Just a Pinch of South

Shell hunting was a major beach occupation growing up. My mother took it kind of seriously. There are still boxes of shells in my parents’ basement. Waiting, I suppose, for some sort of crafty inspiration that I suspect will never materialize.

The thing is, we went to NC, SC, and GA beaches that, frankly, lacked the really sexy shells of Florida. I’m sure it was a factor of waves, currents, tides, water temperature and so forth, but there were a lot of plain, beaten up shells to be had. But collect them, we did.

It would drive me crazy as a kid that mother would be the one to spot the elusive conch shell on the beach. This happened more than once, to my consternation. They were rare gold in a field of clam shells.

It wasn’t until I was a little older that my mother let me in on the secret of the rock jetties at St. Simon’s and Hilton Head. During high tide the rocks would be almost completely underwater and would trap good shells, like what we called “rollers,” in their crevices and pools.

I love New England beaches. Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket have shorelines that I adore. But they have rocks. Lovely rocks worn smooth by water, sand, and time. But rocks nevertheless.

Somehow the stones, beautiful though they may be, do not make me long for summer like seeing a box of shells. It must be deep programming.

(Source: ginger-ella, via lindenroad)

It’s a little hard to concentrate on work today because I’m so excited to be heading to a “hen party” this weekend on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. It’s for a dear friend I’ve known since I was five years old.

One of my favorite classes in college was Oceanography. Most people like the marine Biology portion, but what I loved was learning about how the barrier islands of NC were formed, and about sand and erosion. We learned that the Outer Banks (and all barrier islands) were formed by the receding of glaciers. So, praise God in his wisdom for creating the Ice Age. Because summer wouldn’t be the same without them.

In my previous job I got to spend an absurd amount of the summer on the water and at the beach. But with my current job, I’ve logged virtually no beach time this summer. It’s a crime, really, and not good for my soul.

I might have to set an early alarm Saturday morning so that I don’t miss a moment of beach time this weekend. I mean, the company will be lovely, but I’m hoping the weather cooperates such that I can enjoy the company with sand between my toes.

PS - it’s quite likely this photograph is not from North Carolina. But wherever it is, in the words of Tina Fey’s daughter, “I want to go to there.”

(via penniesinmyloafers)

Dreaming of being on a Southern beach this weekend.

I can almost smell it, if that makes sense.

(Source: theuniqueworld, via owlalma)

Some of my family comes from Darien, Georgia. Shrimp boat country.

My father spent summers there with his cousin, William. Or, as he was referred to “Cuddin William.” He was more like an uncle or grandfatherly figure to my dad.

My father commissioned a number of watercolors of Darien, shrimp boats, and even Cuddin William’s house that he displayed at his office until he retired.

Maybe that’s why I associate boats like this with my dad. That, and fried shrimp are his preferred beach dish. Maybe with a side of she-crab soup. Me, too, for that matter.

fycharleston:

Beached shrimp boat
Kiawah Island, SC 

(via debutantesanddarlings)

It was a huge adjustment for me when, as a teenager, I began going to the beach in New England, because there are rocks, not shells. Beautiful rocks made smooth by the sand and waves, but not a shell to be found.

I grew up going to the beaches primarily in Georgia and the Carolinas where, if you’re at the right place at the right time you can find great shells.

Perhaps it’s my active nature, but I love shell hunting (and clam digging and sand dollar hunting). As a an only child I didn’t always have playmates my age at the beach, so a mission like looking for shells gave me something to do. A goal. An objective. A reason to keep walking or to climb over jetties and keep a sharp eye.

Sand dollars aren’t technically shells, I guess, and when they are alive, they are brown, hairy and kind of prickly. Plus, they live under the sand, so it’s a sort of different kind of exploration than sea shells. I remember great hunting one summer on the Gulf coast of Florida. Wading in the ocean just shallow enough that I could dig with my hands and keep my face above the water. I did this for hours. There were sand dollars everywhere. And you start to get picky. “Not this one, not that one. Throw that one back.” I didn’t want to take too many because, in the cruelty of nature, they actually have to die before you can take them home so they don’t smell. Ideally, you bleach them so they turn a perfect beach white. Because I felt a twinge of sadness at killing them to take them home, it gave me some restraint.

(via intracoastal-wanderings)

Panama City Beach, Florida.

The Redneck Riviera.

I’m a Southerner who lives in NYC. Frankly, there aren’t that many other places that I love so much I would ever want to live there. It’s a short list.

Besides NYC and Atlanta, I think there’d be a few towns in NC I’d consider. I’ve lived in DC, so I’d be willing to go back, but not be super excited. If it were summer all year round, then Martha’s Vineyard would be at the top of my list. Global warming has to progress for that to happen.

That leaves me with Venice, CA. I’m not talking Los Angeles in general. I’m too old for Silver Lake, too single for Pasadena or Glendale, too straight for West Hollywood, don’t like Beverly Hills (despite the Hillbillies). I really do like Venice, though. One of my dearest friends lives there with her family and I visit once or twice a year.

I love, in the following order, the weather, riding bikes, the Mexican food, watching the skateboarders do amazing things at the skate park, the canals, the fact that I get compliments on my vintage t-shirts and never feel underdressed, the Mexican food (did I say that already?) and specifically the salsa from Windward Farms which is just down the street from where this pic was taken. I literally eat pounds of it whenever I am out there. It’s kind of disgusting to admit, but delicious to eat.

I’d miss a lot of things about the East Coast. Like how people here read books, have a family history, and aren’t as beautiful which means I don’t feel like a troll all the time. But Venice, I could do that.

(Source: donotcockblock, via everythingthatdoesntfitelsewhere)

A little shout out to the oft overlooked Southerners down in Florida.

Southerners for some reason go to Florida beaches in the sweltering heat of summer. I can’t explain that one.

Love this vintage pic of Palm Beach around the turn of the century.

(Source: lookhigh, via npr)

As hurricane Irene approaches the NC coast, I just want to state my love and appreciation of Southern beaches.

(via kardasians)

There’s Southern decor, and then there’s Southern decor at the beach. This strikes me as the latter.

(Source: matchbookmag)

Topsail Beach, NC.

(Source: kayla-r)

My best bike riding memories were from summer trips to Hilton Head, SC. My mother gave my friend Julie and me free reign. We rode bikes all over the resort. The sense of freedom was intoxicating.

(via katespadeny)