pictures she was taking with her phone of her toes in the sand, in an attempt to make her friends jealous. She succeeded.

And so had I! She loved it. I was a good daughter... phew!