1
When
I think about the beach, I immediately picture the beaches of my youth. I grew
up spending many days playing in the surf of the Gulf of Mexico on the north
Florida coast. The sand is soft and white because of pure white quartz crystal
washing down from the Appalachian Mountains and depositing in the Gulf. Having seen it my entire life, I know I take it for granted. The beauty
of it is spectacular. In the spring, the water is still cool, and the seaweed
is nonexistent so with the height of the sun and the clarity of the water, the
water color is an incredible turquoise. that I have never seen anything like it anywhere else.
The
problem is that because of the location there are intense storm systems that
blow through on a regular basis. I’ve seen terrible damage, entire shorelines reshaped,
bridges wiped out, and lives lost because of proximity to the coast.
Knowing
what I know makes the decision to not live on the beach an obvious one. Yet,
the beauty of the water pulls at me.
I
would love to live at the beach, just not a Florida beach. Maybe a small island
beach. Something that doesn’t get a lot of insane weather. I hear Hawaii is
nice.
I imagine living on the beach in Hawaii as a small cottage nestled into
the tree line of the shore. There would be a view of crashing waves as a regular feature
from the front door of the house. The house is southern facing so to have
incredible sunset views. I see graceful palm trees dancing in the wind and
dropping the occasional coconut onto the metal roof of the house causing a
horrible clang that terrifies the dog and makes the cats jump out of their bed
nests, which are of course in a beam of sunlight so warm and cozy. There is a sand
and gravel path that meanders from the back of the house out into the forest
where I go for walks with my husband and children finding stones, shells, bugs,
and sticks to keep as treasures while we walk before they are returned to the
forest floor on our return home. We have one of those Jeep vehicles with four
doors and an open top to traverse the landscape without issue. The roads on our
island are not very wide and none are paved so we do well with an all-terrain
vehicle that we can rely on to get us around.
We’ll
need a boat, of course. I don’t think it’s a prudent idea to live on an island
without a boat. After all, what if one needs to leave the island? We’ll use our
boat, mostly, for recreational fishing and water skiing. Sometimes we’ll go out
to scuba dive hoping to catch a glimpse of rare and exotic wildlife in the
water. I imagine we’ll each be tanned from all the time we spend outside in the
sun. Of course, we’ll wear sunscreen, but it only protects to a point and then
the ultraviolet light gets through. I find that wearing sun protective clothing
is a better choice anyway because it eliminates the need to reapply cream
or oil.
I
love the story The Old Man and The Sea, so I imagine our beach home looking a
lot like the old man’s house. Simple and uncluttered with books and newspapers
scattered about. There will be very simple furniture that can endure humidity
and sand because we won’t keep the windows or doors closed very much. The ocean
breeze will smell of salt and sun with the occasional whiff of seaweed and fish.
There will be ceiling fans and a barbecue pit as well as lots of lounge chairs.
The chairs will be scattered about on the front porch, on the sand by the shore,
and in an around our property because we love to spend time milling about with
an occasional rest spent in a chair.
I’ll
have five wide brim straw hats and I’ll wear a different one every day of the
week. On the weekend, I’ll only wear a visor because we will spend
so much time in the wind that my straw hat would constantly be blowing off my
head and that is frustrating to deal with, to say nothing of it not
protecting my delicate nose. Also, when I swim or skin dive, it is easier
keeping track of a visor than a wide brim straw hat. Without doubt.
Yes,
I would love to live at the beach. I would eat grilled coconut and fresh mango
plucked from trees that grow randomly on our property. I can imagine the savory
fish meals my family would eat, smothered in tropical fruit chutneys and
seasoned with sea salt and pepper. My mouth is watering just considering it.
At
night, I will fall asleep listening to the sound of the crashing waves and the
chirping insects of the forest. Night birds occasionally make themselves known
through their song. Under the window to my room I can hear rustling sounds as
small night creatures scavenge around for morsels and seek new places of refuge
from predators. But there are never snakes. Because I don’t like them. So, in
my imagination they aren’t living on my beach or near my beach house.
Our
house would be within a few miles of a small and quaint grocery store called
Gary’s that is owned by people we know. We would make weekly treks to the store
to gather ingredients to make delicious meals and choosing wine from the small but
complete selection available. I think one of the kids will work at the store
as a clerk or stocker. They could ride their bicycle to and from work and never
have to worry about someone driving too fast or wildly on the road because
people just don’t do that on our island. Everyone looks out for everyone.
