Drip Sandcastle

I grew up under ordinary circumstances but was blessed to have an uncle who owned an expanse of land by the sea that was purchased at a time when people of means saw no value in waterside property.

It was a small cottage with stud walls and a propane stove to cook with. There was a water tank in the attic that was filled using a pump connected to a nearby artesian well. An artesian well by the sea seems magical because right in the middle of the sand and the salt marsh, pours forth crystal clear fresh water. We’d drink straight from it after a time swimming. The only shower was outdoors and there was a portion of pine fence that allowed for a certain amount of privacy.

I would only visit occasionally because of the distance from home and the fact that it wasn’t really big enough for an entire family to visit for any substantial period of time. But even so, my time there seemed like a lifetime and it played a very big part in defining my childhood.

My aunt would cook for us on the propane stove and the fresh fish we caught earlier in the day made for the best meals ever. After lunch, we’d go down to the beach and when the tide was out, we could walk out for hundreds of yards on the soft wet sand soaked in warm salt water. And that is where we’d live until the tide came in.

When the tide was out, there were sandbars as far as you could see in every direction. Sandy islands decorated with tiny sand dunes looking just like ocean waves frozen in time. There were pools of water that would be filled with minnows and periwinkles holding out until the time came back and we’d leave them alone- or at least try to.

One afternoon, on the most distant sandbar, we decided to create the most wonderful sandcastle ever to be witnessed in Old Saybrook.

My feet race swiftly over the warm shallow water as it barely cloaks the sandbar in a paper thin film of salt. Each step a ripple in time echoing to the horizon. I am as fleet as a dragonfly defying gravity as I skate across the infinite water. I am a beam of light impervious to gravity.

I race and I cannot breathe and then turn back to see a mile-long trails of disappearing discs fanning out across the shallows. My very existence trailing behind me as far as I can see. Even as the circles dissipate before my eyes, these memories of childhood are everlasting even today.

We built it on the highest part of the sandbar and spent all day constructing it with buckets and sticks and seaweed and anything else that washed our way. We weren’t building a sandcastle; we were building a fortress.

With a handful of sand dipped abruptly into the water, I’d let the sand-mud drip from my finger tip and form spire after spire onto the base. We built higher and higher and when one part crumbled, we’d use it for a buttress for a higher peak. Eventually, we had a massive mound of sand that stood several feet high. We stood back to admire it.

The gurgling waves of the tide began to stalk us and we stepped thoughtfully back as we admired our work and prepared for the walk home. Ankle deep water became knee deep by the time we reached the shore and I turned back one last time expecting the sand castle to be gone. Washed away by the rising tide. Ashes to ashes, so to speak.

But there it stood. Proudly erect among the waves. Completely surrounded by water, it appeared to float. I knew this was impossible and I sat in the sand while everyone went home and waited for it to finally collapse.

It was late in the day and the sun was sinking into the Earth and glowing so that everything I saw glowed too. Bathed in a warm, golden light, everything was beautiful and everything already beautiful became glorious.

The gilded sands of sunset reminding us our race is run and it’s time to reflect on time spent and to hope for the chance to do better tomorrow than we did today.

There it stood though. Resolute. The waves continued to roll across the water toward shore. The sun sunk lower into the sky. The water went from dark green, to white, to orange as the sun rolled past the horizon. And there stood the sand castle. It was too dark to see before I saw it fall to the destruction of the sea.

It might as well have lasted forever as far as I was concerned. I turned and went home for supper because being out on the water builds an appetite. I didn’t look back because I knew it was still there like a lighthouse in the ocean. Stoically guarding the coastline and offering sailors a landmark toward home.

One day, I’ll return to that beach and see if it still stands today. I wouldn’t be surprised to see it standing still. Impossibly perfect in a tumultuous world.

Artwork by Betsy Barry.