WHY HOME IS A SHORE ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD

My first memory of a beach is from early childhood. I stand no higher than my mother’s knees as she holds my hands while a shallow spent wave laps over my feet splashing up my legs. I hold on tight for with each surge, my feet sink deeper into the mud-like sand which attempts to unbalance me.

Next, I remember the first time I rode a wave, a baby wave, to the shore when I was four or five. Then in the blink of memory, I am out in deep water racing with my mom and dad to catch a breaker rising five feet above the inflowing tide. Coasting atop the crest just behind the foam, I feel I am flying like the sea gulls swooping overhead.

It is these wonderful early days I remember first when I think of the ocean—the joy, the laughter, the love. They forever shaped the instant feeling of home I experience as I stand on a shore anywhere in the world.