WAVE THERAPY

Tim and I went to the shore last weekend.

What a weird thing for this Midwestern girl to say.

Lakes have consistently comprised the extent of my “shores.”  Growing up, the lake was Union Grove.  Actually, it was less of a lake and more of a giant mud puddle – the result of eroding black Iowa topsoil.  When I was in college, I must have passed all 10,000 lakes in Minnesota on my way to a summer job near Bemidji.  And during my years in St. Louis, when you said you were going to “the” lake, it meant only one thing – Lake of the Ozarks.  Plopped in the middle of Missouri, Lake of the Ozarks was situated equal-distance between St. Louis and Kansas City – a perfect playground for suburban boaters.

I’ve spent the majority of my life land-locked.  Lake shores were my norm.  Not ocean shores.  Having access to the ocean is a miracle of sorts.

I remember my first glimpse of an ocean, during a high school Spanish Club trip to Mexico; I was 17.  The bus rounded the peaks that surround Acapulco and there it was – the Pacific Ocean.  The blue expanse seemed to stretch forever – a vast turbulent mass.

Since that long ago trip, I have seen many oceans from many different shores, but the magnificence never ceases to amaze and enthrall me.

Tim on Mustang Island (He always looks a bit like Bill Murray
from "Caddyshack" in that hat!)

The shore at Corpus Christi is just over two hours by car from San Antonio.  The drive between encompasses acres and acres of nothingness – barren, dry and brittle.  The occasional steer and the fact that all this emptiness is fenced is the only indication of life.  The Gulf of Mexico is welcome relief.

For our first trip to this shore, Tim and I opted for a visit to Mustang Island State Park, foregoing the more commercial areas.  The park was pristine, quiet, unspoiled.  We picnicked on the beach, read from our lawn chairs, and walked and walked.  The water was too cold to get in, but there were a few hardy souls in the brink.  (Goosebumps tickle along my spine whenever I think of it!) 

Primarily, however, I just stared at the surf and marveled at its wonder - one white ruffle after another working its way to shore in an endless rhythm; a pelican dipping its enormous beak into an oncoming wave and emerging with lunch; shorebirds trotting along the sand, searching for treats that the sea has left behind; the vast blue swaths of sea and sky, like a Mark Rothko painting. 

Another shore - 2006 - Molly and John at the North Sea
(Noordwijkse, The Netherlands)

The combination of sea and sand was balm to my weary soul.  All the lakes of my land-locked past were forgotten in deference to the miracle of the next wave.

Packing up our belongings at the end of the day was bittersweet, but one more gulp of that salty air and I knew we’d be back.