Living With My Inner Beach

As promised in “Finding My Inner Beach,” here is the sequel, “Living With My Inner Beach.” As I write, I contemplate the past seven weeks of an extended stay on Folly Beach, facing the prospect of heading back north to mountains and lakes in a week.

The Power

This year, the power of the water and beach has struck me more forcefully than previously. From our condo, I look out upon the Atlantic Ocean. On calm, clear days, I see the diamonds dancing on the surface, knowing the strength that lurks beneath the beauty. On windy days, I see the power churning the surface, see the surf swell and break. The foamy crests spill at different points, coming together like falling dominoes tipped at different points in the line. Sometimes, the waves curl like Elvis’s lip.

An excerpt from my diary: “Today as I walked the beach at sunset, I noticed I was focusing on the waves and not looking at the ocean as a whole—like the saying, ‘You can’t see the forest for the trees,’ I couldn’t see the ocean for the waves.”

On one beach walk, I came across a sizeable dead bird. As it was low tide, I knew the water would come in and sweep the body out to sea—carry out the carrion. The event gave me a new understanding of the cleansing power of the tide.

After sunny days, the people and dogs leave the beach looking like the ocean surface on calm days, full of small footprint ripples. Then, the wind sweeps through, scouring the churned sand to a smooth surface again. Sometimes, people write messages in the sand, usually love notes. During one beach walk, I found a maze drawn in the sand with “Family” written in the middle.

The Shells

I made a resolution this year only to bring in shells that potentially have a function. Of course, I broke that resolution, but not too badly. I am including a picture of shells gathered this year and their functions. My favorite one is the toothpick holder. However, other uses include holders for a kitchen scrubby, potpourri, candles, change, used tea bags and rings. Shells can also serve as a rest for chopsticks and pens and pencils and as a soap dish.

The People

Both from the condo and while walking on the beach, I have seen a wide variety of people. On one morning walk, I noticed a woman and a young girl with a bicycle near the water’s edge. The woman would hold on to the back of the bike while the girl pedaled. When the woman would let go, the girl would lose her balance and stop. What an odd place to teach a child to ride a bicycle, but as my grandsons noted, if the girl fell on the sand, it wouldn’t hurt as much as if she fell on a sidewalk.

Watching dogs walk their people has been fascinating. Dogs of all sorts walk people of all sorts. Of course, larger dogs need fewer steps to move forward than smaller dogs. Frequently, the little legs of the smaller dogs seem to move as if the dogs are cartoon characters stuck on a slippery surface.

On one sunset walk, a young fisherman—probably in his 20’s—approached me and asked if I had found any sharks’ teeth. The fumes of alcohol emanating from him almost gave me a secondary drunk. He informed me he was hoping to catch a shark. I wished him luck and scurried on my way.

Returning from another sunset walk, I passed three Rasta-type guys with a dog and a half-gallon of Fireball. They took turns chugging from the bottle and offering “free Fireball” to anyone who passed, especially attractive young women. They didn’t ask me! I was relieved to be able to walk past them while they were distracted by other beachgoers.

On a more sober note, on one late-day beach walk, I noticed someone playing a guitar. She had no one gathered around her listening, but was sitting, singing and playing to herself and to the cosmos. It seemed to be a celebration of the beach, a private concert for the beach and for her soul.