Sand Along the Sunshine State

When I was younger, about nine-years-old, my family took a trip to St. George Island. The island is located off the Florida Panhandle in the northern gulf of Mexico. To get to it, we had to travel across a bridge which stretched for miles and scared me to the bone. It was so narrow, and it seemed we could easily drive over the guardrail, sending us plummeting into the salty water with sharks and other sea creatures that might want to eat us. Once on the island, I never wanted to leave because that would mean I would have to cross the panic attack inducing, and seemingly endless, bridge.

Secretly, I hoped the bridge would collapse so we would never have to cross it again, but that wasn't the only reason I wanted that bridge destroyed. I loved the island. We rented a house which stood proud against the gulf breeze. At night, my cousin and I would crawl through a window to reach the highest peak on the roof and suck in the cool, salty air while peering at the brilliant night sky filled with a million twinkling stars.

My favorite part of the trip was the walks along the beach with my family members.  Aunt Nay and I would jog the stretches of white sand at the crack of dawn. Later in the day, Grandma would take me for lazy strolls along the shoreline and help me collect pretty shells as well as miscellaneous objects I found interesting. This was a daily routine, and I crave the baloney sandwiches and off brand chip lunches my grandma made for me as I type.

One day we decided to walk the along the beach as a family. Grandma and Grandpa; Uncle Dave and Aunt Lori and Haley and Jessica; Aunt Nay and Uncle Don; Uncle Ronny, my mom, and I walked in a giant pack. My cousin and I were leading the pack. We were far out in front, trotting along the wet sand with waves gently rolling over top of our feet, until was found a circular white thing laying in the sand. 

We stopped dead in our tracks. It was the most beautiful thing we had seen on the island. The pack caught up, and my Aunt Nay explained to us it was a sand dollar. We picked it up and continued on our way.

A little further down the beach, we saw more sand dollars, and even some star fish. My Aunt explained to us that there was probably a sand bar just off the shore. We took a break since Grandma and Grandpa were beginning to tire, and our aunt led us to the sand bar. It was the coolest thing I had ever seen in my life. On the sand bar, at least fifty yards from the shore, the gulf came to my waist after swimming in water that was way over my head. Under the surface were dozens of sand dollars along with shells and star fish. I gaped while under water and saltiness fill my mouth.

I have a sand dollar from that sand bar, though it is illegal to take wildlife off the island. That inconspicuous clue which lead us the the coolest thing I have ever seen in my life now lays in a drawer in my desk, along with some old receipts and sticky tack, only unburied when the occasional feeling of the Florida sun flickers across my mind.