Laur Denton
It’s no secret that I love the water. I grew up in Mobile, near both Mobile Bay and the Gulf of Mexico. I’ve set most of my novels on water (or if the story doesn’t take place directly on the water, my characters find a reason to visit), and I’d honestly be perfectly content relocating to the beach. There’s something about a large body of water, big enough to have tides, that stirs my soul. It’s the whispery swish of water lapping the shore, the laughing cries of the gulls, the salt-scented breeze, the cool sand between warm toes. And it’s definitely something about the shells.
Several summers ago, I found the most exquisite seashells on a single morning’s trek up and down the beach in Perdido Key. And not just shells — I also found at least a dozen intact sand dollars. It was one of those perfect days with dazzling sunshine, a light breeze, and flat-as-a-pancake, crystal-clear water. I walked slowly along the shore, the waves barely making a ripple as they coasted in, and gathered shells by the handful and sand dollar after sand dollar, each one round, white and flawless.
Ever since that summer day, I’ve been chasing those perfect shelling conditions. Each time I go to the beach, I walk across the street to “the sandy place,” as my kids used to call it, and check the wind, the waves and the state of the shoreline. I’ve found shells, of course, and seaweed, jellyfish, sand crabs and even the occasional whole sand dollar, but nothing close to what I saw that one particular morning.
Earlier this summer, I was at the beach and took a walk by myself while everything was still quiet. It was one of those mornings that held potential for great shelling — the winds were light and the water was pretty calm, and as I walked, that’s just what I found. I saw coquinas and red scallops, lightning whelks and oyster drills, kitten paws and giant cockles. But littered among the shells was more trash than I’d seen on the beach in a while — bits of netting, cigarette butts, pieces of plastic, bottle caps and a bunch of stuff I couldn’t even identify. The farther I walked, the more dense the shells became until large swaths of sand were completely covered in shells … but the trash was there, too. Each time I reached down to pick up a tiny pink kitten paw or a tan and white striped cockle shell or a little blue coquina, the junk was right there with it.
Later in the morning, I told Kate and Sela and their two young cousins what I’d found, and they were intrigued, so I took them back across the street to check it out. They each brought bags for their hauls, and once we got down to the shoreline and I cautioned them to avoid the litter, they began searching. It was funny to see their varying methods of shell-gathering: Kate looked for very specific, mostly whole shells. Her cousin Pearce filled his bag solely with huge chunks of broken sand dollars. Sela and her cousin Ellis grabbed everything they could find, whether whole, broken, seashell, or driftwood. Interestingly, none of them mentioned the trash at all. While my eye went straight to the ugliness mingled in with the shells, almost feeling like I needed to apologize for it, they only noticed the pretty things.
When we got to the stretches where the shells were thick as carpet, they squealed with excitement and bent over at the waist, carefully choosing which treasures would go in their increasingly heavy bags. I bit my tongue to keep from nagging them about the trash, but again, it was like they didn’t even see it, or if they did, it didn’t mar their enjoyment of the hunt. After a while, I stopped and closed my eyes. I heard the chatter of the cousins, the sweet music the water made as it trickled over the shells, and the cackles of the gulls as they soared overhead. When I opened my eyes, I saw light dancing on the waves and tiny sandpipers digging into the sand when the waves retreated. And I saw a bounty of beauty on the shore. I dug in with the kids, raking my gaze over the shells to see what treasures I needed to take home with me. Then there, half buried in the sand and right next to a bottle cap, was a perfect sand dollar. Then I found another one, then a third, as if they’d washed up just for me.
When the kids were too hot and tired to go on, we began the trek back down the beach. Some of the bags had grown too heavy for them to carry on their own, so I grabbed a couple handles to lighten their loads, and we headed back across the street, sweaty and excited. Once we got home, the kids dumped out their shells and organized them like Halloween candy. I went inside and tucked my sand dollars in the dish where we keep all our best treasures. They’ll rest safely in there for years to come, a good reminder that little gifts can peek through the junk of our lives if we’re willing to keep our eyes open.
When I’m not writing about my family and our various shenanigans, I write novels and go to the grocery store. My novels are in stores (locally at Little Professor and Alabama Booksmith) and online. You can reach me by email at Lauren@LaurenKDenton.com, visit my website LaurenKDenton.com, or find me on Instagram @LaurenKDentonBooks or Facebook ~LaurenKDentonAuthor.
