In the Beach Weeds

There’s nothing like that first beach day of the year.

And I’m not talking about those times in January when the clouds part to sunny skies and you make your way to the sands for a mental health beach walk.

And I don’t mean those days in February when the weather begins to hint at an early spring.

I’m talking late March/early April when the days are back to regular sunny forecasts and the Gulf waters have had a chance to warm.

That first swim — that first kiss of spring sun on salty skin. 

That first beach day is a new beginning. It promises happy, sunny days to come. It also means a flood of visitors.

But with that, another promise remains — our livelihood. Small, coastal communities flutter back to life. Local businesses boom. Restaurant decks overlooking the water fill with hungry patrons. Beachgoers line up at tiki bars up and down the coast for frozen daiquiris and pina coladas. And shops and boutiques find themselves restocking sold-out local goods.

All this means we’re busy. Service industry workers are pulling double shifts. Retail workers are catering to never-ending register lines. Beaches and parking lots are packed. Lifeguards patrol the beaches prepared to race to a rescue at the drop of a dime. Paramedics are on alert, anticipating increased traffic accidents and beach calls. 

In the dead of summer, we hardly find a moment to pause. But as we inevitably find ourselves in the weeds of busy season, try to recall that appreciation, that first beach day.

My first good beach day came in early April this year. The moment I dove into the saltwater, I felt a renewed sense that every little thing was gonna be alright — a moment of clarity, just like Bob’s Three Little Birds.

While my family all napped on the sand, I walked the shore in search of early season seashells. I found a few common cockle and coquina shells before striking gold with a small, fully intact sand dollar. Man, does that feel like good fortune. On last year’s first beach day, I found a fully intact lightning whelk shell, one of those pretty, spiraling sea snail shells.

Two years in a row of unique shelling on Beach Day 1 feels serendipitous. I take it as a sign of good faith from the beach. Though life gets overwhelming, its promises remain.

On our days off, we find the beach a welcome reprieve. And on those days when we’re fully weeded, we find the beach proof of our promised livelihood.

Here’s hoping next year’s Day 1 shelling makes 3 for 3. 

See you on the sand,

Paige Aigret, Editor
paigret@rowlandpublishing.com