Princeton mathematician Andrew Wiles was asked during an interview in a PBS/BBC airing of "The Proof" about his process for proving Fermat's Last Theorem. Dr. Wiles replied he took long walks through the woods where he could clear the clutter from his mind, leading to remarkable revelations. Naturally, practitioners of yoga and mediation, and many therapists prescribe long walks or places to escape the noise in your head. My rebellious nature didn't immediately take to this often-made suggestion. And then after a low period, I discovered where I feel most at ease; where the non-stop, left-brain neural processing would seem to go into stasis, and my imagination, right-brain, would be given free rein. Those who have read my book or have followed my blogs may already know where I find inspiration: beaches on Cape Cod.
Even in the middle of throngs of visitors during this late spring, I set up my chair, as I wear my beach hat at Nauset Beach and decompress. No, I don't clear all the clutter from my noisy mind. Instead, I watch what I want to see and listen to what I want to hear. No day is like another. As with the crystalline sand which sifts through your fingers, each handful contains individual grains; only unique when observed closely.
The tide is out, this afternoon, at Nauset, but the harbor seals look more relaxed as they swim 200 feet from shore, as if the shallower water will provide a buffer from a roaming Great White shark. The seals swim in waves, up to six or more at a time, parallel to shore. There are more this year--repelling and aggravating ocean fishermen--and yet the rascals never cease to amuse. One line of seals travels as if it were a train, with a young seal carrying the rear, the caboose.
Farther out the flat, curved horizon--the aperture of the earth--gives me a chill. Why? Maybe because seeing the roundness of our planet reminds me how close to the edge human beings have come. As the eighty degree sun begins to increase my body temperature, a cool wind picks up and then I spot a kite. One multi-color, trapezoid, inflated drifter moves quickly along the shoreline, high in the clear, blue sky with its long tail acting as a rudder. I strain my neck to peek over other beach-goers to find the expert flier, no luck.
Zigzagging ruts carved by the outgoing tide and sand breaks have produced tidal pools. Unlike Skaket Beach's flora and fauna, Nauset's shallow waters hold stones--some ordinary and others colorful, buffed by the ocean's power. The pools are warm, the ocean colder. Brave, early seasonal swimmers are in the surf, but not too far from the shoreline. Strange seeing so few near the sun-kissed sea. Shark sightings have scared even the curious from wading in or splashing their feet.
The break is shallow, at least from where I'm sitting. Mini-pipelines shut down as fast as they start. Peering south, toward Chatham, the breakers are bigger--surfers try to catch a wave but the surf bottoms out. Only a lone skimmer, a tall, lanky teen looking for the best spot to launch his board, has my vote for a successful afternoon.
Then, I turn my attention to the voices. Spurts of conversation: "Sharks have been around for thousands. . ," "I love spinning," to "Did anyone get the Red Sox score?" I am delighted that the inquisitor doesn't have his cell phone to get the answer. A woman in the party holds a pink-cased I-phone, yet her effort produces: "No service, here." I'm thinking, Ah, Nauset, a nature lovers' paradise.
After seconds of smug glee and watching ubiquitous football tossers who almost always pick a spot where they are in danger of hitting a lounging beach-goer, I notice a couple playing paddle ball on the flat sands down the slope from my location. The two are wearing nondescript shorts and t-shirts. This picture begins my next journey. A fashion reconnoiter, you might call it.
Most men, thankfully, are in the retro-trendy long swim trunks, a relief for if I wanted to see their package I'd go to the ballet! (Balletomanes don't despair as I love the performing art and rarely pay attention to the often-padded "spectacle.") Women are wearing a variety of bikinis, a rare string here and there, along with bandeaus; whereas others have chosen tankinis and one-pieces like I have. I've decided to classify these ladies even further as: sun-worshipers and sun-avoiders. The latter numbers greatly increasing with the sun cancer burst.
The swimsuit colors don't impress me this season. Fashion designers should observe towel trends for more eye-catching designs and colors, bad and good. From faux leopard to neon pink stripes; a cobalt blue blanket with stringy fringe to understated solids. Not a repeat among the multitude. I start to believe that towel selection is like numerology or astrology, providing signs about the owner's personality. {Sorry readers I won't describe my towel.}
Quietly and suddenly, on the flats a beach buggy captures my line of vision. The U.S. Park Service driver, most likely a retired vet (the Park Service/National Seashore gives vets dibs on summer jobs) rides along with a wide smile. Unlike the original "buggies," this vehicle has a jeep-like, boxed shape, with a permanent roof, screened rear window and even a yellow siren. At least, the intrusion is peaceful.
A tell-tale sign that I'm at the right place. For, there are hundreds of visitors around me yet very little noise. Whether residents, summer snow birds or tourists, those who come to Nauset share a desire to absorb nature's canvas; to listen, to see, to feel the blessings of the sea.
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