Caladesi Island

“Come on, Mommy, let’s get in the water! Come on, hurry up!” my daughter whines as she tugs me closer to the shoreline. Her sparkly flip flops flick up the snow-white sand with ease. I, on the other hand, trudge through the dunes as my legs aren’t as strong as they used to be. No matter, I’m glad to be back in this place, this haven, and it seems glad to have me back as well. The clear blue water greets me like an old friend as it laps upon the wet seashore.

We pick our way past the other beach goers and their sprawled-out belongings. Tanned women with wrinkles smiling around their eyes, pale white babies being lathered with sunscreen to protect their delicate complexions, children with ebony skin soaking up the suns rays as they build grand sand castles, and men with Latino roots, beers in hand, surveying the water for signs of trouble. I don’t know these people, but we smile and exchange greetings as if we were distant cousins at an annual family reunion.

           My daughter and I find a warm spot in the sand, clear of rocks and grass, and we lay down our bright blue beach towels. Not one for wasting time, my little girl scoops up her goggles and races down to the water in a streak of neon pink and orange. Thank goodness I already rubbed her down with sunscreen on the ferry because when that child sees something she’s after, there is no stopping her. Squealing with joy, she stampedes through a flock of seagulls who squawk as they fly away, annoyed.

           Seeing the gulls reminds me of antics that my mother and I would get up to. I once set a piece of bread crust on her heard, and a gull swooped down to snatch it right off her, taking a bit of hair with him. She screamed and scolded at the time, but we both got a good laugh from it in the following years. We learned our lesson about feeding the seabirds though. Once they discover you have food, they refuse to leave you in peace. My mom would have me run through the flock to disperse them, but they always came back.

“I’m gonna find some fish friends! Mom, come help!” My daughter pulls me from my memory when she reaches the water. She splashes into the ocean, mask strapped on her determined face. She dives under the gentle waves, feet kicking behind her. She’s a strong swimmer, just like her mother. But just like my mother used to do, I still worry.

“Not too far!” I call out as I make my way over to her. I wade in after her, sure to shuffle my feet in case of stingrays. I recall one day when I was young, at least three people had been stung. Although this was a terrifying thought, I didn’t let the threat keep me from the ocean then, and I wouldn’t now. I stand, waist deep, and let the waves gently rock me back and forth. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, inhaling a salty, slightly fishy smell.

           “Mommy, I found a sand bar!” I look ahead and my offspring is standing in water only as high as her little tummy. She’s walking around, shuffling her feet, when suddenly, she lets out a little shriek and falls backwards, splashing into the water. Panic seizes my chest, and I swim to her as fast as my aging body will take me. I pick her up when I reach her, checking for marks or scratches.

           “What’s wrong sweetie? Did you get stung?” I ask her.

           She nonchalantly replies, “No, I just stepped on something, I don’t know what it was.”

           I examine the bottom of her little feet and see no signs of damage. “Where, did you step on it, honey?” She points a few paces over. I set her on the sand I know is safe and move closer to the problem area. I squint to see the bottom, the sun’s reflection making it difficult to see even in the clear blue water. Finally, I find the culprit. I bend down to pick up the creature my little girl stepped on, and I bring it to her. “Do you know what this is?” I ask. She shakes her head. “This is a sand dollar,” I explain. “You usually see them when they’re dead, all white and bleached by the sun. But you found a live one!”

           She shrieks with delight and claps her hands. “Can it hold it, please? Can I?” she begs.

           “Of course, love, just hold out your hands. It’s going to tickle,” I warn as I place the prickly echinoderm in her soft hands.

           “It’s so spiky! And it’s moving! The little brown hairs are all moving!” She starts to pet it with one hand. “Let’s name it. Is it a boy or a girl? How about Sandy? That could work whether it’s a boy or a girl. Can we keep it? Can we keep Sandy?” she asks with hopeful, wide green eyes.

           I laugh, “No, baby, Sandy has to stay here in the ocean.”

           She pouts. “Then I want to stay here in the ocean too.”

           “You can stay with your new friend for the rest of the day, but then we have to go home.” She frowns. “But we can come back tomorrow, and maybe you can find Sandy again!” She smiles with her baby teeth, one missing in the front, and resumes gently stroking Sandy the sand dollar.

           After she’s said goodbye to Sandy, we go back to the beach and walk along the water’s edge, looking for shells. We find lots of spiraled shells, lady slippers, scallops, and many others I don’t know the name for. We put the best ones in a purple mesh bag that we would later go through and sort by type and size.

           As I walk along the shore, the sun slowly dipping closer to the horizon, the sandy breeze exfoliating my skin, and my daughter combing for shells by my side, I think about how I am the only thing that has changed here, and that makes me smile.