Echoes of LBI 2022 Midsummer Dream Edition

ummer is finally here with glorious mornings, brilliant evenings, and balmy breezes to carry the day along. West winds have made for great surfing and refreshing temperatures for swimming.

One of the joys of living on an island is the sky, vast overhead and visible from horizon to horizon. Island life provides a unique perspective on sky watching, sun rises, sunsets, starry nights, and phases of the moon.

Watching the moon slip beneath the waves is unforgettable. Sky watching has always been a way of life for Islanders, sailors, and fishermen whose lives and livelihoods depended on their ability to read the sky.

I have always enjoyed watching the clouds. I learned about clouds from my grandfather, Raymond Van Meter. He said he could predict the weather from the clouds and the circles around the moon. He and my grandmother, Edith, came to Long Beach Island from Trenton in 1906. They built a house on Kinsey Cover in 1911 and lived there year-round and raised five children there. My dad was the only son.

Sky watching takes on a more important role when it comes to weather forecasting. Growing up in Harvey Cedars, the weather was always an important part of daily life. My sister, Merry and I planned our days accordingly. In the morning we went to the ocean to surf and swim. In the afternoon we took the boat to the bay to do our chores. Merry and I used the boat to do the family grocery shopping at Acme and A & P. We were busy, but always careful to keep a watchful eye on the sky.

My grandparents weathered many storms on LBI, and they taught us that storms were part of life on an island. We also learned that it was important to plan and act accordingly when it came to storms. After my parents were married in 1937, they moved to Ship Bottom. Because of damage caused by the hurricane of 1944 my parents built a new house in Harvey Cedars. Dad built the house. George Stilts helped with the foundation. During the 1962 nor’easter the house withstood five high tides because of the metal rods in the cinder blocks and the steel beam frame. Each tide stripped away more and more of the dunes. Eventually, the dunes were gone; the sand was flat, ocean meeting bay. At high tide, our house stood in the middle of the ocean and bay.

As a child, my family rode out the nor’easter of 1962. At low tide we walked from our house to the Bible Conference. Others who were sheltering with us came along. At the Bible Conference, the Army air-dropped food and water for us. We survived on my mother's potato soup and powdered eggs for three days. Eventually, we were evacuated from the Bible Conference by helicopter. From a child’s perspective, it was an adventure, albeit a frightening one, I felt safe, protected by my parents.

Hurricane Sandy was different. I was the adult. And as I watched the barometric pressure drop, I did everything possible to prepare. During Sandy, the barometric pressure plummeted.

Recently, I had the pleasure of talking to the Ewer family. It was good to catch up with old friends. They are related to Charles Nash, the author of The Lure of Long Beach Island which introduced the world to this barrier island paradise. It became the quintessential book about LBI, its photographs, information, and maps, colorized by Mrs. Ewer, are an invaluable part of the Island’s history. The Ewer family has authorized Echoes of LBI and Things a Drift to have Nash’s exquisite map of Long Beach Island reproduced as a limited-edition high-quality pigment-based archival fine art print. Each map will be numbered and come with a certificate of authentication. I am honored to keep Ewer family history alive and to offer this unique work of art in my store in the very near future.

This year as always, LBI has wonderful events scheduled through December. Be sure to add these dates to your calendar: The 14th Annual LBI Sea Glass and Art Festival is set for October 1 and 2. The Kite Festival takes place on October 7 through 9. Chowderfest kicks off on October 1 and the Ship Bottom Christmas Parade is on December 3.

As always, it takes a village to publish an issue of Echoes.

Enjoy more sunsets!

Cheryl Kirby Publisher, Echoes of LBI Magazine

@echoesoflbi • echoesoflbi.com • issuu.com/echoesoflbi

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am a French-American and lived in Paris for the first half of my life. I did not have much exposure to the beach until I moved to New Jersey at the age of twelve. At the Jersey shore I discovered my love for the beach and how peaceful it made me feel. It is the one place where I feel most at ease.

Art was always a therapeutic activity for me, but I did not know how much it would save me during my darkest times. I found my love for art while in treatment for an eating disorder. I went through some difficult times, and realized it was time to seek help. I remember sitting in the treatment center every day and thinking, "Do I belong here?” Although it was where I needed to be to get help, I thought about signing myself out every day.

While I was in treatment I made artsy things for the other patients, doing so brought me a lot of joy. It was a difficult time for me, but my artwork was the one thing that helped me through. It continues to keep me going to this day.

Since my discharge, I have continued therapy, and I have consistently searched for ways to inspire and uplift others who might be going through dark times. These past months, I have developed an idea to connect with others through my art by merging the two things that bring me joy — art and the ocean. To share this with others I started hand painting colorful sea life, mermaids, animals, and inspirational quotes on seashells and randomly placing them on different beaches throughout the New Jersey shore for people to find. In hopes of spreading positivity, I posted the seashells on my Instagram @ColorfulSeashells. I received many positive comments and now people are reaching out to me for custom orders. So, my quest to help others has grown into a new business venture.

I am now a student, and will be attending Rutgers in the Fall as a Chemistry major minoring in art. I look forward to seeing where this artistic journey takes me. Everyone struggles at some time, and it is my hope and mission through my art to make one less person feel alone. —Tess Walker

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ot everyone can remember such a fateful day When an experience so monumental swept them away

But Carol (Smith) Freas has found a way To reimagine the wahoo and whoopee she was given that day Her 1st grade teacher, the kindest, Miss Knoll Saw something in the child when she called the Art roll She spotted a sparkle in the young girl’s eye Gave her the chance for her imagination to fly Carol remembers, “I fell in love on that day.”

Drawing and painting became more than just play Before very long it was Southern Regional High Under Tom Regan’s direction her dreams touched the sky Page 14 • Echoes of LBI

And teacher Pat Vanella, played a part, too, Her encouragement key as Carol’s confidence grew It was just what she needed at a difficult time Perhaps teaching would become her professional line To Philadelphia’s Museum School she proudly went next At Kutztown State College her creative muscles were flexed With marriage to Ray and two children in tow She continued her teaching and went along with the flow Her approach relied always on support and compassion The care she’d received she returned double, with passion Florida, Virginia, then even New York Wherever they moved she kept up with her art

Painting in watercolors was her métier from the start A way of connecting her brush to her heart Back home on the island, life settling down The more Carol painted the more recognition she found In big juried shows and small exhibitions Her reputation was burnished by winning competitions Invited to join the National Watercolor Society This wider acclaim hatched a local celebrity So many front covers of Pooch’s Beachcomber The perfect showcase for this prodigal “homer” The Shack, the Lighthouse, fishes and ducks Kids eating ice cream by a big Millside truck

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Ring-around-the-rosy down by the bay Dancers in motion just this side of risqué Her friends do insist she’s got pizzazz and real spunk Since there’s always an easel thrown into her trunk She captures her subjects out-of-doors en plein air With an authentic, decidedly Carol Freas flair When calm is called for by her creative community She’s the go-to girl to supply positive unity!

After three decades of teaching she’s still going strong Whether at Pine Shores, or The Foundation, “It’s where I belong.”

Her tool box chock full, other talents surprising Like Tuesdays at The Gateway karaoke rhapsodizing!

Her works of art you can’t ever resist Either just for you or as a gift Always on view in that Ship Bottom store At Things A Drift there’s Carol, and more. —Andrew Flack

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NAUTICAL & NATURAL DESIGN • CELEBRATING 48 YEARS ON LONG BEACH ISLAND

Home & Wedding Decor • Original Art • Shells & Shark Teeth • Authentic Sea Glass Artisan Jewelry • Books by Local Authors • Gourmet Foods

Customize your living space • Drop by for a consultation 406 Long Beach Blvd. • Ship Bottom, NJ 08008 • 609.361.1668 • thingsadrift.com

Follow us @thingsadrift

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his year a new twist was added to The Garden Club of LBI’s garden tour on Long Beach Island. Judie Alloway, co-chair of the event, suggested incorporating plein air artists into each garden setting. Judie worked closely with Irene Bausmith, a member of both The Garden Club of LBI and Pine Shores Art Association who took on the job of recruiting artists.

The merging of the two volunteer and socially active groups with similar missions to support the community and promote education of their members turned out to be a huge success.

This new venture, Outside Living Garden Tour and Art Show took place on June 15, allowing tour participants to walk along garden pathways and observe award winning artists painting the beauty which encompassed them.

Twenty artists set up their easels at various locations on the tour.

The private homes and community gardens were in Barnegat Light, Loveladies, and Beach Haven with bay, lagoon, and ocean views. Tour participants walked through the spectacular gardens designed by top local landscapers. The gardens included specialty trees, pathways of flowers, fishponds, fountains, and raised beds.

Guests were in awe of each unique setting, and asked Garden Club representatives and artists many questions.

Often tour participants spoke about their desire to learn to paint and the artists happily shared the various opportunities offered at Pine Shores Art Association whereby members can spend time with fellow artists and take classes. Based at 94 Stafford Avenue in Manahawkin, Pine Shores has been serving local communities for the past forty years.

What is Plein Air Painting?

Plein air is a term derived from the French phrase en plein air, which literally means in the open air and refers to the act of painting outdoors with the artist's subject in full view. Plein air artists capture the spirit and essence of a landscape or subject by incorporating natural light, color, and movement into their work.

There's something special about seeing an artist at work that makes people very inquisitive. Often observers tend to ask a lot of questions.

At times, this distraction makes it difficult for the artist to focus on their work. Yet, artists know that this is part of the plein air process.

One of the challenges of plein air painting is the constant changing of light as the sun moves across the sky. Strong shadows will appear on a subject in the early morning and tend to shrink as noon approaches. It is important for the artist to initially block-in the main shapes of their painting and work quickly. If this is not possible, the artist may need to return to the exact spot and time of day for multiple sittings.

Whether a plein air painting must be completed on location is a question often asked. Plein air purists will argue that a plein air painting must be started and finished outside the studio on location. Other plein air artists often add details when back in the studio if necessary, utilizing photo references. The important thing is the end result.

Plein Air painting can be done in various mediums, each being affected by the temperature and weather. And let’s not forget that the weather, temperature, and flying critters impact the artist as well.

So why do artists choose to paint outdoors instead of the comfort of their studio? Often, artists can gain a more accurate recognition of color; it helps them to simplify their painting process; it improves their ability to paint in a shorter period of time gives them a first-hand look at how light changes due to time of day and various situations; and allows the artists to get in touch with the feeling the setting evokes and incorporate it into their art. In addition, those observing the artists may want to purchase the art, as a memento of a special place they visited.

In addition to the tour, there were selected vendors, gift baskets and an art raffle. Each artist donated a painting in support of the garden tour fundraising event. All and all, the event was amazing, creating a lot of garden and art chatter. Local artists made contacts and the fundraising goals were met to support the ongoing work on the Island by the Garden Club of LBI. —Nancy Edwards Locations and Plein Air Artists included in this year’s Outside Living Garden Tour and Art Show: • 6th Street • Barnegat Light: Fay Bartling, Paul Hartelius, Shelly Ristow, Linda Saladino • 10th East and 12th Street • Barnegat Light: Jill DeFelice, Nancy Edwards, Linda Ramsay • Bay Avenue • Loveladies: Kathy Crocker, Lois Lyons, MaryBeth McCabe, and Nancy Sterr Lang • East Nebraska Avenue • Beach Haven Park: Margaret Hartwell, Suzi Hoffman, and Linda Werner • Leeward Avenue • Beach Haven: Veronica Astrom, Clara Sue Beyn, Carlo Gaboardi, Marion Lotka, and Lois Mullen • Edith Duff Gwinn Garden • Barnegat Light: Andrea Sauchelli • Pollinator Garden/Bay Breeze Park Pavilion • Barnegat Light: Irene Bausmith • Beach Haven Library Garden • Beach Haven: Chris Vohden For more information about The Garden Club of LBI check out thegardencluboflbi.com, and for Pine Shores Art Association go to pineshoresartassociation.org

New originals, cards, and prints of all artwork seen in Echoes of LBI are available at Things A Drift in Ship Bottom, NJ, 609.361.1668.

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Awakened queens emerge from quaking chrysalis-wombs.

Kindred kings rise from cracked-open tombs empty as Easter Sunday; hanging down-side up suspended shriveled wet waiting to spread painted kite wings.

Pump, pump out the wrinkles slowly stretch.

Gravity oozes viscous waste wasted not to fill the delicate vein’d framework of flight; dangling long exposed vulnerable such soft succulent prey for armored mantids (feigning supplicants who wait with tibial spines poised) praying only for a meal.

Pump, pump Hoist the colors!

Banners of orange and black unfurl!

Beat now into the wind!

