My love for the seaside conquers all threats of winter chills, so I followed up my maritime art adventure at the Peabody Essex Museum with a trip to the ocean that made it all possible. The sun stayed surprisingly resilient for a day in November, making the journey rather pleasant and survivable, if seasonally inappropriate. Who says you can’t spend Thanksgiving on the shore?
Research through my various online seaglass hunters’ channels (I’m not even sorry) suggested that Gloucester had glass aplenty: and that the majority of the beaches could be found at Stage Fort Park. I can barely imagine how busy and alive this place must be during the summer, when the parking lots are overflowing, the small stretches of sand completely hidden beneath feet and towels, and the little snack shop selling popsicles by the second.
We, however, came during Thanksgiving week, when our only fellow beach-goers were a couple of brave, bundled-up dog walkers. (I’m pleased to report that the dogs too were bundled up.)
In terms of my beach-glass mission, I fared fairly well: I found a good handful of very frosted and smooth brown, clear, and green pieces of glass. They were mostly hidden among the rockier areas of the beach, and all were smaller than a fingernail. Looks like my quest for the elusive pink glass will have to continue into next season!
I can’t even begin to describe the feelings of lightness, clarity, and peace that enveloped me as I set foot on a shore again: there’s something about being near the ocean that always restores me. I certainly agree with the much-distributed quote that the best cure for anything is “salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea.” It pains me to have to return to the middle of the land again, but for now I’ll just rearrange my sea glass and listen to sea shanties until I can catch a glimpse of the blue horizon again.