They say that a bad day at the beach beats a good day anywhere else. I heartily agree, but I’d like to amend that statement to say that a day at the beach on the Outer Banks of North Carolina really is just the best ever. The sun rises over the ocean (I really do wish I were a morning person), the sun sets over the sound (I really do wish I weren’t always feeding children at sunset). I know it’s happening though, and that works for now.
I love this narrow strip of land that snakes down from the Virginia border out into the Atlantic Ocean. In some places, the walk from sea to sound is measured in feet. In other spots, you’re separated from the mainland by 60 miles of water. But no matter where you are, you’re never far from the roar of the ocean. The air smells like salt and the wind blows and blows. (A perfect place to fly the first airplane – just ask Orville and Wilbur). These elements mean only bad hair days for me, but I’m willing to suffer.
I especially admire the trees and plants that manage to make it in the sandy soil and the salt air. Survivors. Short, scraggly pine trees and beach grass thrive, native honeysuckle hugs the dunes.
Usually I’m a sucker for bright, vibrant colors. But when I’m at the beach, give me the steely gray of the sea, the blue of the sky, the beige of the sand and I’m happy. Toss in some bonus shells and feathers and we’re in business.
The ocean helps me get my mind around the concept of “fearing” God. How can you fear something you love and who loves you? But when I apply the same logic to the ocean, it makes sense. I love the ocean. I want to sit beside it and ride upon it and play in its waves. But I fear it too. It is so immense, so powerful, so beyond my ability to control. But boy, I’ll take it any time I can get it.