I did not grow up with a physical or spiritual connection with the ocean. I had only ever gone to the beach a few times as a child, and I was underwhelmed by it. When my own children were petite little flowers, going to the ocean stressed me out, because I was afraid they would be swamped by waves and swept out to sea. (The surf was always rough when we went down to the beach at Wilmington.) It wasn't until we drove out to the Edge of America that I ever felt at peace with the ocean. I still remember that moment almost four years ago when I walked into it, and it welcomed me like a long-lost child. I had never experienced anything like it, being enveloped by the bathwater-warm waves, and I found I was able to relax and let go for the first time.
My friends and I discovered quickly that the best time to go to the beach is early on a Sunday morning. While it's still a weekend, and competition for parking is sporty, most tourists haven't gotten moving that early. Many locals have other plans at that time of the morning. So the beach is as empty as we are likely to see it during the high season. We started referring to our Sunday morning ritual as "going to church." The spiritual renewal that comes from sitting in the sun, watching the horizon, and listening to infinity in the waves is far deeper for us than studying inside a building anywhere on earth.
This morning we went to a part of the beach that the man and I had never frequented, where our Bonfire friends had only recently begun visiting (at the end of last season). It was far from the jam-packed tourist town on the island, all the way up by where the tidal river flows. We played on an enormous sand bar that shot out like a peninsula from the jetty, and we hiked around to a cove where dolphins played. I picked up more intact shells than I have ever found closer to town, and despite trying for three hours, we never found a single shark's tooth. Mr S-P played with his favorite beach toy, the man-sized shovel he brought with him. (Still didn't help find a single shark's tooth, even with the shovel, but it was cool when he dug up chunks of pluff mud, and we discovered how dense the clay structure of it is. Oh, for a potter's wheel.) We left exhausted and sunburned, but feeling better than we have in weeks.
Every time we have moved away from a town, I have been ready to go. I fall out of love with locations, or jobs, or climate conditions, or people, and I don't even glance in the rear view mirror as we drive away. This time is different. This place is in my blood. Not only do I not want to leave it, I am sure that I will be pointing myself this direction every time I get the opportunity to step on a plane. I may have to move away, but I will never really leave it. I was born again when we moved here. I will be a lifelong member of this church.
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