This afternoon Teckla and I took off to the beach at Seven Devils Wayside. A steady and cool breeze had swept away the clouds and fog of recent weeks. The sky was a shimmering light blue. The late afternoon sun gleamed in the wet sand and flashed in the white crests of the breakers. Out of the willows and twinberries flowed a small creek that fanned out across the sand and into the sea.
As we walked down to the beach from the parking lot, I noticed two people crouched near the edge of the creek, their hats pulled down and their backs turned away from the beach. They were hunched over pans, picking out flecks of gold with tweezers. This snapshot has stuck in my mind: two people with their backs turned to the stunning beauty of the sun, sea, sand as they pan for gold. Looking at the price of gold per ounce ($1,623) right now is enough to make me grab a pan. And there actually is gold in the black sand that streaks these beaches. A few miles south at Whiskey Run beach, thousands of miners discovered gold in the black sands and formed a small boom town until a storm swept the gold sands away. There’s nothing foolish in their looking for gold.
I should also make clear that these folks were probably nice people even if they had a little gold fever. There is certainly nothing wrong with them pursuing their hobby. So my point really has nothing to do with them and everything to say about me. Seeing them with their backs turned from the light, picking through the grit for bits of gold made me wonder how often I look for bits of glory while missing the glory that fills the whole horizon. As the sun sank lower, I sat on the beach enjoying the fresh breeze, the blues of sky and sea, and the wash of sunlight that turned the whole beach to gold.
