Browsed by
Category: beach

Red Tide

Red Tide

Comments 0 Comment

Yesterday, the beach was emptier than I’ve ever seen it. Figuring it was due to the high wind — the retreating edges of Tropical Storm Fred, by then pushing north to the panhandle — I took off walking as I usually do, tennis shoes slung over my shoulder, sinking my toes in the sand, warm water flowing up to my ankles as I skirted the waves. 

It was a perfect beach walking day — except it was anything but. 

I had heard about Red Tide, an algae bloom that kills fish and other wildlife, but mistakenly thought that if you couldn’t see it, it wasn’t there.

But then the cough I had noticed earlier became more insistent and my eyes watered so much I could scarcely keep them open. Could Red Tide hurt humans, too? 

The lifeguard station was farther up the beach, and by the time I reached it there was another coughing, sneezing, watery-eyed person asking the same question.

“It’s really bad today,” said the guard, who was wearing one of those bandana masks that’s not allowed on airplanes but which seemed to be helping him cope with Karenia brevis, the organism that was causing the symptoms. 

When I looked closer, I noticed the little red flag flying from the lifeguard stand.  Red Tide: I have a healthy respect for it now.

(Photo: Courtesy ocean.si.edu)

Simplicity

Simplicity

Comments 0 Comment

I learned from the Writer’s Almanac  that today is the birthday of the poet Mary Oliver, who lived from 1935 to 2019. I discovered her only years before her passing, reading her prose before her poetry. But it poetry that she was known for and poetry that won her the Pulitzer Prize in 1984. 

Today’s entry includes a few words from Oliver about what she needed, which wasn’t much:

“I’ve always wanted to write poems and nothing else. There were times over the years when life was not easy, but when you can work a few hours a day and you’ve got a good book to read and you can go outside to the beach and dig for clams, you’re okay.”

I will hold onto that simplicity today. 

Bodies and Souls

Bodies and Souls

Comments 0 Comment

The several loads of laundry I’ve done since returning home are a good re-entry point. Cleaning and folding make me feel at home. And being on the deck as my nightgown blows in the breeze helps me remember the freedom I felt at the shore.

That feeling of freedom is more important now than ever. It’s so easy to feel hemmed in by the pandemic, to think only about what we can’t do, where we can’t go.

Of course we must take care always to protect ourselves and those we love. But we must also find our own personal balance points, the tradeoffs we will or won’t make to ensure that we not only keep our bodies intact — but our souls as well.

Traveling Twice

Traveling Twice

Comments 0 Comment

This year’s beach read is The Big Rock Candy Mountain by Wallace Stegner, a family saga as broad and as deep as the western horizon. It’s been a fine book for this year’s trip, accompanying me on the plane and on the strand.

There aren’t many readers on the beach these days. There are plenty of people on their phones, and, believe it or not in this age of air buds, plenty of people listening to portable radios loudly enough that everyone nearby can hear them, too.

But I spotted only three or four people reading books on yesterday’s walk, though the day before I happened to park myself by an entire family in thrall. But though few in number, readers stand out. There they sit in perfect communion with the printed pages, as waves break and gulls swoop. They could be anywhere — running through an airport in Bangkok or driving cattle through a freak spring snowstorm in Montana.

I like to think that these readers have discovered what I have: that when you travel with a book, you travel twice.

Beyond the Beach

Beyond the Beach

Comments 0 Comment

When you’re at the beach it’s easy to be seduced by it, to think there is nothing else to see or do. But  there are other pleasures. The pool, for instance. I’ve spent many hours lazing by it, reading or writing, and many hours in it, as my body cools and my fingers shrivel.

And there is walking around the little village center here, where you can people-watch, pick up a salad for dinner and buy a souvenir or two.

Finally, there’s the mental vibe of the beach, which expands beyond the sand and surf into the light and the wind — into the words I write, the thoughts I think and the dreams I dream.

I guess that’s why I keep coming back.

Puddles

Puddles

Comments 0 Comment

The last few afternoons have featured big rains with dark clouds building, sheets of water falling and palm trees swaying. These storms have left large puddles in their wake, bodies of water like small ponds, making you cross the street when you’re walking to the market to pick up the salad dressing you forgot to buy an hour earlier.

The puddles mirror the sky and the clouds that created them. The images vanish when the water meets the macadam.  I skirt them at first, but then take the time to snap a shot.

Looking at it now I see how the grain of the gravel underlies the mottled cloudscape — and the upside-down palms seem like two small brooms, ready to sweep the street of rain.

Fast Walk at High Tide

Fast Walk at High Tide

Comments 0 Comment

The sun is well up in the sky, the aroma of sunscreen fills the air, all the shells have been found. It’s a fast walk at high tide.

Yes, the intentions are pure. I could imagine the early rising as I took 40 more winks, could feel myself pulling on running shoes, tying the laces, tucking my hair up in the baseball cap, heading out into a still, silent world where only a few beachcombers strolled meditatively along the shore.

Instead, I found myself hours later, dodging the breakers as they edged onto the only hard sand left, crunching the dross of smashed shells and dried seaweed.

It was hot, it was invigorating. It was a fast walk at high tide. 

Kinda Sorta Like Normal

Kinda Sorta Like Normal

Comments 0 Comment

It’s not like you can forget the pandemic here. I’m aware that the virus is still raging. To get here, I wore both a mask and a face shield. And when I enter a grocery store, which is the only place I enter other than my room, people wear masks.

But on the beach, which is so broad and glorious, so built for social distancing, I can walk and look and sit and stare and pretend that life is whole once again.

In other words … it’s kinda, sorta like normal.

Holding On

Holding On

Comments 0 Comment

What helps the beach state remain? I’m asking myself that question today, as I feel it slipping away.

I was off to a good start on the way home: a plane so empty that each passenger had his or her own row of seats.

Then a late-day landing that showcased the Washington Monument and the Capitol, the graceful spans across the Potomac, the compact graciousness of the place.

But today there was the long commute into Arlington, the work call that came in before I reached the office, the emails, the to-dos that piled up when I was gone.

Welcome back, they say.  I try not to listen. I hold onto the beach state for dear life!

Beach State

Beach State

Comments 0 Comment

Today I leave the beach. That much is indisputable. But I hope to keep the beach state.

The beach state, as you might suspect, is the habit of pondering clouds and palm trees. It’s also the habit of not caring as much about every little thing. It’s the habit of letting go.

Beaches, after all, are receptacles. Onto them is thrown the flotsam of the sea, and from this random collection of shells and plastic bits comes sand both smooth and powdery (depending upon how close it is to the ocean). The beach, in short, is accomplished at acceptance.

This is something I would like to emulate, the beach state of acceptance. So it’s that I would like to take home with me.

It’s easy to think about retaining the beach state with the smell of sun on my skin and a tropical breeze moving palm fronds to and fro. Much more difficult when I’m standing on a crowded Metro train or sitting at my office desk, up to my ears in work.

But that’s when the beach state is needed most of all.