
For
years I looked forward to the day when I could retire and spend my idle hours
combing the beach for exotic shells and pirate treasure. I’ve been beach
combing for two years and the closest I’ve come to treasure from a sunken
pirate ship is one small shard of colonial pottery. I’ve picked up enough
fishing tackle to outfit a novice fisherman. I’ve found enough plastic
buckets and shovels to keep my grandson busy until he gets his driver’s
license.
Beautiful shells abound on the beach. I was very creative with the
thousands of shells I picked up. I decorated lamps, mirrors and picture
frames.
I filled antique jars with tiny sea shells. Then I expanded to the outside.
It’s just amazing how many ways one can decorate with shells. My neighbors
neve
r cease to be amazed. At least that’s how I interpret their
strange mutterings as they stroll by my property. By the time I decided I
should find a new beach combing task, my house had more shells than a Marine
ammo dump.
I joined the Beach Preservation Society and started to pick up trash. I
can’t say much for the quality of my finds, but the quantity is always
there. The Southern tradition of fireworks on the beach really keeps an old
trash picker busy. scooping up cardboard, sticks and red plastic is the
"morning after" result of all that celebration. Unfortunately the
reveler is rarely the one who does the scooping up. I’d surely like to see a
rebate on fireworks’ leftovers.
Plastic can be deadly to sea life. Unfortunately a dolphin can’t tell the
difference between a jellyfish and a piece of plastic. Aquatic animals may be
able to breathe under water better than us landlubbers, but they can’t
digest plastic any better than we can. Imagine trying to eat a Styrofoam cup
for breakfast. My reward comes from knowing that every piece of plastic I pick
up could save Flipper or one of his friends.
I thought I was being rewarded when I received an invitation to the Beach
Preservation Society’s Rockin’ Party. What I didn’t understand was that
a Rockin’ Party invitation is an opportunity to pick up all the newly
dredged rocks on the beach and pile them near the access.
In the back of my mind, I can hear my Mama’s voice saying, "If you
don’t straighten up, you’re going to end up working on a rock pile."
I never knew Mama was psychic.
Copyright 2006 Brenda C. Birmelin