Because
our island community is so small, we all know one another and get together for
dinner at varying homes to mingle, catch up, and spend time together with one another. Sometimes
there are discussions about the world outside our modest home but mostly we
talk about the sea and what books we are reading, or movies we have watched
recently.
One
of our neighbors, Trish, likes to spend her time climbing up and down the island peak.
It’s almost a mountain but is really more mountainesque than mountainish.
Regardless, she climbs up one way and usually comes down a different way. It’s
hard to get lost on our island because one just needs to check the sun for
directions. Everyone knows how to get back to their homes if the sun is in the
sky.
Trish comes to our community get togethers with tales of the wildlife she spotted while
on a hike or she’ll tell everyone to avoid Krag’s point because it seems to
have washed out recently and is unstable. She is a valuable resource of
information about what is happening geographically on the island. We speak with
her often because we like to stay abreast of what is changing around the
island.
We
often wonder how long we can stay on the island before some tragedy drives us away from the beach. I know we can’t live here as older adults because
there isn’t much in the way of medical care or assisted living. So, we keep our
eyes and ears open to changes in the wind and wait.
2
My
husband has been restless of late. I see him get up from his lounge chair and
wander aimlessly up and down the beach for a few minutes. This is the fifth
time he has done this today. He looks out at the water as though he is waiting
for something to be visible. What is he looking for?
After
twenty minutes or so he finds his way back to his lounger and his book and
settles back in. But I wonder about what moved him from his previous position
of comfort to walk about as he did.
It’s
probably nothing. I’m just nosy.
Sigh.
What to make for dinner this evening? Maybe a nice swordfish steak with mango
chutney? I’ll need to get some cilantro from the garden.
I
touch my husbands’ knee and tell him I’m going to start making dinner. He nods
and smiles and says, “Which wine should I get out?”
“How
about the new white Sauvignon Blanc you brought home yesterday? I think that will go well with
the fish tonight.”
“Will
do.” He says.
As
I’m making my way down the path to the small, but vibrant, garden we keep on
the west side of the house I begin to wonder again about the restlessness of my
husband.
It
seems to have come on so gradually that I didn’t notice it at first. Then last
month there was a day where he barely sat down before he was up and moving down
the beach. This isn’t like him.
Usually,
we spend our days doing everything together. If one of us goes for a walk, the
other joins. Of course, we have our alone time here and there, but we enjoy one
another’s company and so use most opportunities to spend time together.
He
had gone to Gary’s yesterday on his own, though. He said he just wanted to have
some “me” time and so I asked him to stock up on some wines while he was out
shopping.
He
had been gone a couple of hours before I realized he hadn’t taken the Jeep but
had ridden his bicycle with the little trailer attached instead.
We
decided to get the little carrier a while back when we were going through a
biking phase. At that time, we took the bikes everywhere rather than driving
the car and I had wanted something that we could use to take the dog with us
and carry things around if we desired.
I
had seen this done quite frequently on a trip we took to Key West one year. The
bike paths are wide there and plenty of people rely on bikes for transportation
so, for instance, if they needed to go to the hardware store for some kind of
building supplies they would load up a little towed trailer that was attached
to their bike. I find the whole thing charming.
Anyway,
we haven’t used the carrier much in the past year (did we use it at all?), so I
almost forgot about it. It must have been tucked away in the garage. Funny how
he thought of it.
A sudden rustle from the underbrush to my left startles me
from my musing. A fluffy orange fur ball bounds forward to attack my shoelaces
and just as my foot is being removed from my leg, I realize it’s Old Man, one
of our cats.
“Dammit, cat! Get off!”
He drops from my shaking foot and scurries away. He is
always trying to scare the crap out of me. I’m sure he believes it’s his
mission in his short fluffy life to send me to the nuthouse.
We had found him years ago at a cat shelter when Sophia, our
oldest daughter, was convinced that the only thing in the world she needed and
just HAD to have was a kitten. He had come with a name that we used for years,
but now he was just Old Man because he was ancient and a horrid grouch. He waddles
around these days, a twelve-pound fluffy bundle of irritation.