FINDINGS
I’ve spent the last two years walking the beach every day. Sometimes, it’s only once. If I’m lucky, I get in three. Her royal highness likes her mornings to begin with her paws making dainty footprints in the sand at sunrise, and please don’t tell her she has to walk on the road. It’s not pretty. Besides the fantastic natural pedicure and bonus of calories lost on my seaside sojourns, I love the sense of wonder at what I will find each day.
I categorize my findings into five categories. Category one is nature's findings. Pieces of tumbled beach glass, seashells in a myriad of colors, starfish and sand dollars who forgot the tide was going out and need a little help getting past the tideline, pieces of hot pink bougainvillea, and dry leaves that skid across the sand like kiteboarders. There are crabs and shorebirds, trees that have washed up, and once I had the privilege of standing guard while a baby turtle made his way to the water, where I dared the two hungry falcons eyeing my charge to come near him.
Category two is human findings. These I find amusing. The lone flipflop, socks (who wears socks on the beach?), shirts, jeans, the occasional hat, and underwear (I’m not going down that road. Let’s hope whoever left it behind had a great time). Sometimes, Elvis and I will find a child’s toy, and I can hear the child screaming in the car about their favorite toy now lost. I’ve found a couple of watches (our security guard was thrilled when I found a working one and gave it to him) and sunglasses. I think I’ve found twenty so far, and I use them to decorate the coconuts and pineapples along the way. It gives them a cool factor only known by the likes of the volleyball scene in Top Gun. We’ve also encountered the occasional offering—vegetables, fruits, rum, and half-smoked cigars the locals leave to the ocean. We admire them and walk a wide berth, not wishing to disturb what has been given back to the sea.
Category three is also human but goes a little further. These are the unusual things that wash up, particularly after a higher-than-normal tide. A rusted blue stockpot pushed high into the sea grass after one such tidal event, and a plastic chair so encrusted with barnacles it looked like a throne for Neptune himself. We’ve found a plethora of soccer balls and volleyballs (WILSON!) and a jart from the lawn darts game (weren’t these taken off the market decades ago?). My favorite category three finding so far has been a rusted machete. Coming upon it, I whipped my head around frantically after finding it thrust hilt up in the sand and scoured the beach for Johnny Depp, wearing killer eyeliner while drunkenly holding a bottle of rum. Alas, the only thing walking with a swagger was a pelican.
But there is one more finding category. If you listen hard enough, you will find…yourself. I don’t walk with earbuds in my ears; the roar of the ocean, the whistle of the wind, and the squawks of the birds are my orchestra. To quote the late, great J.B., I came here two years ago looking for answers to questions that bothered me so. I answer one only to find ten more behind it, but they are revealing themselves to me. When there is nothing but the pounding surf and the voice in your head, the distractions tend to go away, and the mirror is held up. It can be a bitter pill to swallow (and where is Johnny Depp with that rum when you need him?), but I’m learning.
So, what to leave you with after reading today’s ramblings? Take the earbuds out, and find your own findings. You’d be amused by what comes across your path.
I categorize my findings into five categories. Category one is nature's findings. Pieces of tumbled beach glass, seashells in a myriad of colors, starfish and sand dollars who forgot the tide was going out and need a little help getting past the tideline, pieces of hot pink bougainvillea, and dry leaves that skid across the sand like kiteboarders. There are crabs and shorebirds, trees that have washed up, and once I had the privilege of standing guard while a baby turtle made his way to the water, where I dared the two hungry falcons eyeing my charge to come near him.
Category two is human findings. These I find amusing. The lone flipflop, socks (who wears socks on the beach?), shirts, jeans, the occasional hat, and underwear (I’m not going down that road. Let’s hope whoever left it behind had a great time). Sometimes, Elvis and I will find a child’s toy, and I can hear the child screaming in the car about their favorite toy now lost. I’ve found a couple of watches (our security guard was thrilled when I found a working one and gave it to him) and sunglasses. I think I’ve found twenty so far, and I use them to decorate the coconuts and pineapples along the way. It gives them a cool factor only known by the likes of the volleyball scene in Top Gun. We’ve also encountered the occasional offering—vegetables, fruits, rum, and half-smoked cigars the locals leave to the ocean. We admire them and walk a wide berth, not wishing to disturb what has been given back to the sea.
Category three is also human but goes a little further. These are the unusual things that wash up, particularly after a higher-than-normal tide. A rusted blue stockpot pushed high into the sea grass after one such tidal event, and a plastic chair so encrusted with barnacles it looked like a throne for Neptune himself. We’ve found a plethora of soccer balls and volleyballs (WILSON!) and a jart from the lawn darts game (weren’t these taken off the market decades ago?). My favorite category three finding so far has been a rusted machete. Coming upon it, I whipped my head around frantically after finding it thrust hilt up in the sand and scoured the beach for Johnny Depp, wearing killer eyeliner while drunkenly holding a bottle of rum. Alas, the only thing walking with a swagger was a pelican.
But there is one more finding category. If you listen hard enough, you will find…yourself. I don’t walk with earbuds in my ears; the roar of the ocean, the whistle of the wind, and the squawks of the birds are my orchestra. To quote the late, great J.B., I came here two years ago looking for answers to questions that bothered me so. I answer one only to find ten more behind it, but they are revealing themselves to me. When there is nothing but the pounding surf and the voice in your head, the distractions tend to go away, and the mirror is held up. It can be a bitter pill to swallow (and where is Johnny Depp with that rum when you need him?), but I’m learning.
So, what to leave you with after reading today’s ramblings? Take the earbuds out, and find your own findings. You’d be amused by what comes across your path.
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