The gardens and woods of Round Rock are inland safe from salty air that burns tender plants and winds that flatten them, and we have traded hydrangea and gladiolas for bayberry and sea oats.
Welcome to Thoughtful's Friday Beach Almanac, an end of the week climate and meteoroligal record - just for the fun of it. Part of the charming elusiveness of life on a sandbar is the close link between life and nature. Shoes are traded in for bare feet, make up and foundation are discarded for sun kisses and SPF, and hair mousse and flat irons give it up for wind and sea spray volumnizer.
The weather changes from hour to hour or a mile down the road. We have spent a sunny day on the beach while watching the rain line deluge our southern neighbors in Kitty Hawk. Something about living this close to nature is healing. Allergies disappear, the Atlantic winds blow mosquitos back to the Sound, and climbing the dunes and the steep cottage steps multiple times a day makes the elliptical obsolete. And the air. . .oh, the air. . .you don't realize how clear or fresh it is until a winter inland is behind you. Finally, something elemental in the rhythm of the tides resets your inner clock, deepens your breathing, and slows your heart. i do not take any moment spent on the island lightly. i feel my Father's heartbeat and am more keenly alive to His wild and beautiful ways as i observe the life of beach fox, the island dear, the wild ponies, the sea gulls, dolphins and fish, and ghost crabs.
"Safe?. . .'course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, i tell you" ~C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
THE ALMANAC for FRIDAY, JUNE 15TH
The cottage sailed under a cap of blue skies all day.
temperature: a toasty 75o in the sun, but shiver me timbers in the shade
sunrise: way too early, but so very worth it (5:45 a.m.)
sunset: splendidly spilling over the Sound to back light the evening meal (8:21 p.m.)
moon: waning crescent, can only be seen from early morning to late afternoon; no moonlight on the deck tonight. . .but plenty of stars. Draco and the Little Bear over the ocean in the south.
low tide: Elevensies (11:01 a.m.)
high tide: Late Tea (5:40 p.m.)
water temperature: pleasant on the feet and ankles (73o)
wind: NE, 17 mph with gusts up to 25 mph. The wind has demanded our attention for the past twenty-fourhours, toppling the lighter deck chairs and whipping light items from our hands. When her blustery performance left us unfazed, she rallied her performance and was rewarded with a No Swimming flags approval.
We enjoyed the blustery drama snug from the deck, but Visitors who see vacation time sliding like beach sand through the glass, braved the winds and set up umbrellas and towels - for a bit. Their children dug a little sand bunker in which to play.
By lunch time, they had given up and the dunes were empty.
What not to do on days like this: raise the flag (it would be tatters), hook up the hammock, put up an umbrella, cast a fishing line, or take your hair seriously.
What you can do: Sam asks me to go on a walk, and i oblige. Once over the dunes, we are only a few steps away from the foaming behemoth that licks hungrily at the sea grass. . .
. . .the tide is coming in and the sea spray that has coated the cottage windows now spits softly at my skin.
The wind skims foam from the creamy surf that rolls like tumbleweed clouds in our path. Finding no sand crabs to harass, Sam barks at the blowing foam and i observe dozens of little rainbows trembling on glassy surfaces.
With manly diligence, Sam chases pelicans from our air space then rolls in a victory dance of self congratualation.
There you have it. . .what you can do on a day like this: walk, chase pelicans, roll in the sand, bark at sea foam. All lovely activities if you are a Westie.
Oh, and look at the stars. . .which is where we are headed right now.