I can see your flutter and flit across plain eastern beach dunes along the sea south and west…

You September sailor the chosen onegeneration four, stage four migrant who wanders but is not lost; you whose thin wings carry your species beyond boundaries of frozen winter; tarry not for killing cold follows fast.

Light only to drink uncoil your straw into autumn’s last bloom.

Probe the nectaries deep within linger just a moment clinging with clawed tarsi tasting sugary secretions to sustain you many miles to winter sleep.

—Joe Guastella Photography by Sara Caruso Page 32 • Echoes of LBI

I would say there are few things greater, than a big fat juicy Jersey tomater.

You could search the kitchen for a better treat, but you’ll find nothing there that you’d rather eat.

Slices go nicely with lettuce and bacon, and don’t let the mayonnaise be forsaken, Or drizzled with olive oil on fresh mozzarella. A sure fired way to make a happy fella.

They really are not so very hard to grow, Just break up some dirt with a shovel and hoe.

Stick in some plants that you bought from the store, but not ‘til Memorial Day, to be sure.

Fertilize often, no matter the cost, and cover at night if it threatens to frost.

As they grow taller, make sure they don’t break, by tying each one to an old wooden stake.

After they’ve grown for six hundred and seventy two hours, they’ll start to produce small yellow flowers.

And when they dry up and fall to the ground, you get little ‘maters tiny and round.

Soon they will grow, getting fatter and bigger. A miracle for sure, near as I can figger.

It’s now they’re discovered by wild critters, who, would eat your tomatoes, ‘cause they love ‘em too.

Deer like to nibble, and squirrels do as well, and giant green worms, I swear come from hell.

So, out come the sprayers of poisons and such, this way the marauders won’t like them so much.

Then in July, or August at least, If they’ve survived the caterpillars and beasts, They’ll start to turn color before they ripen, until they get red, cause that’s how we like ‘em.

Be sure that the ripe ones are never forgotten. Pick ‘em before they get mushy and rotten.

But soon you will find, as you start to collect ‘em, Tomatoes will be stacked from your feet to your rectum.

Then up to your ears and over your head, you can’t eat ‘em all, it is sad to be said.

So it’s off to the neighbors with boxes and sacks, full of tomatoes you’ve been growing out back.

But now you are stuck, and don’t know what to do, for all of your neighbors’ been growin’ ‘em too.

So you get on the phone and start making some calls, in hopes you can give them away before fall.

Alas all your cousins and daughters and sons, also have ‘maters stacked up to their buns.

So in order not to take a huge loss, you gather them up and start making sauce.

Then by October, you’ve had quite your fill, but you’ve got some left over on the old window sill.

That’s when you start making up weird creations like tomatoes stuffed with zucchini and raisins.

And then, Saints be praised, when the last one is gone, the vines all collapsed and splayed on the lawn, I take a deep breath, for I’ve had quite enough. I think I shall try to eat some other stuff.

Then when November’s cold zephyr blows, getting ready for this season’s white winter snows, I smile to myself, for it is quite clear; I can’t wait for Jersey tomatoes next year.

—Randy Rush Page 34 • Echoes of LBI

SOLSTICE REUNION Summer met me on the beach at dawn.

She brought gifts from the sea— A piece of colored glass, a shell.

It's good to see you, my friend.

I've waited a year for your return.

—Maggie O'Neill

SUNRISE ON THE BEACH Dawn awakens as bright hues illuminate the eastern sky, sunbeams stretch radiantly across a blue and glistening sea.

A gull's screech startles the morn a baby crab digs in the mud, waves swell high then break and foam tides bring in smooth shells and stones.

On the horizon a boat sits a surfer waits upon his board, a jogger runs, a fisherman casts sandpipers scurry on by fast.

—Joyce Ecochard

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hether you are a first-time hermit crab parent, or have years of experience, here are some facts you may not know about Purple Pinchers (Coenobita clypeatus).

1. Terrestrial hermit crabs start their life as eggs in tide pools. The hatchlings, called zoea, pass through several stages of growth over forty to sixty days. As they grow, they metamorphosize into a lobster-like form called megalopa. Towards the end of this stage, the crab looks for its first shell and begins to spend time out of the water. About a month later, another metamorphosis modifies the gills to breathe air allowing the crab to permanently stay on land.

2. A group of land hermit crabs is called a cast or cluster. In the wild, they can live in groups of up to one hundred individuals.

This is why it's important to get at least one friend for your hermit friend.

3. The big claw of the hermit crab helps it climb, pick apart food, and acts as a door that blocks the opening of the shell to protect the crab inside.

4. The compound eyes of hermit crabs are on stalks. This gives them 360-degree vision. They can differentiate between colors and shades, but not shapes.

5. Hermit crabs wiggle their antennae as a form of body language.

You can imitate this by wiggling your fingers at them.

8. Hermit crabs are more likely to change their shells around the full moon. Three days before the full moon offer them shells with wide, round openings slightly bigger than what they currently live in. Three days after the full moon, if they have not changed, remove the shells, and try again next month. Leaving the shells in the crab habitat 24/7 can lead to bacteria growing inside them.

9. Their abdomen is also their tail, which they use to hold onto their shell and pull themselves inside.

10. When a hermit crab molts, its exoskeleton will be very soft. Do not handle a crab during this time. The new exoskeleton can take up to a week to completely harden.

11. If a hermit crab loses a limb, it will form a translucent blob at the stump called a jelly leg. When it molts, a new leg forms from the jelly limb. In larger crabs it can take a few molts before the leg is back to full size.

12. Hermit crabs can also regrow a missing eye during a molt.

However, the eye will be shorter until after a few molts.

13. Peanut butter is dangerous for hermit crabs because it can potentially stick to and clog their gills. Unsalted peanuts, however, are safe and a good source of protein.

6. The exoskeleton of a hermit crab is made of mineralized chitinprotein fibers. These fibers also form the flexible rubber-like joints of their limbs called resilin.

14. Hermits need a constant source of calcium. Calcium chews, cuttlebones, and eggshells are a good source. Calcium sand, however, should be avoided as it hardens when exposed to moisture which can suffocate the crab.

7. Technically, hermit crabs are not crabs because their exoskeleton does not extend over their entire body, specifically their tail, and they don't grow the shell they wear.

15. Another favorite food of hermit crabs is driftwood. You can give them driftwood you find at the beach, as long as it’s not pretreated wood, pine, or cedar, which are toxic.

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16. Hermit crabs don't have one nose like we do.

Instead, they have thousands of tiny hairs on their antennae called aesthetascs that help them smell the air. When they find a potential food source, they rub their antennae on it and taste the end to see if it's good.

Some of their favorite smells are fish, shrimp, meat, and coconut.

17. The ideal temperature for crabs is 70-76 degrees Fahrenheit. If they get too cold for too long, hermit crabs will start dropping limbs. During the colder months, keep their habitat above the floor, such as on a table, and away from windows or vents.

18. One way to quickly warm up your hermit crabs is to put them in your pocket for a little while. Just please don’t forget they are in there.

19. The earliest fossils of hermit crabs date back to the Jurassic era — two hundred million years ago.

20. Worldwide, there are eight hundred species of hermit crabs.

Hermit crabs are fun and interesting pets that never cease to amaze. With proper care, your hermit crabs can live long happy lives. —Sara Caruso

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ummer is the best time of year to get out with your dogs and go on long beach hikes. But the warm weather isn't only enjoyed by you and your furry family members. That's right! It's tick season.

Make sure to stick to the trails and don't let your friend stray too far into the brush. After each walk, check your pooch thoroughly up and down their legs, back, head, and tail. Pay special attention to under their arms and legs, in any folds of skin, and inside their ears. These are the places ticks love to hide. Use a brush or comb to get down to their skin. If you find a tick, contact your vet on how to properly remove it.

Although it can take several months to affect your furry friend, dogs can contract Lyme Disease, especially from deer ticks. If you notice swollen lymph nodes or joints, fatigue, or loss of appetite, get in touch with your vet immediately. Prevent it from happening by avoiding areas where tick numbers may be at their highest.

Here's to a happy and healthy summer for all!

See your furry, feathery, or scaly friends in BEACH PAWS! Submit a high resolution image with the names of your pets, the owner and photographer (if different from owner) to echoesoflbi@gmail.com

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s summer nears its end and the blooming power of many early season steadfast performers declines, consider incorporating these reliable and floriferous plants in the landscape to bridge the gap, painting the garden in color from mid-summer through the waning months of fall.

CRAPE MYRTLE (Lagerstroemia indica) Eye-Catching and colorful — crape myrtle trees are the anchor in many late season gardens. Providing multi-season interest, crape myrtles dazzle in the summer landscape with shades spanning the color palette from white to lavender to magenta; they impress with orange and red foliage in the fall; and provide a striking silhouette in the winter with multi-stemmed trunks

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and exfoliating bark. They average in size at maturity from twenty to thirty-five feet tall and twenty to thirty-five feet wide. Considered low-maintenance, crape myrtles prefer full sun and moist to average soil conditions and are considered deer resistant.

Noteworthy varieties include ‘Natchez’ — white blooms, ‘Muskogee’ — light lavender blooms, ‘Tuscarora’ — coral blooms, and ‘Tonto’ — fuchsia-red blooms which, at eight feet high and ten feet wide, can be trained into a large shrub or tree form.

While most people opt for the tree-form varieties of crape myrtle, multi-stemmed shrubs suitable for smaller landscapes or mixed planting borders are also available in a wide range of flowering panicles and foliage colors to satisfy the inclinations of most homeowners. The dark maroon foliage of

deep red blooming ‘Center Stage’ — twelve feet high and eight feet wide at maturity — creates an exclamation point in the landscape and, with its upright habit, can be incorporated into smaller gardens where larger tree-form cultivars are unsuited.

Panicle Hydrangeas (Hydrangea paniculata) Another must-have in the late season garden, panicle hydrangeas paint the landscape in color from mid-summer well into the fall season. The flower shades of many longlasting, large blooming panicles transition throughout the season — emerging lime green and pure white changing to muted pink and burnt red as the weather begins to cool. They have an average growth rate, prefer full to part sun conditions and attract butterflies.

• ‘Limelight’ is considered the classic panicle hydrangea with characteristic limegreen flowers emerging in mid-summer and transitioning to deep pink in the fall. They are also the largest of this hydrangea species and, at eight feet tall and wide, can be trained into an accent tree, well suited for the formal foundation garden or landscape border. Other cultivars ideal for the patio garden or smaller landscape include:

• ‘Little Lime’ hydrangea, a smaller ver-

sion of the standard ‘Limelight’ with similar color variations, however, at only five feet high and wide, easily fits into a foundation garden or patio border.

• ‘Little Quick Fire’ is an early flowering panicle hydrangea blooming about a month earlier than most. With its diminutive stature at four feet high and wide, it makes an ideal addition to a container patio grouping.

• ‘Vanilla Strawberry’ hydrangea, sports

large flower heads on strong, upright red stems with blooms starting out white, transitioning to pink then finish-

ing as red at the end of the season.

At six feet high and five feet wide ‘Vanilla Strawberry’ makes an eye-catching late summer accent.

• ‘Bobo’ hydrangea,

a dwarf cultivar maturing to only three feet high by four feet wide, shines in a patio container grouping with its floriferous habit and large white panicles.

Tolerating a high degree of salt spray and sunny conditions, both crape myrtles and panicle hydrangeas thrive in coastal environments, making them ideal candidates for the LBI garden. However, since both plants prefer moist soil conditions, it is advisable to install an automatic irrigation system or battery-operated soaker hose to maintain vigor and aesthetics, especially during the heat of the day.

Supplement these late summer beauties with 'Autumn Joy' (Sedum spectabile), Black-Eyed

Susan (Rudbeckia spp.), ‘Montauk’ daisy (Nipponanthemum nipponicum) and asters (Aster spp.) to add enduring visual appeal and prolong the season and for friends and family, butterflies, and hummingbirds to enjoy. —Elaine Sisko, Reynolds Landscaping Staff Writer To purchase and learn more about these and other species of crape myrtles and panicle hydrangeas or to discover additional plant material suitable for the late summer garden, visit Reynolds Landscaping and Garden Center, located at 201 East Bay Avenue in Manahawkin. To check on the availability of a specific cultivar, call Reynolds Garden Center at 609-597-6099.

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s a young child growing up on the New Jersey Shore, Bruce Breslow had no idea of the unique profession and passion that would fill his future.

He lived in Atlantic City until the second grade, and he relished his time at the beach.

other local kids had unofficial jobs helping out the lifeguards in town.

lifeguards ice cream,” Breslow remembered fondly.

“They gave us shirts with big zeros on our backs,” he recalled. “We would run Noxzema from one lifeguard station to the next.”

“We would go to the beach every day.

Swim, find things, dig in the sand, and make sand castles,” Breslow said. “Where is a better place to grow up?”

