Beach
People
“The
people along the sand
All
turn and look one way.
They
turn their back on the land.
They
look at the sea all day…
They
cannot look out far.
They
cannot look in deep.
But
when was that ever a bar,
To
any watch they keep?
Robert
Frost (from “Neither Out Far Nor In Deep”)
Yesterday,
the sun buried itself in clouds and refused to come out all day. That did not
keep us off the beach. We went; some walked, one swam, others just lounged on a
blanket and watched waves roll in and slide out. The teenaged kids who are here
for environmental camp had no such hesitation. They blasted onto the beach, dumping
backpacks, and shedding tee-shirts and shorts as they went. They hit the water
with a mighty force and without even a screech at its coldness, then proceeded
to wade in up to their chests. Some of them wore discrete bathing suits with over-shirts,
some wore indiscrete bikinis, and some even wore tee shirts and leggings. I had
forgotten how long and lean teenagers are—a testament to the fact that you can’t
fill them up no matter how much food you provide.
They crowded together beyond
the breakers and jumped up as each wave reached them. They played together like
baby otters. The party ended for me when one of their chaperones started
buzzing the beach with a drone. What is it about those things that I find
creepy?
The
ocean holds such overwhelming power. It makes us stop whatever we are doing and
stare out to sea, even though, as Robert Frost said in his poem, we can’t see
far, and we can’t see deep. We scan the surface, and if you’re like me, watch
the sea birds swooping, and skimming, and diving, the waves capping and foaming.
Our brain waves entrain with the sounds and the movements of the sea, which puts us
into a state of deep, relaxing nothingness. Until a drone buzzes by your
head with its annoying little propellers spinning.
Clearly,
I am not a modern woman. Drones hold no interest for me, and I resent having
them zooming up and down a beach I’m trying to vegetate on. But alas, I must
share the beach with others—more’s the pity. And the changing moods of the sea more
than make up for the intrusion of wild teenagers and their inconsiderate
chaperone. However, a group of forty or so quilters arrived yesterday and descended
on our quiet lunchroom like a flock of locusts. After four days of solitude and
being cow-towed to by the kitchen staff and servers, we all said, “What-the-hell!
Who do they think they are?” It’s surprising how fast one can become entitled
to favored status. At least, I’ll be able to stick my nose into their quilting
business and see what’s happening.
We humans
are a mystery and an enigma. We have the capacity to worship the sea, to praise
the elements and call them sacred, and right alongside that, to curse the
slightest inconvenience and viscerally react to intrusions on our occupied
space. We Have Rights! Not really. But we do imagine that we SHOULD have
rights, and then we claim them. But only for us, and our kind. No one else.
I am so
enjoying this place, these women, and the unprecedented people-watching I am
afforded here. I can analyze to my heart’s content and be utterly relaxed at
the same time. It fits my idea of heaven.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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