If Only

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

I love the ocean and have never stepped onto a beach without it being a peaceful experience even when the wind is blowing and the waves appear angry. There is just something magical about it that makes me feel all warm inside. I’m not particular. It can be the Pacific Ocean, Atlantic, the Gulf of Mexico or even The Sea of Cortez. They each hold a special place in my heart and in my memory.

I enjoy slipping off my shoes and walking in the wet sand where the waves can gently wash over my feet and bathe them in the story of time. I often wonder where those water droplets have been as they are swept up from the sea by hot temperatures to be carried aloft for miles and miles only to be condensed back into water droplets and splashed on the ground to nourish the earth. Then gradually those droplets find their way to the streams and rivers that carry them ultimately back to the ocean to once more churn and bubble in the waves that wash over my feet once more.

As I walk along the beach I look for things that catch my interest. Years ago I would find shells that still contained their living creatures and regardless of the fate of the little ocean dwellers, I would haul them home. After a week or so the smell of dead and dying sea creatures would outweigh the beauty of the shells and I would throw them away in hopes of ridding myself of the putrid odor. Today I toss the living ones back into the surf and limit my treasure hunting to the shells and other artifacts that wash up at my feet.

On those days that I find nothing to take home, I still enjoy the sights and sounds of the ocean. Many of my dreams incorporate the sand, the sun, the breeze, and the waves of the ocean. I’m not sure if that is because we often went to the beach on our family vacations or because I am enthralled with distant horizons. A good friend once suggested that it might be because those horizons don’t block my imagination. I reminded her that there isn’t much that impedes my imagination. She agreed.

Today as I walked on the beach, most of the shells were trampled and broken from other beach combers looking for that perfect specimen to hold up in the air and say, “Look what I found.” As I strolled down the beach my wife ran ahead of me to make sure she would be the first to spot a trophy shell. “You see them before I get a chance to look,” she said as she sprinted twenty yards or so ahead. Walking in the wet sand or beach combing for treasures has never been a race for me. I casually moved out into the water so that I was walking in four inches of standing tide. The foam of the waves coming in momentarily blocked my view of the sandy bottom but after each wave passed the water would clear once more and I could see what was being tumbled and washed ashore.

During the course of my walk I found a sand dollar about the size of a silver dollar. I carefully cupped it in my hand to protect its fragile edges. A little further down the beach I came across a hand-woven necklace half buried in the sand. It had been broken or came untied because one end was moving around in the waves. Part of the necklace was buried in the sand. I gave it a gentle tug but it didn’t want to slide out of its wet sandy tomb. Bending over, I began to gently dig around the necklace. To my surprise the necklace contained a small gold ring. If I had been able to pull the necklace from the sand without having to do any digging, I would never have known that it contained the small gold ring. The ring would have slid off the necklace and remained buried in the sand for someone else to find or possible never be found.

Washing the wet sand off the ring I examined it for any inscription that might be on the inside. The only words I found were “14 K” embossed in tiny letters. My wife said, “You lucky duck.” “It wasn’t luck at all; you passed by it before I did,” I said. “You just chose to look in different places than I was looking.” Anyway, I didn’t feel lucky. I felt special that I had the opportunity to touch something that was probably very precious to someone else. I would tell the story of the ring “If Only” I knew its history. I would return the ring to its owner “If Only” I knew who she was. I would toss the ring back into the ocean “If Only” I knew that would be her desire. Until I do know, I will keep it and remember that I found it on January 25th. So, as I thought all along, there can be Christmas in January. I can hardly wait for February 25th. My daughter called to tell me that my eleventh grandchild is due on May 25th. Who was it that said, “If only we could have Christmas every month?” We can. It is only limited by our imagination.