Goosewing Beach Preserve, South Shore Beach, Little Compton, RI
James Doyle
There are several reasons why I would classify myself as a "beach person." Growing up far away from the coast engendered a fascination with all things oceanic. Oh a hot summer day, there's nothing I'd rather be doing than laying in the sun and reading on a beach. There is something so simultaneously calming and energizing about the smells, the sounds, and the sights of the beach. Moreover, the large, continental United States can seem endless (for example, it takes about 9 hours to drive from one end of my home state, Tennessee, to the other - trust me, it is interminable). The horizon serves as a reminder that more lies beyond our geographic borders.
Beaches are the quintessential meeting of two worlds - marine and terrestrial. They define the margins of land masses and often exist as liminal spaces in the modern world, where people lose their sense of urgency, anxiety, or even propriety (e.g. Spring Break!). Perhaps for me the main reason I am constantly drawn to beaches is that all beaches have this marginal aspect in common. And even though beaches are ever changing and different from one stretch to another, I feel grounded when my toes squish in the sand.
After two years of living in Los Angeles with a daily view of the ocean, I was quite skeptical about moving to Rhode Island, which I routinely characterized as "the tundra." However, I learned soon that the state is quite concerned with maritime history and its status as the "Ocean State." I arrived in Providence knowing no one, and through random circumstances received an invitation to accompany a group of beachgoers to what they purported to be the best beach in the state.
Over time, I have come to cherish the beach as one of my favorite places. In summer the sands teem with families of people and endangered piping plovers.
In the fall, everything enters an almost dormant state - the lifeguard stands are gone, the birds have left, few people roam, and the changes in tides have reshaped the beach already from its summer luster.
In the winter, even on a relatively warm day, the chilly ocean winds cut through any attempts to enjoy the view. However, one seems strangely replenished.
The spring beach seems like a blank canvas after time has erased the previous summer's memories from the natural landscape. Sandy stretches have given way to large stones and transforms the beach into a more rustic, wild place.
Every now and then I find sand in my bag or in a pocket. As a smile breaks out on my face, I realize that I am constantly there.