They also tackled more serious jobs than protecting their beach heroes from the sun.

They prepped boats on the shoreline so there was no delay if a rescue was necessary. They ran down to the water’s edge to take the temperature of the water. “But of course, the best job was going to get the

Another frequent pastime of Breslow’s was playing marbles. He recalled a pretty serious losing streak which usually ended in all his marbles being taken by his opponents.

Sometimes, however, his friends would give him a few back at the end of each game. He kept them in a jar and forgot about it until years later, while on a trip with his wife.

As he grew older, Breslow found himself with more responsibilities. He and the

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At this point, Breslow was living in Kansas and found himself on a weekend getaway

in Iowa with his wife. They stopped at an antique store and stumbled upon a jar of marbles, triggering a childhood memory of how fascinated he had been with the little glass balls. Suddenly he was on the path toward marble making. “It kind of just happened,” he explained.

“How do they get that little design in that clear glass?” He remembered thinking. He read everything he could on marbles, and with some glass rods and a torch from his wife, he set out to make his own.

Luckily, the supplies he needed were very close to home. A dead cherry tree branch from his backyard provided the perfect material for a marble mold.

“The first ones were pretty rough and then all of a sudden I started getting them round and all these years later, here I am still making marbles.”

Originally, he did his work in the back room of his woodworking shop, but then the idea dawned on him to move his desk out to the front, where visitors could ob-

serve the captivating process. It was a hit, and soon Breslow’s woodworking shop was no longer a woodworking shop at all, but a toy store.

Since his marble making experiment began Bruce has made a few advances. He has moved on from cherrywood molds, which deteriorate easily, to graphite molds, and uses a more advanced torch that runs on propane and oxygen that is able to melt glass without smoldering it. And he has developed some finer skills, like filling his marbles with other minerals that give them color and decorating the surface with drawn designs.

Today, Breslow’s store sells an incredibly wide range of handmade marbles and other unique glass items. Moon Marble Company in Bonner Springs, Kansas may be a long way from the New Jersey Shore but running his toy store means that Breslow will always be in touch with the beachside memories of his youth. —Kelly McElroy.

Photography by Denis Kirby

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here is something extraordinary that happens when one is privileged to experience the grace and sense of timing that Jessie choreographs into her dance; or hears the simplicity and honesty that Patrick shares when he reads one of his poems; or beholds Mickey/Elvis duded up and completely immersed in his song; or when one simply takes the time to receive a newsletter from Steph and sees the smile grow across her face.

Kate is Compassion Cafe’s “Swiss Army Knife” serving as both a staff member

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and mentor for new arrivals. She is going to college to become a Special Education teacher. There is not room enough within the confines of this article to tell you about all of our staff. But there is a way for you to learn, dear reader. The first step is to take a trip to the Sea Shell Resort in Beach Haven from Monday morning through Thursday morning, 7:00 a.m. to 11:00 a.m. It is for certain that you will be offered a copy of Compassion Café’s thoroughly enjoyable and informative weekly

newsletter — The Sea Shell Scuttlebutt. It is our pipeline to the world. See what's happening! Meet the staff! Have a conversation! And in the process be uplifted to a degree that will stay with you long after you leave the premises.

It turns out that our gang at the Café is chock full of singers, dancers, poets, authors, painters, musicians, swimmers, dreamers, horseback riders, and ice cream eaters. Some are natural performers and take to the Café's stage. Others are shy. But they all have an opportunity to take part to the best of their own ability in a community of caring and dreams. They share their passions. They reveal what moves them.

The original and literal definition of the word compassion, derived from Latin, is to suffer with. A more complete and modern meaning would include, to have

a strong desire to relieve someone else’s pain. But perhaps, we, the witnesses are the ones who suffer, who feel uncomfortable or unsure of how to talk to someone who is differently abled. How does one begin? The answer is quite simple really — the same way one would with anyone.

The fact remains that folks not involved in the special needs community may

wonder how to interact with someone who has physiological or intellectual challenges. One may feel pity for an individual.

One does not want to insult anyone by talking down to them.

However, one never knows what response might be given if one does not take the chance. If you feel you need permission to approach, just ask. Here is an example: Alex is a friendly young man in a wheelchair. Amazingly he is able to drive the chair using only his head. It seems that many folks at Compassion Café walk around him, wanting to give him space but that is not why he is there! He is our resident pollster with questions for Café visitors whose answers are tallied up and shared in our newsletter. “Gabbing with Grace” is an easy and entertaining way to join in the fun. If you are lucky, Kathryn may offer you a bagel — on the house. So, come on down to our place, Compassion Café, and discover a different slant on the word talent. —Joseph Guastella

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Anthony Ruttler, age 18, is an up-andcoming photographer. Four years ago, he fell in love with capturing memories and the beauty of the world through photography. Originally from Manahawkin, New Jersey, Anthony now lives in Clermont, Florida, and comes to LBI each summer. Anthony played football at Southern Regional High School, and now plays for Belmont Abbey College in North Carolina.

N

othing says or tastes like summer on LBI more than clams from Barnegat Bay. Delicious all year long, the Atlantic coast hard shell clam (Mercenaria mercenaria) also known as the Atlantic round clam or hard-shelled clam, or the quahog was a staple for the indigenous people of this area and for families and restaurants since settlement here in the 1800s.

After a day on the beach iced succulent clams on the half shell and a cold brew make a tasty pre-shower treat. Then get the grandkids involved and pass on the tradition of slurping tender Little Necks right

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off the shell. Later in the evening, after the kids are in bed, clean and dry the empty shells for the next day’s family craft project.

Live clams should be kept on ice in the refrigerator and smell sweet, not fishy, when shucked. If you're lucky to have been in the bay to "tread" your own clams, scrub their shells well. Let them soak covered with fresh water in a large pot to allow the clams to filter and push out any silt or sand before preparing. Always, always keep live clams cold and eat them asap.

The next two sizes are Top Necks then

Cherrystones when shopping the local market. They have more texture and provide the most versatile menu choices. Eat them raw with a zippy horseradish sauce or steam them in spices with wine or beer and sop up the delicious broth with chunks of crusty bread. Finish your sea-fest with an entry of pasta and red or white clam gravy.

As for dessert? If you have a sweet clam creation, please pass it along, otherwise, desert the table with laughter and great memories.

Chowders are the largest clam sold locally.

They are for use in casseroles and soups and used commercially. —Story and artwork

by Carol Freas

12-18 clams, depending on size 3 slices bacon diced 4 tablespoons salted butter 1/2 cup finely chopped celery 1/2 cup finely chopped green pepper 1/2 cup finely chopped onion 3 tablespoons flour 2 cups of milk (For added flavor, use 1 cup milk and 1 cup clam juice.)

2 eggs lightly beaten 1 cup grated cheddar cheese Salt and pepper to taste Old Bay seasoning (optional) Page 58 • Echoes of LBI

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Prepare the bottom and sides of a one-anda-half-quart casserole dish with butter or non-stick spray.

Wash, shuck, dice and drain the clams.

In a frying pan over medium heat, lightly sauté the diced bacon.

Add the butter and chopped vegetables.

Sauté an additional 5 minutes.

Reduce heat to low. Add the flour and stir until well combined.

Increase heat to medium and add the liquid.

Heat and continue stirring until thickened and smooth. Remove from heat.

Stir in salt and pepper (or Old Bay), eggs, cheddar cheese and clams.

Pour into casserole dish and top with cheese.

Bake for 25 minutes until bubbly and golden brown.

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G

ardening enthusiasts and commercial growers alike are re-discovering the value of choosing native plants over their more exotic and sometimes invasive counterparts from around the globe.

Indigenous plants have far-reaching roles throughout New Jersey’s ecosystem. The use of native plants in our landscapes and gardens supports local wildlife including threatened and endangered species that depend on them for food, shelter, and nesting sites. They help to stabilize the dunes and reduce erosion along our shorelines. They require less supplemental irrigation, are better adapted to our New Jersey climate and they attract important pollinators! Offered below are some selections that may pique your curiosity.

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Indigenous and Native Flowering Perennials: Gayfeather or Blazing Star (Liatris spicata) is an attractive perennial with showy stalks of fluffy purple flowers contrasting a lush, finely textured, grassy foliage. It is an outstanding alternative to purple loosestrife (a non-native species commonly found in LBI gardens) which is a serious invader of wetland areas.

All of the milkweed varieties listed below are valuable alternatives to Butterfly bush (Buddleia davidii) which is highly invasive in wooded areas and stream banks.

Swamp milkweed, Pink milkweed (Asclepias incarnata) is native to most of the United States and eastern Canada with the exception being the west coast. It is a nice

addition to a butterfly garden and is also attractive to many species of butterflies as a nectar plant. Swamp milkweed prefers moist soil, likes full sun, and typically flowers from June to September. It can spread through underground rhizomes but is easier to control in the garden than common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca), which is more appropriate for growing in the wild.

Butterfly milkweed (Asclepias tuberosa) also known as butterfly weed does well in dry soil and is self-seeding. The reddishorange blossoms burst forth in May and lighten to a tangerine color as they mature in June. It is a favorite of hummingbirds, monarch and swallowtail butterflies, and bees.

Whorled milkweed (Asclepias verticillate) is native to most all of eastern North America is a good choice for dry areas. It reaches

one to three feet in height and flowers June through September.

Spotted bee balm or horsemint, (Monarda punctata), a New Jersey native, is a good plant for barrier islands like LBI and coastal plains. It grows in dry soil, flowers June through July and has pagoda-like flowers.

Wild bergamot (Monarda fistulosa) is a highly adaptable, wildlife-friendly, fragrant perennial with showy pink, purple, or white flower clusters on tall stems and blooms July through September. Its nectar attracts hummingbirds, butterflies, and bees.

Scarlet bee balm (Monarda didyama), an herbaceous perennial in the mint family, is native to coastal North America. It prefers moist, well-drained soils and full sun but will tolerate some shade. Bee Balm can reach a height of four feet and flowers June to August. Blossoms attract bees, hummingbirds, and butterflies.

Summersweet (Clethra alnifolia), native to the eastern United States, it provides exceptional four-season interest with lustrous green leaves in spring, spiky white or pink fragrant summer flowers, golden yellow autumn leaves, and delicate dried seed capsules in winter.

Native shrubs for landscaping: New Jersey tea (Ceanothus americanus) is short woody native plant less than three feet tall. It is drought tolerant, has vigorous root growth and is good for erosion control. Another common name for this plant is wild snow ball because the flowers resemble those of the hydrangea family.

Winterberry (Ilex verticillata) is a deciduous (losing its leaves in autumn) holly which exhibits bright red berry-like fruits into the winter, providing a food source for local birds. As with most hollies, in order to produce berries, it is necessary to plant both a male and a female plant in close proximity to each other.

Inkberry holly (Ilex glabra) is a perennial evergreen shrub which can grow from six to twelve feet tall if left untrimmed. Both the flowers and berries are inconspicuous, but this plant is quite hardy especially in wet soils. It makes a good background border for the garden.

Bayberry (Myrica pensylvanica) is a deciduous round-shaped shrub with fragrant, dark green foliage. It is well adapted to growing

at the New Jersey shore since it grows well in poor sandy soils and is able to tolerate salt spray. It grows up to eight feet tall, is deer resistant and is an excellent choice for hedges and screens. The small gray berries have a waxy coating used to make the familiar bayberry candle, which is scented by the crushed leaves.

Wild or smooth hydrangea (Hydrangea arborescens) are showy, water-loving, long-flowering plants just like their cultivated cousins. The biggest difference is that the wild species has fertile flowers, which are more beneficial to pollinators than the sterile flowers of cultivars such as “Endless Summer.”

Common ninebark (Physocarpus opulifolius) is a deciduous, wildlife-friendly shrub, five to eight feet tall, whose clusters of pinkishwhite flowers and drooping red fruit offer food to many pollinators. It is especially suited to growing on barrier islands because of its drought tolerance and preference for poor sandy soils.

Lowbush and highbush blueberry (Vaccinium angustifolium and V. corymbosum) produce outstanding red fall color on wingshaped leaves. The berries are sweet morsels prized by wildlife and gardeners alike.

—Joseph Guastella

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W

ithout a doubt, one of the main things that draws beachcombers to sea glass is its uniqueness. No matter what it came from, or how long it's been in the water, no two pieces of sea glass are alike. This keeps collectors on their toes as every trip to the beach yields something they have never seen before. But have you ever considered how sea glass gets its shape? Why are so many pieces triangular and diamond-shaped? It all comes down to the chemistry of the glass, how the glass was made and changes to that process over the decades.

Every piece of sea glass has a different molecular structure because glass is an amorphous solid. When a liquid transitions into a solid state, such as water into ice, the molecules quickly arrange to form a repeating pattern — an ordered crystalline structure.

