As a small child visiting Florida on family vacations, my grandparents took me to the beach – not to tan or to swim, but to look at things that washed up on the shore.
We always went to Playalinda Beach in Titusville, which has an awe-inspiring view of the space shuttle launch complex. Despite its proximity to Kennedy Space Center, Playalinda is not the type of beach that most tourists come to Florida for. To this day it remains unspoiled and uncrowded, in large part due to its placement in the national parks system.
I remember walking the beach for hours with my grandmother, picking up whatever caught the eye. We had a bag for trash and a bag for shells. Sometimes we would bring a snack for the birds. Grandma told me what was safe to pick up and what to leave alone. It never occurred to me to ask her how she knew; that kind of wisdom was unquestionable in my child’s mind. I was amazed when she told me that tiny sea creatures used to live in the shells scattered on the sand.
Grandpa never walked with us. He would go off on his own with his metal detector, seeking whatever treasure he could find. I don’t recall him ever finding any, but for him the joy seemed to be in having time to play, to think, to dream.
I live in Florida now, not far from where my grandparents relocated 25 years ago. I take my husband out to Playalinda Beach and show him what my grandmother showed me on those long walks – you will find beauty anywhere, if you look with your soul. I often think he should walk with my grandmother instead, since she has practiced this kind of vision more than I have.
Whenever I get a chance, I travel down to Jetty Park in Port Canaveral, where the pelicans pose for photographs at the price of a bait fish. Sometimes I stand along the fishing pier and watch the boats come and go, wondering where they’re going, sending up a silent prayer for their safety on the sea.
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