I love the ocean. My earliest and happiest memories are of the beach. My family was always the happiest there. Almost every weekend we would make our hour long trek down to the coast and spend the entire day and sometimes the entire weekend on the beach. The furthest I've ever lived from the ocean is an hour.
When I was in my early twenties, I had an opportunity to go to Arizona and sing with a worship team I was on. We packed up and headed East for a long weekend. It was beautiful there, but by evening time I was restless and uncomfortable. We were having a lovely dinner outside underneath a gorgeous Arizona sky, when I realized what was wrong . . . I couldn't feel the ocean. I felt closed in and while the sky went on forever in it's beauty, I felt like it was closing in on me. I don't really understand it, but I seem to know when I'm far from the ocean. And I don't like it. Kinda weird, huh?
This last weekend we took a long walk on the beach. I live only thirty minutes away from the coast now. I couldn't believe the amount of debris washing up from the Pacific. There was driftwood everywhere. I wish I had brought my camera. People had built charming archways and shelters out of it.
I collected shells as we walked along. This plate holds all the treasures I found.
I love the pearlescent colors of these shells. I wrote about the formation of Nacre (Mother of Pearl) here.
The macro photo of this tiny barnacle makes it look like an exquisite miniature vase.
The cobalt blue sea glass is stunning against the green. I've never found sea glass before, it was a thrill to find it.