However, as molten glass cools, the movement of the molecules slows gradually, creating a random arrangement instead of an ordered arrangement.

This helps glass to be more flexible, which is great for windows that are constantly exposed to the elements. However, each piece of glass has invisible weak points within this chaotic molecular structure.

If the glass breaks, it will be along these weak points.

As the glass tumbles in the surf, the sand, and stones around it further shape the shard into a smooth treasure.

When a piece of sharp glass enters a body of water the amount of time it will take to become sea glass depends on numerous factors. Every beach is different. If a beach has calmer waves, glass may take longer to become worn or may never be worn down at all. Examples of this include bays and rivers where very old, large pieces of glass with little wear are

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frequently found. But if a beach has strong tides, huge waves, and heavy storms, glass may get very worn over a shorter period of time. Pebbles and sand also help to chip away and reshape the glass.

The process by which the glass was manufactured may also play a role in how it breaks down later.

Glass blowing had not changed much in thousands of years until the late 19th century when the process of free blowing bottles and glassware by hand was changed over to mold blowing. This technique requires a glass maker to blow a gob of molten glass into a mold. The glass is pushed against the walls of the mold, taking on its form.

These early techniques caused bubbles to form in the glass, which were usually ignored unless it caused the contents of a bottle to leak. When exposed to the elements, especially rough waves and seasonal temperature changes, the glass would break along the weak point of the bubble. Later glass making technology would eliminate the need for the human blower, and instead mechanically force glass into molds resulting in fewer bubbles and or defects and smaller shards.

The advent of recycling further effected the way glass was manufactured. For glass to be broken down and recycled, the walls of bottles had to be thinner. This new thin glass, made from the 1970s to today, makes for poor sea glass as it breaks down into ever smaller bits. Once glass breaks down completely, it is similar to sand. While not great for sea glass collectors, it is better for the environment. Eventually, all sea glass will return to sand-like grains if not found by a beachcomber.

—Written and photographed by Sara Caruso

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“I

like hugs,” said Dorothy Dorey, who hugged dozens of family members, neighbors, and friends at a party to celebrate her 100th birthday in March 2022 in Surf City, her hometown.

Granddaughters, Lorene, and Cyndi said, “Grandmom is very up-to-date on many things; she’ll even talk politics for hours.”

When asked about her secret to a long, healthy life, Dorothy responded, “Coming from a family of seven daughters, my mother insured the family ate a healthy diet of fresh fish — provided by a fisherman neighbor-relative every day — and fresh vegetables from her garden.

Each night my parents and all of us children sat down together for dinner. My happiest childhood memories are of my father pulling into the driveway each night.” Her father, Charles Cox served as Ocean County Road Surveyor, and had an office in the courthouse in Toms River.

Looking back over the decades Dorothy maintains that her secret to life is “Being in the moment! Enjoying all the good I have right now in life including my three children, four grandchildren and eight great grandchildren.”

Most of her life Dorothy has lived by the seaside in New Jersey towns. “My best memories of Long Beach Island are walking the beach collecting bits of colored sea glass, playing cards with my pinochle group, and taking my kids to their many activities. I belonged to a book club and kept a reading diary of the books I read, but I don’t know where that diary is now.”

As a resident of LBI Dorothy keeps herself busy by attending events at Long Beach Island Historical Museum in Beach Haven with her son, Chris who lives with her, “And, oh my, I love grocery shopping,” she added.

Dorothy’s blue eyes twinkle with joy as she recalls attending a rally in Trenton, New Jersey the 1950s. “President Eisenhower walked over to me in the large crowd and kissed my baby Sheila. My friend who drove us to the rally seemed a bit miffed that the President didn’t kiss her baby.”

As out of state family members collect balloons, birthday cards and gifts, and the party winds down, they look forward to future celebrations for Dorothy — perhaps as a supercentenarian.

—Fran Pelham. Photography supplied by Dorey Family.

F

or Diane Keeler and Kathleen Stockman, time has always moved slower on Long Beach Island. When they cross the bridge, they take off their watches and allow themselves to lose track of the days. Since they bought their High Bar Harbor home in 1978, this has meant more adventures with their prize-winning poodles Dazzle, Mackenzie, and Roxy, more memories made with neighbors and friends, and more experiences at local restaurants and businesses. Not even a tornado could discourage them from seeking out the best of what the Island has to offer.

When Keeler and Stockman first bought their house on the Island, it was in such poor condition they couldn’t even tell the true color of the carpet. It had been on the market for two years and was thought to be a tear-down, but where others saw trash, Keeler and Stockman saw potential.

After lots of elbow grease and help from friends, they found themselves in a home that they loved more than anything else.

They filled it with furniture and decorations from local yard sales and auctions.

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ily, Keeler and Stockman were out of town when the high winds lifted the roof off their home, exposing the interior to the elements. Water damage was just one of their many concerns.

Furniture, infrastructure, and belongings were scattered everywhere.

“We like items that have character,” Keeler said. “We like that they have a story about them.”

The one-of-a-kind treasures accented their home — a massive wooden whale on the wall of their porch, a mesh lighthouse centerpiece holding an array of unique shells — until July 29th, 2021, when a rare tornado passed through High Bar Harbor.

The damage to the house was severe. Luck-

“We had this puzzle on the porch that the kids were working on. A two-thousand-piece puzzle,” Keeler recalled. “We’re still finding pieces.”

All sorts of items littered the property and the wetlands nearby. But what the two remember most about the event was the willingness of their neighbors to step in and help. “All the neighbors that weren’t affected came over to High Bar and started picking up debris and all that. They were wonderful. Everybody played a part in the cleanup. It was amazing. By the weekend, it looked good!”

In the wake of the tornado, Keeler and Stockman were able to look on the bright side. They rebuilt the house and were even able to make some changes they had always thought about but never got around to such as new siding, a new paint color, and some new outdoor decorations from

unique local stores. “Looking back,” Stockman said, “We are very fortunate to be able to still have the house.”The experience also reminded them how much they love living in a tight-knit community where neighbors have the opportunity to become much more.“We truly are a community of people that talk to each other. People are happy down here. You have happy conversations.

It’s a wonderful community, this little street. There are eight houses, and we know the people in every single one of them.”

Another highlight of Keeler and Stockman’s time on the Island is getting to see their three poodles enjoy the sand and the sea. The two have three generations of poodles from the same line, and train them to be prize-winners at dog shows around the world.

“They love to pick up shells and throw them,” they said of the dogs. “They like to dig in the sand. They love to run the beach. It’s the open space and the sand, I think when it hits their paws it rejuvenates them.”

Keeler and Stockman also added that they’ve found their dogs provide a way to help them feel even more embedded in the community.

“When you have a dog, it just starts a conversation. When we walk them, people usually stop and talk to us.”

Their dogs are something the two are always willing to talk about. Each year, they

send pictures and postcards of the dogs to the local businesses whose staff have become like family to them.

“It picks people up,” Keeler said. “Gives them a little piece of joy.”

For Keeler and Stockman, the Island itself is their piece of joy, and each time they are able to share stories with friends and community members they are reminded of that feeling. When asked what the Island meant to them, Stockman needed few words, “Peace. Nature. Serenity.”

“Everything,” Keeler added. “It’s everything to us.”

Though they may never find all of their scattered puzzle pieces, Keeler and Stockman have certainly found a tight-knit community filled with strength, support,

and everlasting memories. No tornado could change that. —Kelly McElroy.

Photography by Diane Keeler and Kathleen Stockman

L

inda Skirpan-Jurman has many happy memories of her life in what is now an historic home in Ship Bottom that she is working to maintain.

“My grandfather purchased the lot in 1936 for $75.” He then built a shed to store tools to build his home. But his family had other ideas and wanted to be at the seaside sooner than his timetable permitted.

What resulted was an expansion of the tool shed. “My grandfather decided to provide a respite from the city for us. Following the footprint, he added a porch, built an upstairs dorm-like bedroom and an outdoor shower.”

Soon the family started traveling to the shore. Linda recalls on “Friday evenings, as little kids, mother would bathe us, dress us in pajamas, and then put us to bed. The next morning, we would wake up in Ship Bottom!”

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Her father, an employee of The Philadelphia Inquirer, worked until midnight delivering a truckload of papers for early morning readers. Then he would come home, lift his sleeping children into the station wagon and drive to the shore.

Linda recalls waking up in the Ship Bottom home, “I may have been joined by fourteen other people. I loved it,” she smiles. “Three brothers, cousins, tons of aunts and uncles and grandparents, joyfully filled our home.”

Her grandmother and grandfather, cooked breakfast. “We were poor and there were a lot of people to feed, so a typical breakfast always included Spam, which I love to this day. “And, yes,” she laughs, “I know it’s not exactly considered a health food.”

Sometimes the menu changed to chopped hot dogs with eggs scrambled in, “The smells in the kitchen were a delight to the hungry kids who had already been to the beach and were ready to fill their hungry bellies. “

of the red and into the black with new customers coming in every day. She encouraged her workers to follow up on every lead, no matter how small. At times, Linda found creative ways to overcome seemingly insurmountable problems presented by jobs, turning defeat into success.

She brought the business back into full swing.

Eventually, Linda’s mother found a summer job at the soda fountain of a five and dime store. “We lived at the shore, and my dad came down on the weekends,” explains Linda.

Upon graduating from high school, Linda got a job at the court in Camden County where she worked for thirty years until the illness and passing of her husband. At her husband’s request, she took over the running of his business. “I am a humble person. I didn’t think I had any talent for anything, let alone running a company.” But Linda stands on the shoulders of strong women. “My mother and grandmother always encouraged me to study business subjects, be strong, and try to do things to the best of my ability.”

Due to her husband’s illness, the company had lain idle for a few months. Bills piled

Although her husband has large shoes to fill, there’s a certain young son named Matthew who could fill them someday and that would make Linda very happy. up and sales slowed down. Linda wanted to reignite her husband’s company and honor its integrity. That attitude led her to get the company running again. She paid all the bills, sent invoices out to customers who owed money and expanded her horizons by advertising. Soon, the company was out

Now that the company is back on its feet, Linda wants to focus on the old house in Ship Bottom to preserve the happy days and memories associated with it. —Fran Pelham. Photography courtesy of Linda Skirpan-Jurman

A

s the shore community began to expand in the 1950s, residents believed that a local hospital to serve the community was vital. In 1955, local women formed the Southern Ocean County Hospital (SOCH) Auxiliary.

Tasked with raising 100% of the funds for a much-needed hospital, the Auxiliary Ways & Means committee, chaired by Ship Bottom resident Zena Josephson, teamed up with many volunteers to reach their goal of opening a non-for-profit hospital within the community. In 1972, after tireless fundraising efforts, Southern Ocean County Hospital was born. This same year, The Chrysanthemum Ball, the Hospital’s first annual gala, was established to create a source of funding for expansion and growth of new services and technology. Equipped with fifty-six beds and a staff of seventeen physicians, SOCH was prepared to care for the growing population.

Charitable donations have continued over the years thanks to the four auxiliaries of what is now Hackensack Meridian Southern Ocean Medical Center, including; the Boosters Auxiliary which operates the hospital gift shop, The Bird Cage; the Holly Auxiliary that operates a thrift shop in Waretown under the same name; the Laurel Auxiliary, which operates the Second Time Around thrift shop in Tuckerton; and the SOCH Auxiliary; which operates the Old and New Shop in Manahawkin.

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Numerous investments to facilities and services brought new treatments and skilled expertise to the hospital and throughout the community. In 2010, SOCH became a member of the Meridian Health network of hospitals and services, enhancing access to a new level of care. The hospital’s new name: Southern Ocean Medical Center reflected its continued growth and advancements.

Rapid improvements further expanded when Meridian Health joined the Hackensack University Health Network in 2016, forming Hackensack Meridian Health, New Jersey’s largest, most comprehensive, integrated health network. This powerful alliance provides Southern Ocean Medical Center with additional resources to offer new treatments, technology, and expertise, with advanced care options available quickly through the connection with Hackensack Meridian Health.

“Southern Ocean Medical Center continues to serve as a place the community can turn to for outstanding, compassionate care,” said Michele Morrison, MPH, BSHA, RN, president, and chief hospital executive. “It is important for residents to know the hospital is prepared to take care of you now and in the future, for whatever your health care needs may be.”

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H

istory is replete with individuals who have made significant contributions to the world in which we live. Some, like Thomas Edison, Clara Barton, and the Wright Brothers, helped establish a modern way of life that we would be hard pressed to imagine without their vision and tenacity. Others, who do not share similar notoriety, have made profoundly significant contributions on a local level but often go unnoticed in the context of history beyond their families or close friends. Adrian Paul King was one such individual.

