Let us all take a collective moment to go to our happy place and visualize bliss: the beach. I feel more well-rested already. Is there anything more sublime than a picnic lunch unfolded at the water’s edge in the shade of an umbrella and a good book? No, no there’s not. Don’t argue with me.
If you’re lucky enough to have your own special beach where the waves lull you into a salty, seaside nap, then you can appreciate how much I love my beach on the Cape. My secret beach. Sorry it uh, doesn’t have a name.
At low tide, you feel like you’re walking into the horizon and solitude. Rivulets run through the sand and seagulls swoop and call. But the locals know that the beach holds its own secret that can swallow you whole. Once, while a friend and I napped in beach chairs on a sandy spit by the water’s edge a quarter mile out, we woke to find the tide was coming in. Fast. We gathered our stuff just in time, ready to scurry to the shore only to turn around and find the tide had snuck in around us. Marooned on a sand bar, our own deserted island, we had to trek back through waist-high water carrying our bags, towels, umbrella, and beach chairs, dodging side-stepping crabs and massive schools of minnows. Except for the moment we walked smack into a tangle of surprise underwater beach grass, it was excellent.
Here’s the beach from the road, with rock cairns balancing on the rock wall—a tribute of sorts to the magic of the place. If I were religious, I’d make honoring this beach a sacrament.