The best part of my recent book tour through Florida had very little to do with my book tour through Florida. It was more about the people I met, the sights I saw, the food I tasted, the things I felt and learned. Time passed at a leisurely pace, my mind felt open and boundless. Sea gifts. A good thing.
The first time I saw the sea I was young and we were in Mexico, on the Pacific side, and I found sand dollars and brought them home. I’ve never forgotten those early impressions—the vastness of the ocean, the salty breeze, palm trees and sandy dunes. The seashore was a place of myths, miracles, history, science, the unexplained and remarkable.
A place for thinking.
A place for not thinking at all.
When I was a kid if my teacher gave me a crayon and a blank piece of paper, I drew rough, basic, go-to pictures. The sun—a bright yellow circle with rays in all directions; a house, two-story with square windows like eyes and smoke curling from the chimney; a tree, usually Christmas tree-shaped but sometimes more freeform; a flower, always a daisy, he loves me, he loves me not; and the sea…with pointy, aqua-marine waves, seagulls above, fish below.
I probably drew the sea more often than not.
I’m home now, hundreds of miles from the ocean, yet I carry gifts from the sea with me. My suitcase overflows with clothes still scented with the smell of salty air. A sugary layer of sand fills the floorboard of my car. Sand that gets everywhere. Sand that I’m not in a rush to vacuum.
Shells hang from a string around my neck.
I feel relaxed and refreshed.
I wonder if my footprints are still on the beach, or if the tide has already washed them away.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
“I find there is a quality to being alone that is incredibly precious. Life rushes back into the void, richer, more vivid, fuller than before.” Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Sea of Love – Honeydrippers