Beach lovers all …
We are watching as I write this. We are tracking the oil. We are thinking about the thousands of animals that have already lost their lives and the selfishness of folks like us who want nothing more than to have their darn perfect beach vacation — even as so many have lost the perfection that was theirs and even as that nasty Deepwater Horizon continues to pump massive amounts of oil into the sea. This is surreal, right? Wrong. It’s real.
For 17 years we’ve headed south to Florida’s Emerald Coast, and this month we’re supposed to go again. But instead of talking excitedly about going, instead of dreaming about crabbing and fishing and swimming and sunbathing at our beach, we’re talking about oil. While over the years we’ve perfected sunscreen and shade, swimming and skimming, sandwiches-on-the-beach, sunsets and wine, and fresh fish dinners cooked up by Dad and Mom in our great black iron skillet and on the Weber grill now …. we watch.
We check the oil tracker daily. There have been “tar chips” and dime-size tarballs. My niece, recently there, confessed that it was hard to get the stuff out of her bathing suit … even as local posts from the region claim there is no oil and the beaches are open “for enjoyment.”
I think if we go we’ll be constantly on the prowl whether consciously or subconsciously … not for crabs and shade … but for signs of oil … tar chips … is that a slick? Forget it.
We do not know if we’re going or not. But if not there … then … where?
Life is no longer our beach … So whose beach is it?