You will not find volumes of historical references regarding A. Paul, as he was called by those who knew him. His granddaughter, Arlinda Crossley, who lives with her husband Bob in Manahawkin, remembers him as “…a people person, casual, reticent, and free with his time.” A. Paul’s favorite snack was ice cream, and he always kept plenty on hand for all the kids, and of course, for himself. He was keenly aware of people’s needs and possessed a genuine devotion to public service.

Another of A. Paul’s granddaughters, Kathryn M. King, who now resides in Oregon, describes him as “…shrewd, smart, and influ-

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ential. He was a true renaissance man.” Reserved in nature, he rarely spoke of his accomplishments, even though they were many, both personally and professionally. His interests spanned the arts, nature, business, and politics. More than capable of holding his own within the political landscape of the times, he was respected and admired from the highest levels of government and business in New Jersey. He touched many lives.

A. Paul King was born in Millville, New Jersey in April of 1892, one of four sons to Elmer King and Sophie Marshal. The family soon moved to Parkertown, and later while A. Paul was still a small child, to Beach Haven where he made his home until his death in 1964. That home, since renovated several times stands to this day at its original location.

Years earlier, A. Paul’s grandfather, Joe King, had settled in Parkertown where he plied his trade as a sailor and bayman, and became a highly regarded, innovative decoy carver. According to Arlinda the family believes Joe King’s passion for the outdoors formed the early basis for A. Paul’s love of artistic photography, nature, and the beauty of his beloved Long Beach Island.

A. Paul grew up on LBI where he attended the local schools. He graduated from Rider College in 1912 with a degree in business and accounting. In 1916, he became the borough clerk of Beach Haven, where he advanced to Municipal Auditor/Accountant and Notary Public. Granddaughter, Arlinda remembers him working in his private office at home.

This precursory position was his introduction to politics.

From the time of his graduation from Rider, A. Paul immersed himself into public service. He taught at Rider and in Rhode Island. He served as the principal of Beach Haven elementary school, and as Beach Haven’s post master. In 1936, he began his incumbency as an elected member of the Ocean County Board of Chosen Freeholders, now known as the Ocean County Board of Commissioners, which spanned twenty-seven years — nine full terms — until the time of his death in 1964. During that time, he served on the Ocean County Planning Board, the Pinelands Regional Planning Board, president of the New Jersey Association of Freeholders, was the founder and president of the New Jersey Resort Association and was appointed by Governor Richard Hughes to the New Jersey Beach Erosion Commission.

As his political career blossomed, A. Paul and Governor Hughes developed a friendship, despite being from opposite sides of the aisle.

Periodically, they got together for fishing and hunting excursions down the shore. When A. Paul passed away, the Governor attended his wake in an unannounced testament to their relationship.

A. Paul found the world of politics rife with pressure. His love of nature, art, and the cherished Island where he made his home, and his skill with a camera provided the perfect escape from his professional endeavors. The natural surroundings of LBI and bay shores of the mainland provided endless subject matter. A student of Hans Kaden, the president of the Philadelphia Photographic Club, A. Paul was known to spend hours, even days, capturing the right shot. Kathryn and Arlinda recall their grandfather working painstakingly in his darkroom to develop and print his black and white photographs. His knowledge of the most current methods and practice of using fresh chemical developer for each print resulted in photographs of the highest quality. A. Paul’s photographs were exhibited across the country and internationally, earning him several awards.

In 1950, A. Paul was commissioned to provide twelve photographs of the LBI coastline for publication in the Ocean County Centennial Calendar. Copies of this calendar exist today and clearly demonstrate his skill at framing and composition, capturing the beauty of the environment where he lived. Typical to his reticent nature, A. Paul never sought financial gain from his photography. In fact, few of his photos exist today, except those owned by his family, for he employed the habit of destroying his negatives after printing.

A large swath of A. Paul’s property, which stretched along the entire block of Delaware Avenue between Centre Street and Engleside Avenue, was devoted to his garden. An avid Page 84 • Echoes of LBI

gardener, he raised vegetables and tea roses, in which he took great pride.

A close look at the life of A. Paul King reveals the man; a man with wideranging interests pursued with alacrity and excelling at all. And of all his traits and accomplishments, perhaps the

most important was his love of family for he is so fondly remembered by his granddaughters, Arlinda, and Kathryn.

Clearly, there is a deep and lasting admiration for this man. Adrian Paul King was truly a renaissance man from down the shore. —Randy Rush. Photography courtesy of Kathy King

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What I miss the most about my friend Anna Lisa Olsen Ray are her smiling face, the joy in her voice, and the spark of spirit in her eyes. You’d never know she was known for being shy or shuddered at the thought of speaking at the Barnegat Light Museum one year about her life growing up in Barnegat Light. I have known precious few people as confident and true to oneself as Anna Lisa. It’s said of many fine people, and it was no less true in her case, that her smile and her aura could light up a room. When she passed in April 2021 the Island community was diminished, but also remains so much richer and fortunate for having counted among its many blessed family members Anna Lisa Olsen Ray. Though she lived an active life full of adventures and generations of family, seventeen-year-old Barnegat High School senior Anna Lisa Olsen had all those possibilities still ahead.

Her young life up to that point set the stage for the lady she was becoming. In her own words, she outlined that life in progress for a school project, excerpts of which are affectionately shared here with her lasting permission.

—Reilly Platten Sharp

P

ure Norwegian stock!

Back to the Vikings! For that’s where you would have to go if you wanted to trace my family’s ancestry. My mother’s parents immigrated from that long stretch of cold, but very beautiful, snowcovered, fjord-famous country of Norway, when they were still quite young, to live in the good old U.S.A. My father’s family remained in Norway, and he was the only one to venture forth to a distant land across the ocean.

Evelyn Margrethe Iverson Hoff Olsen, my mother, was born in Brooklyn, New York, but has spent practically all of her days in Barnegat City, New Jersey. Like her daughters, she received her education in the little, one-room schoolhouse in Barnegat City and in Barnegat High School (now the

grammar school). During her girlhood she used to help her mother maintain the “Signal House,” a boarding house for the Scandinavian fishermen of Barnegat City. One of the fishermen who boarded there, Otto Olsen, was destined to play an important part in her life. When she was sixteen years old and still a senior in high school, she began her business career — bookkeeper for the Independent Fish Company of Barnegat City. A year after her graduation from high school, she married Otto Olsen. She retained her position with the fish company for fourteen and a half years and then resigned, so that she could devote more time to her family.

My father, Otto Olsen, was born in Norway. During his youth he worked on his father’s farm. When he was fourteen years old, he joined the Norwegian Merchant Marine, as was the custom of most Norwegian boys. He sailed the seven seas, seeing many foreign countries, until he was nineteen and then settled, first in Brooklyn, and later in Barnegat City, where he continued his sea-faring life as a commercial fisherman. As

I have already mentioned, he met my mother while boarding at my grandmother’s house and married her soon after her graduation.

Two weeks after my birth in Smithtown Branch, I went on my first trip with my mother and father to Brooklyn. On March 2, 1931, I, dressed in a long white lace dress, which had been previously worn by my aunt and my mother, was christened in my great aunt’s house in Brooklyn.

A Norwegian Lutheran pastor performed the ceremony. We still have the cut glass bowl, which held the water with which I was christened.

On February 15, 1932, I celebrated my first birthday.

Promptly at three o’clock all the babies in the neighborhood arrived with their mothers. My grandmother had made a big birthday cake, and everyone ate cake, with, I suppose, the help of their mothers. I received many presents (some of which I still have) – a silver spoon, three real pearls, an elephant toy, five hundred pennies, a petticoat, a dress, and a red zipper suit.

Early in the spring of 1933, a few months before the birth of Sonja, we moved into the “big” house. (During my first two years we lived in a little bungalow.) Everyone liked the new house, and especially me, for now I had steps to climb!

Edith Dalland’s family soon moved into our little bungalow, which is in the same yard as our big house.

During the two weeks before school opened, I could think of nothing else but my first day of school. I awoke bright and early that morning and then my mother dressed me in my new navy-blue dress with Page 88 • Echoes of LBI

the sailor collar. I skipped merrily down the street to school with my playmates.

Surely no one was more enthused or happy than I was as I entered the school for the first time. I gazed with awe at the interior of the little, one-room schoolhouse. There were five rows of desks, ranging from small desks for the tiny tots to larger desks for the fifth and sixth graders. The teacher’s desk was in the front of the room near the drinking fountain.

All along the walls were big blackboards. In the back of the room was the coal stove, the piano, and two bookcases. On one side of the room was a sand box. Mrs. Gant, the teacher, used to call me her grandchild because she had also taught my mother. Mrs. Gant was kind and very helpful, but she could also be very strict, as the boys soon found out.

The annual Christmas party at the Beach Haven movie house was an event which was greatly anticipated by us when we were in Barnegat City school. One year two people were selected from the school to speak and sing on the radio during the party. I was chosen to saw a few lines (was I scared!) about the Christmas party and Louise Dickerson was chosen to sing a song.

Beach parties filled our social life in the summer of ’47. One day Edith, Ann, Sonja, and I decided that it would be great fun to have a beach party that night. So, we proceeded to make sandwiches and get soda.

We called up the fellows and told them about our plans.

They agreed whole-heartedly and promised to bring their lift raft. About 6:00 p.m. the skies began to get very dark, and the distant roar of thunder could be

heard. Our good spirits began to dampen a little but, in spite of all this, we went down to the beach and gathered enough wood for a good fire. Then we went for a swim. The ocean was very calm, and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves in the life raft. A little while later, a very weary gang of fellows and girls made their way up the beach to a blazing fire. By now the storm had blown out to sea and we were able to consume our food without the fear of rain.

Even the portable radio which we had brought along began to work. What started off to be a very dismal evening turned out to be one of the most enjoyable I have ever spent.

During my school years I have had quite a few subjects.

I enjoyed the languages, mathematics, and the commercial subjects the most.

Notebooks, term papers, and English compositions were my pet peeves. Also, during my years in school, I have met many teachers, all of whom I have liked and who have helped me very much.

In September 1948, I am planning to go to college and take up business as a career. I am looking forward to college, but, somehow, I think that I will be sorry to leave my alma mater – Barnegat High School.

—Anna Lisa Olsen Ray

R

ain pounded the roof of the hanger once used by Warren Webster’s gyrocopter, leaks bounced off already wet oilskins of everyone involved.

The Down Bay Regatta at the Little Egg Harbor Yacht Club had cancelled all sailing races for that Saturday in July 1931.

A howling nor’easter left members and visitors to create their own fun. And that is exactly what the participants at the Little Egg Harbor Yacht Club did.

Up Bay and Down Bay Regatta weekends were popular with the boating and sailing members of the Little Egg Harbor Yacht Club, who traveled Up Bay to the yacht clubs at the north end of Barnegat Bay once a summer; while the Up Bay group came to Beach Haven towing a variety of sailboats to participate in parties and sailing races on the racecourse of Little Egg Harbor another month. In tune with the formality of the times, commodores, and trustees were adorned in their Class A uniforms and greeted the visitors upon arrival with all sorts of pomp like salutes, cannons, and hearty cocktail parties.

Sailing races pitted the best skippers and crews against the top competitors from other clubs. Friendships have grown through the generations. The Up Bay and Down Bay Cruises started around 1920 and have continued in one form or another for over a century, except for the Great Depression, World Wars I and II, and other unforeseen happenings which cancelled participation. Today, the Down Bay Cruise is held in a very informal manner at the Little Egg Harbor Yacht Club in August every summer where a smaller group of sailors compete.

The term “bathtub gin” comes from Prohibition (1920 – 1933) when poor to mediocre homemade booze was mixed in large tins or tubs. In this case “bathtub gin” is used loosely as purchased gin was the Page 90 • Echoes of LBI

favorite for this bathtub concoction as it could be mixed with most anything.

An old bathtub was placed in the middle of the sandy floor and bottles of gin were poured in, followed by whatever type of liquor, juices, cherries, and olives attendees had brought. Everyone grabbed a glass. Yes, real glasses were used in those days — this writer and a friend were hired to wash glasses summer Sunday mornings at the yacht club during the 1950s.

The party continued for hours until a proper lady climbed into the tub of bathtub gin, laying down in the mixture while everyone roared.

We’ve all heard about wild stories during Prohibition. This one is true: the names have been eliminated to protect the not so innocent. Old timers once declared it was the best party to ever take place in Beach Haven. —Gretchen Coyle. Photography courtesy of New Jersey Maritime Museum

W

hen we came to Ship Bottom in 2002, Herb Born was one of our neighbors. He was friendly and always willing to share his vast knowledge and interesting stories about LBI. His oral history of LBI enriched the lives of many and sometimes made its way into the pages of Echoes of LBI. Herb was someone who made the world a better place just by being in it. We were fortunate to have known him. He will be greatly missed.

