It’s June. I live in New Jersey. It’s time to “go down the shore,” as we Garden State residents say. It’s beach time! The last three weeks, I have trekked to the Atlantic, which is only an hour and. Half away. The past two weeks have been crowded: throngs of people in the water, on the beach, on the boardwalks, and lining up at restaurants. That was not the beach escape I was craving. I am in much need of ocean meeting sky, of a blue expanse, and a summer of possibilities.
I have been fortunate in my life to have had a career that allowed me to have my summers free. Of course, I do not count the twenty or so summers that I taught remedial English or directed summer camp. Instead, I count the twenty summers that I had the whole twelve weeks free to explore, gather, and breathe. I traveled, read, wrote, and met with friends. The twenty summers seem like a bright blue blur. I’m not sure I will get the gift of twenty more summers. This summer, I want to remember keenly: what I am thinking, what I am reading, and what changes I made happen. I know this sixty-sixth summer is important for me.
This weekend, I came to the beach on an overcast day. The sand was wet with recent rain. Just stalwarts were laying out on bright blankets. But there was the sea and quiet and a space for thinking. I just finished reading Katherine May’s memoir about walking Britain’s southeast coast path, The Electricity of Every Living Thing: A Women’s Walk in the Wild to Find Her Way Home. I love her writing. Much of what she expresses, I feel so deeply. She wrote about the “value of being in places you love and knowing them and coming back to them.” I have always loved the Atlantic coast (on the American side). I have lived close by all my life. This place I know well. Some of the surroundings have changed but the sea remains the same: the salty smell, the sounds of the waves, the glint of light on the ocean. The Atlantic is where I feel most at home. It is comforting and makes me feel connected to something larger than myself.
Alone by the Sea It is my turn to walk alone Along the boardwalk. I am here to collect images, To put together My life story. The day is quiet and clear. After a recent rain, The sand is dark and wet. Some beach goers remain On their bright blankets. Lifeguards jog together, Racing and playing tag with the waves. I slow my steps, Pay careful attention. A redwing blackbird perches above the beach roses And sings loudly. I bid him good-day And continue on, Past the reed-covered dunes, Past the mother and young daughter Sharing a picnic together, Feet dangling over the boardwalk, Holding triangles of pizza in their hands As it drips with cheese Into their happy mouths. I remember moments like these. My mother, sister, and I at our beach bungalow - Sand, sun, surf. Sinatra playing in the background Mingled with the laughter of children. Sailboats gliding across the bay, Fresh laundry flapping on the line, Lazy summer days, Spread ahead of us And we took them in, Soaked them up, Were grateful for them, Knew they were precious. I look out to the Atlantic Try to see to the end, Where ocean meets the sky. The horizon is dotted with clouds. Below, there is a thin azure line. I imagine heaven to be in this precise place, Somewhere out there, Just beyond reach for now And I am content, Truly content. All I need is sand, sky, sea And an overcast day In serene solitude.