Water and wind. Salt and sand. Sun and sky. The waves and sand anchor me in the present; it’s one of the few places my mind doesn’t race ahead to the next hour or the next. Whenever I think “get away,” I think of the beach.
The beaches in Louisiana are not known for their resort qualities. The water is murky and brown, the wind smells of salt and oil. The sand is muddy and the skyline is dotted with offshore oil rigs. The beaches in Mississippi are better groomed, with attractive condos for gamblers who want a waterfront view. But the water is shallow far into the Gulf and the sand is depressingly brown. The beaches start to get better in east Alabama, but for the real deal, the beaches of memory, I have to go to Florida.
Cajun Judy is a long-time summer resident of Perdido Key, a long, narrow island just southwest of Pensacola. Her enthusiastic descriptions of parasailing, table dancing, and beach bumming have always made me want to visit. Google informed me last week that there is a Florida state park smack dab in the middle of the island, just three hours from my front door.
DH is not a fan of beaches, and is REALLY not a fan of crowds. “Labor Day Monday at a state park beach?” he asked, somewhat aghast. But he loves me, so he agreed.
Little boy was blasé but accommodating. “Do you want to go to the beach Monday?” I inquired.
“OH-kay.”
We packed light, not knowing what we’d find on the other end. We wore our swimsuits under our traveling clothes. Into the pink and orange beach bag: NoAd SPF 45 sunblock, two back issues of Time, Killing the Buddha: A Heretic’s Bible, wallet and sunglasses. Into the trunk of the car: big and small towels, portable chairs, and a grubby mint green flat bed sheet with the letter “B” embroidered at one end. CD versions of “The House at Pooh Corner,” “The Cat and the Hat and other Stories,” and “Alexander and Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day” went into the front seat for our listening enjoyment. On the back seat were ice and soft drinks in an old Styrofoam cooler that had held dead lizards and dry ice the summer before. At 9:00 a.m. we were off.
Blythe Danner reading Judith Viorst kept us entertained across much of Mississippi and Alabama. By noon we pulled into an easily-spotted lot, place two one dollar bills in the blue fee envelope, detached the hang tag and hung it in the rear view mirror to make our stay legitimate, and parked.
The first thing I noticed was silence. We walked up the ramp, 100 yards across a wooden boardwalk that protected the dunes, and were on the beach. Oh. What a beach. Sugar-white sand, rolling oat grass dunes, clear blue-green Gulf Sea, endless blue sky laced with light clouds.
Where were the crowds? Unlike my last Florida beach visit, there were very few humans. Maybe it was the flags – yellow for moderate water hazards (surf and currents), purple for dangerous sea critters. “Jellyfish in water” said the sign. “No lifeguard on duty: Swim at your own risk” said the other sign. Whatever the reason, the dreaded crowds were nowhere to be seen.
We greased up thoroughly and played gently in the water. I immersed myself neck deep over and over again during DH’s shifts with Little Boy. Out as far as I could walk, floating back in with the waves, and then out again.
During one of my shifts, when Little Boy fell with his back to the ocean and a big wave was coming toward him, my heart froze and I tried to move toward him but I wasn’t going to get there in time. “Get up, get up!” I cried. “I can’t!” He cried back. And the wave broke behind him and pushed him in.
Later we stood together where the waves would break. When the big waves came in, I lifted him in the air and swung him into the break. Water splashed his chest and neck and face, and he laughed.
He practiced the basics of sand castle construction. Not thinking of the future, I forgot to take pictures.
We are glaringly white people, so we didn’t stay long. The walk back to the car was traumatic – uphill in the sand is not easy when you are so out of shape as I am. I drank lots of water and caught my breath. We drove up to the next beach entrance, showered and dressed.
We took the scenic route home. We were going to take a ferry to Dauphin Island, but didn’t want to sit in the Alabama sun in a parking lot for two hours. Maybe next time. Little Boy slept in the car for the last hour on the return trip, and barely woke up to get his comfy sleeping clothes on and go to bed when we finally arrived home.
