we turn right, toward the pier—one bare foot after the other in the warm, powdery white sand beneath, as we have done time and time again. Except this time, only halfway down the beach, Aunt Joy appears exhausted. Her breathing is heavy and labored.
“Well, I guess I’d better take my happy self on back home now,” she announces. “You go on and enjoy your walk, honey.”
“You okay, Aunt Joy?” I ask, concerned at how peaked she looks.
“Oh, I’m fine—just old,” she says, panting. “You go on, kiddo. Whew! Don’t worry about me. I just want to get back to my juicy romance novel, that’s all. Go on, now.”
I give Aunt Joy a kiss on the cheek. “You sure you’ll be all right?”
“Fine as a Georgia pine!” Aunt Joy winks and turns to head back to the beach house. I watch her as she slowly waddles her way back home. For the first time, she looks small and frail against the wide stretch of our white-sand beach. Aunt Joy looks vulnerable and aged. I keep a close eye on her as she slowly disappears over the dunes.
I think about the audacity and tenacity it took for my grandparents and Aunt Joy to build our family beach house here on Topsail Island back in 1948, smack dab in the middle of the horrid Jim Crow era. At that time, there were still “colored” waiting rooms, drinking fountains, and separate swimming pools. The idea of a “summertime beachfront sanctuary” for North Carolina’s black upper-middle-class—doctors, lawyers, and funeral home directors—was indeed an unheard-of vision. I still feel my grandfather’s rooted pride as I walk the same sands he walked decades ago.
The summer sun feels amazing as its heat bakes my face. I close my eyes and inhale the ocean mist and salt air deep into my lungs. I see nothing but brilliant orange behind my closed lids. I hear the sound of the ocean waves pounding the shore. I can actually feel the earth rumble as the waves continue their mad and thunderous crashes. A little playful wave runs up the beach and zips around my ankle.
I look down and see the little sand fleas desperately digging their way back down into the sand as the water recedes back into the ocean. I had forgotten about these little insect crab-like creatures. Just when I think my whole world is gone, Mother Nature has an incredible way of making me stop, look, listen, think, and admire her awesome beauty—no matter how ugly my reality might seem. Mother Nature helps me believe in things I can’t see or gave up on or have long forgotten about—like faith and God and love. But His stupendous things—like the sun rising and setting, the continual ebb and flow of the sea, or the constellation of the stars, are all the constant things in life. Some things, God says, I can count on.
“ Ah-gaaaaa! Ah-ga aaaa !”
I look up and see a solo seagull soaring in the Carolina blue sky, and I smile a warm hello up to him and to the heavens. He reminds me that I am not the only solitaire being on the beach and, most important, that I am never alone. I remember when I was a child how Aunt Joy insisted I appreciate what she called “our little friends” in nature, like fireflies, butterflies, and bumblebees that would often hover right in front of our noses. Aunt Joy taught me that the bumblebee has no stinger, so she insisted I look that bumbling bee straight in the eye and instead of taking a big fat swat at him, take time instead to say good day. The bumblebee just hovers there, friendly, faithful, and unafraid. With that big, wide, hairy body, I wonder how he can even fly. I guess it’s like Aunt Joy said: “Because he doesn’t think he can’t.”
A good mile or two from home, I decide to turn around and walk back toward the beach house. The sun feels so good on my back. I see that the beach is now peppered here and there with fishermen preparing for a late-in-the-day lucky bite. The serenity found in the faces of fishermen is priceless. They look out over the ocean with a
“Well, I guess I’d better take my happy self on back home now,” she announces. “You go on and enjoy your walk, honey.”
“You okay, Aunt Joy?” I ask, concerned at how peaked she looks.
“Oh, I’m fine—just old,” she says, panting. “You go on, kiddo. Whew! Don’t worry about me. I just want to get back to my juicy romance novel, that’s all. Go on, now.”
I give Aunt Joy a kiss on the cheek. “You sure you’ll be all right?”
“Fine as a Georgia pine!” Aunt Joy winks and turns to head back to the beach house. I watch her as she slowly waddles her way back home. For the first time, she looks small and frail against the wide stretch of our white-sand beach. Aunt Joy looks vulnerable and aged. I keep a close eye on her as she slowly disappears over the dunes.
I think about the audacity and tenacity it took for my grandparents and Aunt Joy to build our family beach house here on Topsail Island back in 1948, smack dab in the middle of the horrid Jim Crow era. At that time, there were still “colored” waiting rooms, drinking fountains, and separate swimming pools. The idea of a “summertime beachfront sanctuary” for North Carolina’s black upper-middle-class—doctors, lawyers, and funeral home directors—was indeed an unheard-of vision. I still feel my grandfather’s rooted pride as I walk the same sands he walked decades ago.
The summer sun feels amazing as its heat bakes my face. I close my eyes and inhale the ocean mist and salt air deep into my lungs. I see nothing but brilliant orange behind my closed lids. I hear the sound of the ocean waves pounding the shore. I can actually feel the earth rumble as the waves continue their mad and thunderous crashes. A little playful wave runs up the beach and zips around my ankle.
I look down and see the little sand fleas desperately digging their way back down into the sand as the water recedes back into the ocean. I had forgotten about these little insect crab-like creatures. Just when I think my whole world is gone, Mother Nature has an incredible way of making me stop, look, listen, think, and admire her awesome beauty—no matter how ugly my reality might seem. Mother Nature helps me believe in things I can’t see or gave up on or have long forgotten about—like faith and God and love. But His stupendous things—like the sun rising and setting, the continual ebb and flow of the sea, or the constellation of the stars, are all the constant things in life. Some things, God says, I can count on.
“ Ah-gaaaaa! Ah-ga aaaa !”
I look up and see a solo seagull soaring in the Carolina blue sky, and I smile a warm hello up to him and to the heavens. He reminds me that I am not the only solitaire being on the beach and, most important, that I am never alone. I remember when I was a child how Aunt Joy insisted I appreciate what she called “our little friends” in nature, like fireflies, butterflies, and bumblebees that would often hover right in front of our noses. Aunt Joy taught me that the bumblebee has no stinger, so she insisted I look that bumbling bee straight in the eye and instead of taking a big fat swat at him, take time instead to say good day. The bumblebee just hovers there, friendly, faithful, and unafraid. With that big, wide, hairy body, I wonder how he can even fly. I guess it’s like Aunt Joy said: “Because he doesn’t think he can’t.”
A good mile or two from home, I decide to turn around and walk back toward the beach house. The sun feels so good on my back. I see that the beach is now peppered here and there with fishermen preparing for a late-in-the-day lucky bite. The serenity found in the faces of fishermen is priceless. They look out over the ocean with a
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