Outdoor Traditions

Gift From the Sea

Article and photo by SALLIE LEWIS

The waves not only wash up treasures from the salty bottom, they wash away many of the burdens of modern life.

With the summer solstice just weeks away, I am hardpressed to think of anything more tempting than a long and leisurely trip to the beach. Over the years, many of my most cherished childhood memories were made on the Texas Gulf Coast. As I type this, I get nostalgic just thinking about its salty sea air and windswept oaks.

Back in 2020, I took a few solo weekend trips to Rockport and Port Aransas. In the process, I felt a little bit like the aviator and author, Anne Morrow Lindbergh, whose best-selling book, “Gift from the Sea,” recounts her solo sojourns to Florida’s Captiva Island in the 1950s. In Lindbergh’s luminous prose, she muses about life and the gifts of solitude through the lens of various seashells, like oyster beds and Argonauts, double-sunrise shells and channeled whelks.

Much like the author’s own experiences, my solitary days gave me the space I needed to reflect on life and the pandemonium unleashed by the pandemic. To my surprise, I found peace all around, from the swaying sea oats growing wild on the sand dunes of Mustang Island to a tiny hilltop chapel painted with vibrant watercolor murals.

Some of my favorite moments came in the fleeting golden hours, watching the sun set and the moon rise over the water. Removed from the noise and distractions of home, I began to notice the reassuring rhythms of the sea, and the serene cadence of coastal life.

One morning, I woke up early and biked to the Port Aransas marina. Giant teal nets hung from the “Peggy Ann,” a shrimp boat, still glistening from their morning sweep. I returned home with a large sack of fresh jumbo shrimp, which I prepared for dinner that evening in a heaping bowl of linguine with lemon and capers.

During my seaside getaways, I especially relished the relaxed, unhurried routine and the days spent outside, immersed in nature. I spent hours walking the beach, searching for treasures washed up from the ocean floor, and watched pelicans, plovers, and sandpipers hunt for their midday meals. Everywhere I looked, life was revealing her colors— and I was paying attention.

While traveling solo can be a daunting exercise, I like to think it can be a wise teacher, too. With each of my trips, I realized how little I actually needed. My suitcase full of outfits, shoes, jewelry, and makeup went largely untouched as I eschewed vanity and embraced simplicity, with sun-kissed skin and shoeless feet. Some days, I rarely uttered a word, listening instead to seagulls caw overhead or palm fronds rustle in the wind.

Like Lindbergh in “Gift from the Sea,” every time I left the beach, I returned home with much more than pretty seashells in tow. The greatest gift, as I learned firsthand, was the way it made me feel—refreshed, restored, and reconnected to the resounding beauty of life.