Murder! Murder! Once there's one done

My mom likes to tell the story of when we were at the beach when I was three years old and I disappeared. My mom looked away for just a moment, but it was enough time for me to take off. She went one way looking for me and sent my older cousin the other way. Apparently she found me marching down the beach with my head down, looking for seashells.


I woke up on Wednesday and felt compelled to get out of the house. The weather has been incredibly mild for January, so I decided to take my daily walk on the beach rather than the road my house is off of. So I bundled up (it's still cold by the ocean) pulled on my rain boots and went to the beach. After splashing through the first wave I was sad to discover that after nearly 6 or 7 years of service, my adorably girly rain boots (with little pink roses!) had developed a crack. 

 There must have been at least 100 clam shells all washed up by the tide.  Most were still closed, trying to not dehydrate I assume. But a fair number had been broken open by seagulls. In fact, I saw seagulls picking up the clams and dropping them several times. I moved my bags contents into an outer pocket and started rinsing off and collecting shells. The great thing about walking the beach in winter is that there isn't really any competition for shells.  The downside about walking the beach in winter is that lots of people use the off months to walk their dogs and usually not on a leash. I don't really mind a friendly dog bounding up to me, so long as they don't jump.  My mom hates it on the other hand. Then again, she really doesn't like dogs. She had several bad experiences with dogs as a child. I was bit by a dog when I was a kid, but it didn't seem to affect me. Sheep on the other hand... I was headbutted in the stomach by a ram when I was a kid and it bowled me over. Sheep intimidate me, not dogs.

Moving away from domesticated animals, I was quite amused by imagining the beach as a crime scene, with

clam shells and crab bits as evidence. 

Evidence of Foul Play





The Usual Suspects



I ended up collecting a fair amount of shells, quite a few of them still attached as pairs. I have plans for them, but that's another post.  I wandered all over the beach, up the sand to investigate some shells or driftwood, down to the water to rinse it off.  I was really hoping for a sand dollar, but alas, only broken fragments were to be found.

The best part of my walk was probably the end though. Walking over the rocky end of the beach back towards my car, I could hear the pebbles shifting and rubbing against each other as the waves were being sucked out. Hearing the pebbles and looking at their worn smooth surfaces I knelt down, put down the shells I was carrying and lifted my hands in prayer. I praised God for the power and beauty of His creation, and that He would overcome and surround me like a wave and smooth away my rough parts.