The end of summer. And like closing the cover on a good novel, there is
disappointment. And this particular summer, one busy and filled with
anticipation of the coming wedding, left me, as I knew it would, with
not quite my fill of the Jersey shore. But when it comes to the beach,
the sun and the endless, rolling sea, there is never quite enough
anyway.
And so, on this last day, I forget, just for now,
that I don’t really like sitting directly on the sand, and I plop down
at the waters edge where the water rushes up to greet me.
I watch my son as he rides and jumps the waves and
I let my mind remember the children as toddlers, as they giggled and
splashed, tripped and fell into the waves. I remember how they clung
tightly around my neck with chubby arms each time we ventured into the
ocean together, and how very small they looked against the backdrop of
vast sea as we searched the beach for shells, holding hands.
I sit, and let the wet grains fall from between my
fingers. Making castles. I see the bubbles rise up from the sand when
the tide rushes in and I dig like mad trying to unearth the clams that I
know are buried beneath.
It is no longer the summer
of ‘07. Rather, it is the summer of ‘62, of ‘76, of ‘81. It is every
summer, as I sit lost in thought. For time is no matter by the sea. The
gulls still squawk above me and the salt still stings my eyes. The
noonday sun still heats the sand untouched by the sea, into hot coals;
and I will run-step across it when it is time to leave.
I see the ghost of my grandfather body surfing just
a few short years before he died. Perhaps I love the sea so much because
of him.
I remember the bath houses where we’d wash off the
sand and how cold the water was on our newly burned skin in the days
before sun screen. When we were clean, we’d dress prettily for the
boardwalk, sometimes even being allowed to wear the shiny shoes, newly
purchased for school. I hear the calliope music of the carousel
somewhere in the distance of my memory.
And late that night in bed, I could still feel the
motion of the waves carrying me to my dreams.
I wonder, as I often have, what it must be like to
live in a place inaccessible to the ocean; to know the sea only through
the lens of a camera; to have never felt the force of the tide or seen
the ocean’s sparkle in the sun like diamonds. My mind can’t comprehend
that, and I am thankful for the one good thing that life in New Jersey
offers...its beaches.
And I hope that there will be many more summers,
and that someday, I will walk the beach searching for shells and holding
hands with my grandchildren. And I fully intend to teach them to ride
the waves...even when I’m old.
But now, I watch the tide slowly retrieve my
castle; a fitting end to my reverence, and to the summer of ‘07, and all
summers past.
