My Wilderness Lost

The beach that is no more

A few months ago, I went back to a park I used to visit as a child. The park contained many things that I remembered from that time, including a sundial, water fountain, and bandshell for summer concerts. Although the slides and swings were removed, they were replaced with far better equipment for a younger generation.

At the end of the park was a spectacular beach where I spent hours splashing in the water or building sandcastles while my mother sunbathed. She’d take up the 1970’s face tanner, nothing more than a folded piece of cardboard with reflective material and hold it up to her face. I’d be sunburned and need aloe afterwards.

I was devastated to see that the beach had eroded to the point that it was impossible to walk upon the sand.

Water lapped against a retainer wall and licked up what little sand remained. Access to the beach was gated off, so no wayward or curious visitors could go astray or drown during high tide.

One part of the park that remained were the old men who gathered at the concession stand area adjacent to the beach. They were as weathered as the tables where they sat. Their leathery, craggy faces reminded me of the erosion the beach endured.

It was still their gathering place and the place where they would meet to discuss the business of the day.

I was glad to see them.

They were a reminder of when I was a small child, smelling suntan lotion, hot dogs, and the draft beers they would have with their fries. Even though I was a little afraid of the old men, they were the gatekeepers and sentinels who kept watch over all of us.

My beach is lost, but the memories and old men remain.