Herb lived in Ship Bottom his entire life.

The only time he did not was when he was drafted and served in the U.S. Army. Herb and his wife, Pat, would frequent yard sales on their bikes, where he usually looked for books or anything having to do with

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local history. He really didn’t need these books since he already lived so much of the Island’s history and was a part of it. He was always willing to share his knowledge with everyone.

Herbert W. Born was born in Ship Bottom on August 3, 1935. Sadly, he passed away May 12, 2022.

Herb was one of four children: Fredrick, Lewis, Herbert, and sister Patricia. He was born at home on 8th Street, delivered by Dr. Willis to Fred and Jane Born. Herb’s middle name was Willis after the doctor that delivered him. His family came to LBI by way of Philadelphia in the 1920s.

His maternal grandfather, Buck Ewing,

was Ship Bottom’s chief of police. In the early years Fred worked in security at the air force base in Lakehurst, New Jersey.

Buck was instrumental in Fred getting a job working as a motorcycle policeman in Ship Bottom and introduced him to his daughter, Jane.

Herb’s family was always very civic minded and generous. There was one time a man knocked on his mother Jane’s door. He looked hungry so she gave him some fish head soup, a dollar — she only had $5 — and sent him on his way. When Herb’s father, Fred, came home, he asked if she had seen anyone and she told him about the man that stopped by, only to find out that he had escaped from prison.

Herb’s father was young when he had a stroke — there was no Social Security Disability Insurance in those days — so his mother had to find odd jobs to support the family. There wasn’t much money and Pat shared a story about Herb’s mother and the children hitchhiking to Camden to buy shoes.

Herb went to Beach Haven School and graduated from Barnegat High School in 1954. Like many young men that served in the military, Herb received his draft notice when he was still in high school. He obtained a deferment to finish school. His

next notice came two years later. The only time Herb ever left LBI, or Ship Bottom was between 1958-60 when he served in the U.S. Army in White Sands, New Mexico.

Volunteering has always been like blood

through Herb’s veins. It was important to give back to his community. He was a volunteer with the rescue squad and then became a member of the Ship Bottom Fire Company Station #1 in 1954. He was president of the fire company in early 1960s and was selected as Fireman of the Year in the mid-1960s.

Herb worked at the Sunoco gas station that was located at the circle in Ship Bottom.

He also worked for NJ Natural Gas and the water company.

Pat (Perugini) grew up in Richland, New Jersey right outside of Vineland. She graduated from Glassboro State, now Rowan, and in 1962 applied and was offered a job as a kindergarten teacher at Long Beach Island School. One of the community service programs was to have firemen come to the school and speak to the students about fire safety. That was when Pat met Herb. A while later she discovered that her tire was flat. Knowing that Herb worked at the Sunoco station Pat asked for him to come help her. As a thank you, Pat wanted to make dinner for him but, chickened out and cancelled. Herb apparently had also taken a liking to Pat and decided to come for dinner anyway.

They dated for five months, got engaged in April and were married in August 1964.

Pat was twenty-five and Herb was twentynine. The wedding was in Richland and Herb arranged to have a Ship Bottom

firetruck outside the church to surprise Pat when they came out.

Their first child, Maria was born in 1965, followed by Justin in 1966, followed

by Tim in 1967. Herb and Pat bought a house on a double lot on Barnegat Avenue in Ship Bottom where they lived until that house was too small for their growing family. The lot was subdivided in 1972 and the new house that they have lived in since then was built in 1973. They did a lot of the interior work themselves. The downstairs had been a rec room for the kids and after Sandy was renovated. Pat also shared with me that sections of the sidewalk in front of the house are over one hundred years old.

The 100-year anniversary of the Ship Bottom firehouse is coming up and Pat has been helping to gather photos and history for the celebration.

riding his bike around town or walking on the beach looking for sea glass. He and Pat enjoyed going to yard sales looking for antiques and bits of LBI history. His garage contains so many pieces of local history, it’s like walking through a museum. The history attached to many of those items is priceless.

Dedication and civic mindedness were very much a part of Herb’s life yet, he never served in any elected capacity. He was outspoken at council meetings when he felt the need. Herb could often be seen

Herb looked forward to each issue of Echoes of LBI Magazine and had people that could depend on him to deliver copies. He even mailed the magazine to people as far away as Germany.

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Years ago — when gas stations offered full-service — the local gas station was a place where men from the town would hang out, talk politics, and share local gossip. Herb’s own garage under his house became a hub where he became the purveyor of local history.

If the door was open that was the signal that Herb was there and ready to share stories. Anyone that heard the stories firsthand from Herb is fortunate.

Currently, Justin is staying with his mom, Pat, in Ship Bottom to lend a hand.

According to Justin, if Herb’s garage is open the stories will still flow. The only difference is Herb’s chair will be empty.

Herb lost a lot of cherished memorabilia during Superstorm Sandy. His mind was sharp, and his knowledge of the history of LBI and his willingness to share those stories of the Island were priceless. Most of this article was based on photos, stories, and history that his wife, Pat, and son, Justin, shared with me. —Vickie VanDoren. Photography courtesy of Born family.

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oday, tonight, and tomorrow cloudy, chance of snow developing, possibly mixed with rain. Highest temperature today and tomorrow in the 30s, lowest tonight about 30 degrees. 10 to 15 mile-an-hour northeast winds tomorrow. Wednesday partly cloudy, not much change in temperature.” That was the forecast issued by the National Weather Bureau 60 years ago on Monday, March 5, 1962.

What would actually follow was arguably the most catastrophic storm to ever hit Long Beach Island. There are ferocious others in the historical record. But none caught everyone by such surprise and lasted so long as to seer itself into the memory of all who endured the Five High, or Ash Wednesday, storm that wreaked havoc upon the Island for five horrific tides across three days.

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What began as an ordinary low-pressure system moving off the North Carolina coast, which would normally continue out to sea or as sometimes happened, redevelop and push NE as a storm of varied strength affecting some parts of the mid-Atlantic with a snowstorm, developed, indeed, into a nor’easter but was forced into an unusual stall off the Delmarva peninsula. A blocking pattern was in place thanks to a strong area of high pressure over southern Ontario that slowed and suppressed storm systems underneath it.

In March 1962, this setup not only suppressed the low undergoing explosive growth known as “bombogenesis” off the east coast, but it held the storm there for over three days in just the right spot to inflict maximum damage. The results on the ground were nothing

short of apocalyptic, especially on Long Beach Island.

As Tuesday, March 6, dawned, so did the realization that something terrible was about to happen. The dull forecast of the day before was replaced with something more eventful that still grossly misjudged what was to come. “Tomorrow will be partly cloudy with the high in the 30s. The east winds are expected to be 50 – to 60 – milesand-hour today, slowly diminishing and shifting to northeast and northwest tomorrow.” That afternoon, weather observers would report sustained winds of 65 mph along the coast, with gusts near hurricane force.

Tides, already high thanks to a full moon, were expected to be three-to-five feet above normal. Before the day was over, there were reports of “heavy damage” on the Island. Late

word reached the media that a destroyer, the USS Monssen, under tow to Philadelphia for storage, had broken loose from her line and came ashore below Holgate. Fortunately, her tug, the Penobscot, and crew made it safely to the destination.

The Monssen wasn’t the only vessel to get tossed around. As The Asbury Park Press reported, “The schooner, Lucy Evelyn, now a 140-foot, 800-ton gift shop and marine museum in Beach Haven, nearly went out to sea again. The old Maine lumber packet was raised from its landlocked berth on the bayside in Beach Haven, where it has rested since 1948. “Our first shop went out to sea in the 1944 hurricane, so we decided to get one that would float,” said Mrs. Nat Ewer. But when it was run ashore on a high tide and surrounded with earth, she

and her husband never expected to see it float again. [On March 8], the red water line of the Lucy Evelyn is a good three feet above the broken sidewalk.”

By Wednesday, the storm was still raging, and the effects were devastating. Six Islanders were reported missing, including a police chief and town official attempting a rescue. Two couples being evacuated along a washed-out road on the south end were said to have been taken by eight-to-ten-foot waves breaking over the road. Seven Atlantic City Electric workmen were unaccounted for. All the while, frantic evacuations were underway by truck, boat and even helicopter. Over 900 who hadn’t left before things deteriorated were assisted off the Island on Wednesday and sheltered at Southern Regional High School.

Thursday, March 8 revealed even more damage as the skies finally began to clear, even though the massive storm’s effects were still being felt with three-foot high tides and gusty winds betraying the comfort of sunshine finally poking through after days of gloom. On Thursday alone, thirty-two more cottages were lost in Ship Bottom.

In hard-hit Harvey Cedars, the clearing conditions revealed that 183 out of its 352 homes were destroyed, with most of the rest suffering significant damage. Most problematically, the ocean and bay had cut through LBI in four places, dividing it into islands that would slow rescue efforts.

The situation for survivors and emergency personnel on the Island was dire. Electricity, water, sewer, and telephone were out everywhere. Rescue efforts at the state level were begun by the Conservation Department. The National Guard was dispatched to supply drinking water. Bell Telephone sent 200 workmen. First responders began searching homes for survivors, human and animal.

And, sadly, the process of recov-

ery also got underway with the discovery of the body of one of the couples who were swept away the day before. He was found twenty-five miles south — washed into Ocean City. Security was also a chief concern as looting was witnessed.

By Friday, March 9, fortyeight hours had passed since the storm ended and yet the situation appeared to be going downhill in spite of the effective but uncoordinated localized rescue and recovery operations. Another body was found in Ocean City, followed by a third the next day. Partially restored power was going out again as frozen saltwater spray accumulated on the lines while swamped substations began shorting out. In Beach Haven, the lone pumphouse keeping drinking water flowing caught fire and burned out of control.

The sewer system for the entire Island was badly damaged.

A Navy helicopter surveying the effort to free the Monssen crashed offshore, the pilots escaping serious injury. Initial estimates calculated damages on the Island at more than $250 million. In Beach Haven, twenty homes were reported destroyed and 90% of the rest severely damaged. Ship Bottom officials counted fifty homes lost, while Surf City reported sixty. Preliminary figures had 200 to 300 properties totally destroyed. That number would later be revised to 600.

Though the storm was gone, things would get worse from here before they got better.

The following Tuesday another much weaker storm hit the area with high winds, flood tides and rain, causing additional damage and hampering recovery efforts.

As the days passed, though, the situation at last began to improve. Aid poured in and the Island community slowly re-emerged with the cottages and roads from their sandy burial. Two missing since the storm hit were found alive and

well at the still-isolated Harvey Cedars firehouse. The missing Atlantic City Electric crews were found safe. Hundreds were evacuated by boats from Barnegat Light to Forked River until basic services could be restored. Seventy evacuees were airlifted from Harvey Cedars to Ship Bottom where they were then bussed to SRHS. The State Highway Commissioner dispatched scores of heavy equipment to help clear the roads.

The Bureau of Forestry sent sixty-five trucks, cranes, loaders, and tractors to help repair the beaches. The ranks of the State Police presence swelled thanks to one-hundred extra troopers assigned to the Island. President John F. Kennedy declared the

area a major disaster, freeing up federal funds to match over $100 million in proposed state aid, including $5.3 million for emergency beach replenishment. By the weekend, electricity and water were restored to much of the Island. Residents with livable homes were allowed to return, while those who could only assess their properties were escorted over just for the day. By this time, officials guessed that substantial recovery of the Island would not be completed for at least two months.

In the way that some things never change, the priorities of those overseeing these efforts mirrored those of their counter-

parts cleaning up from Superstorm Sandy fifty years later.

any truly catastrophic weather having hit the Island. In October 2012, fate, sometimes cruel but always dependable, would initiate the uninitiated about what such storms are like.

The primary tasks after the 1962 storm were restoring the beaches, securing the gas lines, and preventing looting. With the first two being quickly addressed, state police were tasked with erecting checkpoints on the bridge and boosting patrols in Island towns. Three were arrested by the end of the week.

Six more after the weekend. After looters successfully reached the Island at night by boat, the state assigned three of their own to patrol the bay.

As the weeks and months passed, the question many asked, which helped spur advances in weather forecasting in the United States, was how could such a massive storm still sneak up on tens of millions without warning given all the technological advances by then?

The answer, in part, was early satellite technology, mankind’s only way to view large scale weather patterns. In a subsequent report, the National Weather Bureau concluded that Page 98 • Echoes of LBI

Those who lived through the nor’easter of 1962, however, remembered the devastation, worried about the future with such storms inevitable, and appreciated how lucky they were to survive, able to live a treasured but precarious life on a barrier Island in New Jersey.

the particular satellite assigned to observe the east coast was tasked on South American weather patterns during that week.

