I Was Thinking... So Different
For about two weeks in March, my wife and I escaped the frozen ground, wind chill, and snow of Minnesota and headed to Gulf Shores, Alabama. We were like so many others from Wisconsin, Illinois, Iowa, Michigan, and Minnesota, who wanted something different.
When we walked into our rented condo from the back, we could see the balcony at the other end and nothing but water as far as the eye could see.
The white sands at the water’s edge were a nice contrast to the white stuff we had left behind. But that was only one of many differences. While we were used to blizzard conditions with snow being driven sideways, we knew it was temporary. Sooner or later the storm would blow itself out and a cold calm would return. But the rolling waves we saw here started somewhere in the deep abyss of the ocean and would crash on the shore and just continue on and on and on. The sound of windstorms or blizzards eventually subside but not so with the ocean. The intensity of the wave sound may vary but the resonance from the incoming waves never ends.
Our second day on the seashore produced a two red flag day. This was a warning that the waves were so severe that people were advised not to go into the water. It wasn’t just the surf that would pound you, it could also be the riptides that can pull you back out into the deep.
The waves started to break further out, and the white churning waters carried far onto the beach. While the wind blew and the waves crashed, it was still 73° and few of us northerners were going to miss the opportunity to walk barefoot in the sand, in shorts, in March. The vastness of the water seemed to go on forever and the power of the waves created a new perspective on nature. I knew about tornadoes, floods, sub-zero temperatures, and blizzards, but standing on the shore looking out into the sea with angry waves breaking and winds blowing made me wonder what a hurricane would be like.
Although not required, it seemed natural to walk barefoot along the beach. The loose white sand further up the shore is like walking through 6” of snow but warmer. Therefore, most people preferred to walk on the hard packed damp sand closer to the water. But the ocean can be fickle. One wave breaks on the beach, washes up and quickly recedes.
But the next one has its own character and breaks much further up and quickly sweeps over the ankles and knees and soaks the unsuspecting walker’s shorts. If you walk far enough, you are almost guaranteed to end up with something getting wet.
During winter at home, I set out feeders to attract cardinals, blue jays, and winter birds. As I was having morning coffee on our 5th floor balcony, I was startled and amazed as a dozen brown pelicans flew past at eye level. Also, on the edge of the water, long legged terns scurried along searching for food. Quite a difference from Minnesota.
Several evenings we would sit out on the balcony to watch the sun set over the water and enjoy the breeze off the Gulf. When darkness finally fell, it was different than the darkness we’d experienced at home. From my house, no matter what window I look out at night, I’d see something. It may be another house, a streetlight, or a car going by. But here it was different. Looking out into the Gulf, there was nothing, just darkness, total, complete, darkness.
One of the joys of getting away from home is to encounter these differences that enhance our experiences during our short time on this planet. It adds a little more variety to our lives and helps us to appreciate the many differences our creator put into his master plan.
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Photo: I was thinking Ron Albright