Returning after an early morning beach stroll, I found myself passing my own footprints in the wet sand, giving me a depressing feeling that I really hadn’t gotten away.

Several beach blankets away one afternoon was a man reading a TV Guide. Not the stories. The page was open to the listings. In front of a stunning sea and sky.

I was surprised to see some smokers still waging war with the therapeutic qualities of the fresh salt air for the rest of us.

Then there was the guy surf-fishing in long-sleeved shirt and long pants, standing in water lapping up to mid-calf, efficiently dressed as well for a pleasant lunch later inside at a cozy restaurant by the bay.

I enjoy finding “sand-scripts.” Strolling one morning I found a heart with “I love xx%%##@@.” By a lover, but the name of the loved one was garbled. I knelt by the heart to study. The message was “I love someone.” There’s a story there. Perhaps a desperado trapped in a secret life proclaiming his or her love here in the only way possible. I felt a blest secret-sharer.

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More Shore Scenes

September, end of the summer vacation, more of my thinking back.

The beach is definitely a doggie world, isn’t it? I’ve heard of a story called “Cat in the Rain,” but I doubt there is one “Cat on the Beach.” Have you ever seen a cat on a beach? And the beach brings out the worst in the doggies. There was a big bulldoggish character acting like a complete idiot, jusmping flatly straight on into the water in a way that will break a breastbone, tongue lolling slobberingly from side to side, mammoth testacios swinging rapidly as if they would fly off. Then another sleeker black thing who walked along the surf knee-deep, lifting each foot high out of the water like some high-stepping show horse in a dance routine, as if to shake off the sand and seaweed, timidly freezing as it stared at some unfamiliar thing in the water, before bolting ingloriously for the shore, only later to creep gradually back into the surf as if to regain some doggie virility. Bad show, both. I may become a cat lover yet.

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Still More Shore Scenes

September, end of the summer vacation, yet more of my thinking back

I think of what I call “The Rocks” at the far end of the jetty along the Cape May ferry slip as my very own special place. I fantasize it as the southernmost point, the “end” of land, the point at which I can look straight out into uninterrupted space, into the Great Beyond, into the Great Empty, where I can put ”my world and its troubles” at my back and stare healthfully into “Nothingness” – and think, and meditate. A solitary place of peace even though at times the waves crash quite vigorously on the jetty. They have built a small boardwalk at the near end of the jetty for people who like to watch the ferry come and go. At the end of that walk closest to the jetty, somebody carved “Ignore your parents” and “God is only a plot to control.” Words to taint a meditation.

By Ed Gallagher

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Goodbye to the Shore

September, end of the summer vacation, and a wonderful take-away.

Departure Day. It rained the entire previous night. The bay beach was fogged in. Really bad. Of course, I yelped at my bad luck as I walked along the beach, determined not to be daunted on my last day. I gradually realized that there was life in and under the fog: the sea birds were unconcerned, still cavorting as if the sun were shining. There was even the neat sensation, felt for the first time, of being dampened by the fog. I had a slight liquid film all over me, and it was a sensuous feeling to run a finger down my arm or leg and feel the cool slipperiness. The fishing and pleasure boats coming up the canal from inland would not brave the fog at the coast and turned back, but suddenly the Cape May ferry crashed through the fog from deep water, big as a skyscraper, filled with life, and it was so close before I could see it, it was actually scary. There, I thought, a powerful symbol of life navigating trouble without trouble. A great gift to take home with me.

Edward J. Gallagher

Bethlehem, Pa.