The reality of the storm of March 1962 is one that lives up to its legendary status. Those who experienced it still speak of it sixty years later. It was this storm that gave rise to the question of when the “next one” would hit the Island. Even so, a new era of innocence followed, with an unusual num-

ber of years passing without another devastating hurricane or nor’easter. Forty-nine years later, a direct land-falling tropical storm, Irene, would come and go in 2011 with none of the devastation seen in 1962, leaving some Islanders wondering if modern infrastructure and beach replenishment efforts had made the Island immune to such damage. By 2012, many on Long Beach Island had come to live and summer there after 1962 and had no memory of

The APP spoke with one survivor in the aftermath who echoed those sentiments. “‘Hurricanes are nothing to what this was. This is the worst it’s ever been.” Randall Evans talking. He’s lived in his house on 15th Street, Surf City, since 1936...The Evans’s were lucky.

Water washed past the house but never came in. “We didn’t realize how bad it was until we saw rubble on the street Tuesday morning.” But the Evanses stayed put through the whole storm.” —Reilly Platten Sharp

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he waves rise in the night, each one greater than the last. The water rises and rushes into every street, alleyway, crossroad, and doorway. Cracks and crevices soon flood and buckle. Roads swell and debris is tossed around like the flakes in a snow globe. The new becomes old as wood rots and rust forms over a life once regarded as paradise. A wayward traveler is lifted from its home of soft grass and flowers and begins to float down the street carried by the rushing tide. It passes sandstrewn vehicles, overturned boats and fallen power lines as it tosses and turns in the relentless mud and muck washing in from the bay. The traveler finally comes to rest by the side of a gray shed as it is encased in a foot- thick tomb of pine needles and mud.

Time passes, water recedes, and the traveler waits until finally a ray of sunlight pokes

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through the mud. It is undamaged, but it is far from home, wherever home may be.

October 15, 2010, Dorothy Tolan lost her husband of fifty years. Though it was a devastating blow to the family, they moved on by remembering the times they spent together at the beach house. It was their second home and yet it was first in their hearts. On October 28, 2012, four feet of water penetrated beyond the door and years of dreams floated away. It is a story happening up and down the East coast: homes lost, memories destroyed, people gone, and hope forgotten. Superstorm Sandy, almost overnight, ripped apart the lives of millions, and one of those lives is my Aunt Dorothy.

After working a lifetime to have a beach

house, more than eighty percent of it was compromised. The refrigerator flipped over and filled with a brown soup of mud and sewage water. The walls, furniture and floors buckled and grew forests of black mold. And outside, the big gray shed caked with an inch of clay mud was surrounded with so many pine needles it looked as if an evergreen exploded in the yard.

While cleaning the mess, Dorothy began to reveal pieces of shattered dreams, but none of them her own. A red picnic table sits upside down under the clothes lines, which miraculously still stand, while a flower pot stands upright perfectly centered in the middle of the driveway. A red thermos along with the sheet metal roof of an outdoor shower casually lies next to somebody's fence. None of the objects belong

to my aunt, however, there was one item she found and decided to keep. Made of carved stone and encased in the muck was a fourteen-inch-tall rabbit.

Obviously, someone's garden ornament had floated with the rising tides into her yard and came to rest by the shed. It is completely intact and very heavy, but it became a symbol of survival in the face of an uncertain future. The wayward rabbit, now named "Sandy," became a sign from above for my aunt. Always a spiritual person, she believed in a higher power looking out for us. After my uncle died, this power became even more evident. Even the littlest things became “signs from Bob” she saw as his way of keeping her head, for lack of a better phrase, above water.

An avid beachcomber, scavenger, and what most would define as a hoarder, Bob was always bringing home something even when they didn't need it. Once an FBI agent, Bob would look for the tiniest fraction of evidence in a case, and after he retired this translated into finding that which many cannot see: the smallest pieces of sea glass in the rarest colors, a strange shell, or even a golden wedding band which became an anniversary present for Dorothy one year.

Those memories were being torn out and left at the curb along with mountains of warped furniture in front of everyone's yards after the chaos that was Superstorm

Sandy. Perhaps this rabbit was a sign, Aunt Dorothy thought, that hope was not lost in the storm.

Some peace of mind began to wash over LBI as the storm clouds cleared and power slowly returned. Lines of traffic backed up for miles as residents and sightseers poured onto the forlorn island alongside contractors and aid workers. Aunt Dorothy began to clear out her house, removing photographs from walls and sorting through dry linens in Rubbermaid tubs. The most fun part of this whole ordeal for me was using a hammer to rip open the swollen drawers in the bedrooms and find what treasures survived. A little ceramic dish made by one of her grandchildren in school, though wet, survived being stuck in a swollen nightstand and thrown against the bedroom wall.

The charity group Christ In Action (CIA) helped clear out most of the heavy furniture and bedding, as well as tearing out moldy walls which were slowly creeping to the upstairs. As the long day dwindled to night the group got ready to leave when one of the workers was pulled aside by my aunt. “Here, please take this,” she said, handing him a check. “I know you did this for free but I could not go to bed at night without giving you this as a donation to your group.” The worker, an off duty police officer from Ohio, who had

S

ince writing this story in 2013, the rabbit has once again gone on an adventure. It disappeared from my aunt's property in the summer of 2017. It is unclear if "Sandy" is once again with at its original home, as no note was left. However, it may have been spotted recently on Ocean Blvd.

The original purpose of this article was to share my aunt's story but also find the owners of "Sandy." My aunt would have gladly returned the lost lepus to its original home, as she knows what its like to lose a treasured friend. My cousins have since gifted a new rabbit to my aunt, which now watches over the beach house from a high perch. Wherever you are "Sandy, the Wayward Rabbit," we hope you are bringing smiles to faces, like you did ours.

volunteered two of his personal days to help with the cleanup in Sandy stricken areas, was stunned at Dorothy’s kindness.

Many of the aid workers had jobs, homes and families waiting for them at home, but out of the kindness of their hearts had come to aid LBI. He stated he could not directly accept the check but gave her an address to mail it. “You know Ms. Tolan,” he said, “we have been to a lot of homes by now and of all the people we have met your hospitality has been one of the greatest. And I believe that somewhere inside you, though you may not think so, you are a strong woman.” A glint of hope shown in her eyes as he continued. “You have had a smile on your face since we got here and watched as we destroyed your home by tearing out the walls. That's strong.”

In the back of the house is an outdoor shower filled with window screens and sitting near them was the wayward traveling rabbit, which we fittingly named Sandy.

Aunt Dorothy still sees it as a sign from her husband Bob that things will get better and return to normal. It will take a long time, but wounds will heal, objects can be replaced, and families will rebuild LBI. We still do not know whose rabbit it is, but if the owner is reading this now, please know that your simple garden ornament has brought hope to tragedy and a family from the brink. —Written and photographed

by Sara Caruso

T

he past ten years were bookended by two major events on the Island. The first was a superstorm; the second, a pandemic. Both events had a unique impact on LBI. We were mindful how vulnerable our barrier island was to a storm, but not how defenseless we were to a virus.

slowed the sale market on LBI, COVID exploded it. Both saw the Island pull off a summer rental season under impossible odds.

Sandy changed the interior of most bay side properties. COVID turned restaurants and homes inside out with tents and decks morphing into living and dining rooms.

Sandy was a threat that echoed hurricanes from the past. COVID was like nothing we had experienced before. Sandy kept people away, closing the causeway for weeks. COVID shoved people over the bridge in droves. We had emergency plans in place for Sandy.

We had no idea how to deal with COVID. Both broke our Island hearts.

Sandy hit hard and fast. COVID lingered for what felt like eternity. Sandy was an external villain. COVID was an internal terrorist. Sandy was supersized. COVID was microscopic. Sandy impacted us and other areas of the Northeast. COVID covered the world. Sandy spread unity. COVID spread blame.

Sandy wrecked property. COVID took lives. One needed hugs to heal, the other forbid touching. One evoked sadness, the other cultivated fear. One stripped us bare, the other covered us up. Sandy brought the community together, neighbor helping neighbor. COVID social distanced us from each other. Sandy emptied our towns. COVID saturated the Island.

Sandy destroyed houses. COVID locked us in our homes. Sandy Page 104 • Echoes of LBI

Ten years after Sandy hit LBI, we have recovered and in many cases are better than before. Two years after the COVID lockdown we are still struggling with mask, vaccine, and social distancing conflicts.

Sandy was a superstorm. COVID was a viral tornado. Both tried our spirit; both strengthened our resilience. Time will write the ten-year reflection on COVID. As for Sandy, LBI proved stronger than the storm. —Maggie O’Neill. Photography courtesy of NOAA

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Bring in a photo of your kitchen, mantle, or curio cabinet. We will select the best shell for your decor or collection.

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he next one; it is a phrase echoed by generations on Long Beach Island ever since the Ash Wednesday nor’easter of March 1962. Though it was also assumed after every severe storm to impact the Island before then as well, the idea and sense of inevitability of the next one took on an almost boogeyman status when storm after storm, year after year, decade after decade, the next one failed to come. False alarms and close calls after 1962 led to a growing complacency among some and haunting preparation among others. One such close call came the year before Superstorm Sandy and would serve as a final rehearsal for the next one that would arrive exactly fifty years after the last next one.

In late August 2011, a category two hurricane, Irene, was forecasted to directly strike New Jersey. Evacuations were ordered. Homes and businesses were boarded up. On LBI, the usual streets flooded, and some properties suffered damage.

As locals would say, nothing worse than what occurs during a severe thunderstorm or a high moon tide.

Irene, a justifiably warned direct landfalling tropical system, was for Islanders just another close call joining the ranks of Floyd, Gloria, Belle, and Agnes. The earnest warnings from state, local and meteorological officials, coupled with the media hype as each storm was forecasted to pass near the Jersey coast, began to create a cognitive dissonance from the real-world potential each storm possessed.

In late October 2012, the attention of the National Hurricane Center turned to the latest tropical system that could threaten the east coast.

Unlike the other storms that failed to live up to the hype, Superstorm Sandy would be the next one.

Even as Sandy was still organizing and strengthening, there were already hints of its ultimate path into the mid-Atlantic coast. On October 24, it crossed Cuba as a strong category one hurricane. Once north of the Bahamas, Hurricane Sandy struggled in an environment unfavorable for tropical development but managed to maintain a strong warm core and expand in Page 108 • Echoes of LBI

size to over 275 miles across as it began to interact with a slowing cold front approaching the east coast that acted to both strengthen Sandy and pull it further west. Briefly downgraded to tropical storm status, Sandy saw explosive growth as it moved past North Carolina and found the warm Gulf Stream current. By October 29, winds increased to 100 mph in thunderstorms along the western side and the core intensified as the now hybrid low deepened. At this point, Sandy was no longer a tropical storm or a hurricane, though massive swathes of the system produced those conditions. Sandy was now an “extratropical low.”

Meteorologists who scrambled updating the rapidly changing dynamics of the storm and warning of its nearly unprecedented course struggled with what to call this low-pressure system formerly known as Hurricane Sandy that did not fit into the nor’easter category or the tropical definition. “Extratropical Low” Sandy sounded less threatening than its conditions, though it was the correct term and ultimately adopted in official advisories hours before landfall. In the end, like the legendary storms of years past with grandiose names, this hybrid system became known as Superstorm Sandy.

Late in the evening of Monday, October 29, as it executed a left turn and headed for somewhere between Absecon and Little Egg inlets, Superstorm Sandy had all the power and dangers of a strong tropical storm, and the vast scale and wind field of a giant nor’easter.

While sustained winds on the southeast side of the storm pushed 80 mph, they were half that on the northwest side passing over Long Beach Island and points north along the Jersey coast. Gusts, though, touched the worst ever seen by Islanders. At Surf City, 89 mph was recorded along with hurricane force gusts at Barnegat Light, Harvey Cedars, and Tuckerton.

Due to Sandy’s size and speed (28 mph) and the northeast winds that had been piling up water into bays and estuaries for days ahead of the storm, flooding in advance of landfall was severe in low-lying areas.

The usual places on the Boulevard and bayside streets had water, but it wasn’t the typical couple of inches. In bay shore communities like Beach Haven West, countless homes on their original slabs just a few feet off the ground already had water on their doorsteps. When Sandy made landfall, the storm surge made for a tale of two halves of New Jersey. Around the Island, the tidal peak coincided with the evening high tide and a full moon, yielding surges of 4 to 6 feet on the oceanside and even higher in some places on the bayside. Further north, however, it was much worse. Sandy Hook, coastal communities around Raritan Bay and New York City itself were flooded in places by never-before-seen water levels as high as 13.’

