Low Tide, Wider Beaches



Winter sunset in Cape Charles. But the sand spit is still covered with water, so the tide isn't all that low.

 Thanksgiving weekend jiggled with activity for the Mason Ave. merchants, thanks--in part--to the annual Artisans Guild studio tour. This year, the Guild had "passports" to stamp in each venue, with prizes for guests who visited the most tour stops. So people who would not normally do the whole tour made an effort to go to more studios.

In my shop, art lovers swirled around, recognizing the work of other Guild members who show in my store. It was interesting to see how familiar the crowd was with Mary Miller's work, and Kitty McCarthy, and Dan Weeks and Dan Bowen.

People from Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Georgia, New Jersey and Tidewater left their passports with me, and most of them were full of stamps. They had traveled from Chincoteague to Cape Charles, enjoying the Shore and buying local art.



Low tide at the old ferry dock.

Pretty cool. But, by the end of the tour, I was exhausted. So, yesterday, I rode my bike along the waterfront, enjoying the quiet. I examined the north end of the town beach and the area behind Seabreeze Apartments, which had been devastated by Hurricane Sandy.

To my surprise, the northern beaches were much wider than they had been. The dunes had been cut back by wave action, but apparently the sand washed down onto the nearby shallows. People say the new Wave Attenuating Devices off shore didn't work because one of the Seabreeze buildings was undermined during the hurricane. But I'm guessing that, in the long term, that beach grows wider and firmer with each tide.

I didn't look for glass. I don't know why. There certainly was a long stretch of sand that usually is underwater. The moon, nearly full, hovered on the eastern horizon, masked by haze. Then the sun set, and it was time to go home.

Sometimes I wonder why people--including myself--become obsessed with Cape Charles. It's like Brigadoon, a magic town wrapped in a bubble, out of step with ordinary time. The tides roll in and out, the sun sets, the moon rises, beaches shift and seaglass pops up like gems from the bay. And we, the lucky few who live here, have no daily traffic jams, no malls, no high rises or billboards between us and the horizon.

Sometimes I talk about leaving. But I probably never will. Who willingly abandons magic?