In the days and weeks that followed as Sandy passed into memory, on the ground the broad strokes of history were dwarfed by the intimate and the mortal. Lives were lost, homes and businesses destroyed, and lives forever changed. The process of starting-over and rebuilding began only hours after the remains of Sandy moved inland and spun around the mountains of Pennsylvania and West Virginia before finally drifting away to the north. For those who were on Long Beach Island, the experiences are harrowing and heartening. These are some of their stories.

On Monday afternoon, October 29, Sandy was less than 50 miles off the New Jersey coast. Of the more than 10,000 cottages on Long Beach Island, a small number were occupied by Islanders intent on riding out the storm. Firehouses were staffed with first responders. On the mainland, National Guard were already staging a command post and had teams on the Island

evacuating the last who wanted to leave.

In Barnegat Light, the air was pregnant with anticipation. The town’s vast dune system and wide beaches allowed a sense of reassurance to creep into the back of the minds of those who stayed. One of these holdovers was Karen Larson, whose family owns a fleet of commercial fishing vessels in town.

Ten years later, Larson remembered, “The storm was bad. [It was] very windy, but I wasn’t that concerned.” Some of the highest winds impacted Barnegat Light that afternoon ahead of the storm. A friend, Debbie Austin, and her dog, Charlie, from Harvey Cedars sheltered with her for the duration of the storm and the days after. “I walked with them. At one point it was [so windy] it was easier to walk backwards.”

Over at the docks, captains stayed in port for the storm, a safer alternative for the size of the boats than riding it out at sea. The fleet was lit up throughout the storm; their crews on hand to take action if necessary.

For those who did not ride out the storm, as landfall loomed evacuation required the support of first responders and the newly activated National Guard. On Saturday, October 27, Governor Christie declared a state of emergency for all of New Jersey. In the Gloucester County National Guard unit, Lieutenant Eric Shaw was one of those called into action and put in charge of Ocean County’s beaches.

“Once the state of emergency was put in place and we were activated, it was get [National Guard personnel and equipment] out the door,” Lt. Shaw said. “The police say, ‘We need a truck to get through water to get people out.’ Just get them out,” was the response from command. And such evacuations were necessary. In the end, the National Guard evacuated about 700 civilians from the Island

The nor’easter ultimately arrived weaker than feared the following Wednesday, causing only mild damage to the hurriedly constructed new beach dune systems the Guard and public works miraculously pulled off in time. At the same time as this herculean task, the next immediate crisis in the initial hours was a potentially explosive problem.

in the back of military vehicles before Sandy made landfall that Monday night.

As evacuations were underway, Tommy Walters and Pat Albanese of Walters Bicycles on East 5th Street and the Boulevard in Ship Bottom were intent on staying to take care of their business and home even as the flood waters rose. Or so they had hoped.

“We planned to stay,” Walters remembered. Late in the afternoon of October 29 the news, satellite images and storm tracks showed Sandy making a hook.

“I mean that thing made an actual left!” Walters said, still in amazement ten years later.

“When the water broke through the dunes [near 5th St.] that’s when the flooding really got bad. And I told [Pat], ‘Listen, we better get out now or we’re not gonna make it off.’”

As they left the Island, Walters was sure they had made the right decision. “When I was going over the bridge, there [were] a couple empty cars there” partially submerged in the flood waters. “So, thank God we got out when we did.”

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Dawn on Tuesday, October 30, revealed the damage Sandy had wrought on Long Beach Island.

Though the flood waters had already significantly receded, there was still standing water in some areas. Sand covered most oceanside streets. Many sections of the Boulevard were covered with the sand and flotsam. In places where the ocean had broken through the dunes, such as North Beach, Harvey Cedars, Ship Bottom and especially Holgate, pilings of houses were exposed many feet below the former ground level and contents of lower floors were strewn everywhere. Some houses lay on their sides, uprooted from their foundations, and turned completely around.

At the National Guard initial headquarters in Manahawkin, personnel were organizing for the 466 missions they would conduct over the next three months. They would assess and coordinate with officials from the Office of Emergency Management, and with mayors, fire chiefs, police departments and public works from the six municipalities to determine what was needed.

After being briefed, Lt. Shaw was given a free hand by his commanding officer, Lt. Col. Thomas Hallowell, to manage the situation on Long Beach Island. Under the command of Lt. Shaw all the National Guard’s resources could and would be brought to bear. And the priorities in the initial hours and days were no different from those faced by those overseeing rescue and recovery efforts back in 1962.

“You had a two-fold problem with Sandy,” Lt. Shaw explained.

“Sandy hit, you had the storm surge, everything flooded, you had all that devastation. But there was a nor’easter coming.”

Models and meteorologists were already under the gun of what would be a rapidly developing major nor’easter expected to impact the Island early the following week with cold weather and snow, only days after Sandy.

Officials were stunned at the cruel timing.

The Guard’s response became a repeated refrain as each crisis arose. “What do you need to try to stop this from being a disaster?”

“It came down to there were so many gas leaks,” Lt. Shaw recounted. “Our recommendation from the Army side to the civilian government was, ‘there’s a lot we can do, but we can’t do anything with gas leaks’ because there were so many. Gas leaks from houses ripped off their foundations, erosion exposing pipes, damage to the lines themselves in the road. It was everywhere. By the time you got to the southern edge of Beach Haven, near Holgate where it was the worst, you could smell the gas.” Sitting under the sun in Ship Bottom ten years later as Lt. Shaw listed the dangers all around the Island in those days, it was almost hard to believe.

“There were certain areas we didn’t yet know how bad the devastation was because you couldn’t go into them because of the gas. If we can get the gas shut off, we can clear roads, we can start moving dirt out of here, we can start getting water back on. [The mayors] were under the pressure of if they shut the whole Island off, will they ever be able to get it back on within a year’s time? That was a gamble. But they were decisive and said, ‘No, we’re going to shut the gas off. We can find a way to work around the lack of gas, but without doing that we can’t do anything.’ So, the main was shut off.”

With one more mission accomplished, and obstacle removed, the recovery effort could finally begin in earnest. Focus could now turn to the job of searching every home and assessing every street. Hindering the process was the sand that blanketed the roads and Island. Lt. Shaw explained, “Everything was under

three to four feet of sand.”

While those missions were underway, one more headache reared its head. “There was an issue with looting and the fear of looting, of people coming across the bay in boats.” To solve this, one of Lt. Shaw’s younger troops had an ingenious solution, that they use an infrared weapons targeting system.

“Easier said than done,” Lt. Shaw explained. “I had to talk to a lot of high levels [who were] asking, ‘Wait, you’re using a weapons system?’ You don’t want [them] to just read, ‘Hey, we want to use a tow missile system arrayed on the mainland!’ No, we’re not bringing the weapon, we’re just using the device that scans heat.” The Guard then coordinated with local law enforcement and put the trucks up on the causeway bridge to scan the bay. That way if they detected the heat of a boat engine attempting to cross over to the Island, Lt. Shaw said, “I can tell the State Police, ‘There’s an engine coming over and it’s gonna hit somewhere around 54th Street or wherever.’ And I think once the word got out after we caught about a dozen of them, a couple not even from the area, within a couple of days we had no looting on the Island.”

As the days passed and the immediate danger was over, homeowners and businessowners were anxious to get back on, while those who stayed waited for utilities to be restored and access to the rest of the Island and the mainland to be restored.

Walters and Albanese spent days after their evacuation hotelhopping in search of one that had power and had rooms available, both of which were in high demand across southern New Jersey that week. It would be three weeks before they could return to stay at their property and have utilities safely reactivated.

Nearly two feet of water flooded the bicycle shop, bending but not breaking the reinforced front door, which one would never know when the repaired

business re-opened the following spring.

Up in Barnegat Light, Larson, Austin, and Charlie lived a Spartan life in the darkness that first week after Sandy. At Viking Village, boat crews prepared for the likely living conditions after a major storm by making tons of ice for anyone who needed it during the six days the power was out. Locals who evacuated called Larson with updates after the storm. “The phone rang constantly,” Larson remembered.

“It was pre-smart phone for me, so we had no way of seeing the damage” people were describing. Passage south of 30th Street in Barnegat Light was blocked, though humanitarian drives were allowed to collect supplies or receive medical help. Callers also offered Larson any food or supplies that remained in their homes. Without electricity or gas, they were forced to improvise. “We set up an old broken ceramic pot, put it in the driveway, and had a little chimenea [for cooking and warmth].” In spite of the situation, everyone from first responders to locals made the best of it.

In the end, Islanders and local officials survived Sandy together

and rebuilt together. On LBI, damages were estimated to be $1 billion, several lives were lost, and hundreds who were unable to rebuild were permanently displaced.

During those months, Lt. Shaw was in the thick of one of the most profound experiences of his professional and personal life, one that caused him to fall in love with Long Beach Island and move to the area with his family.

“We had Army, Corps of Engineers, Navy, Coast Guard, Marines, Air Force. Under the worst circumstances, one of the most rewarding situations… everyone was working toward a common goal, everyone was able to pivot to the next problem,” said Lt. Shaw.

Demonstrations of community out of such tragedy extended to Lt. Shaw and his troops as they were overwhelmed with generous gifts of homemade food and other comforts of home, all while they slept on cots in municipal offices into the new year.

And when it was over, locals offered complimentary time at their cottages and the owners of Fantasy Island Amusement Park

opened up one day just for military personnel and their families who served during the Sandy recovery effort.

This gratitude after so much hard work to move heaven and earth to recover from an unfathomable disaster is an example of character that defines what it means to be a part of the Island family.

Ten years later, Lt. Shaw remains astonished at the Island’s recovery. He so cares for the Island and its people who he now counts as friends and family that he had a message for those who now wait and ask about the next one that will come one day.

“If the recommendation is to evacuate, evacuate,” Lt. Shaw said. “If nothing happens, you’ve lost nothing but some time.

Weather is unpredictable. You can take all the technology in the world, and you can get a probability, but you’re never going to get an absolute. Other than saying a storm is coming, no one can tell you how devastating it’s going to be or how the factors of nature will align.

There is no property that is more valuable than a life. Anything can be rebuilt, believe me, I’ve seen it.”—Reilly Platten Sharp

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B

each Haven is steeped in history. Into The Mystic Ghost Tours explores stories of the past that reveal the ghostly and paranormal legends of the Queen City.

The tours started fourteen-years ago and have provided a fun night for families, ladies night out, birthday parties, and anyone who is interested in the lure of the unexplained.

The walking route is from ocean to bay around Beach Haven and lasts about ninety minutes. Part history, part legend, and part ghost story, Into The Mystic Ghost Tours provides a unique experience for visitors to LBI. Tour guide Maggie O’Neill explains, “Everyone enjoys a good ghost story. Stories of the paranormal and unexplained provide fascinating discussions prompted by ghost tours like Into The Mystic. I often get emails and texts from people who have been

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on the tour saying it led to some interesting conversations and thanking me for providing something different to do on LBI. The LBI Historical Museum has been gracious enough to let us meet in their wonderful space. A portion of the proceeds go back to the museum.”

Into the Mystic Ghost Tours walking tours of Beach Haven are held every Tuesday and Wednesday night throughout the summer, 7:00 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. Adults – $15. Children six to twelve years – $8. Children five years and under are free.

Into The Mystic Ghost Tours meets at the LBI Historical Museum, Beach and Engleside Avenues, Beach Haven. Doors open at 6:30 p.m. on tour nights. Reservations are required and guests pay upon arrival. Ticket price includes admission to the museum before the tour. Call 609-709-1425 for reservations. —Maggie O'Neill

THE WRACK LINE SCULPTURE CONTEST LBI Sea Glass & Art Festival, October 1 & 2, 10am-4pm Things A Drift, 406 Long Beach Blvd., Ship Bottom, NJ 609.361.1668 • thingsadrift.com/events/lbiseaglassfest Collect flotsam and jetsam from the beach and turn it into art! Enter one sculpture made of beach finds, be it human-made trash, natural or a combination. Sculptures must be assembled ahead of time, able to fit on the contest table, stay intact throughout the contest, and be G-rated. Sculptures must be made of no less than 75% beach finds and can be held together with anything. Free to enter, all ages and skill levels welcome.

Register on October 2nd, between 11AM to 2PM. Judging at 2:30PM. Sculptures must be picked up after the contest.

Be inspired by our previous winners on Facebook @lbiseaglassfest 2021 Wrack Line Contest Winners, clockwise from the top right: 2021 Entry table featuring several wonderful sculptures.

Children's entry winner – Lilliana A., We’re Eating Good Tonight 3rd Place – Dean Heiler, Sea Glass Fish 2nd Place – Linda Hochuli, Desk Caddy Honorable Mention – Maureen Newman, Man vs. Nature Children's entry winner Emerson Z., Bottle Cap Crab Best Overall – Lois Mullen, Sandy Claus the LBI Beachcomber

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