Sand and the Beach

I have strived to avoid sand in all its gravel, grit and ability to sneak into places it should not be for as long as I can remember.  More than one pair of shoes and socks have been lost to the trash after a many fateful encounter at a beach.

I moved to the Pacific Northwest about seven years ago and found myself about an hours drive from the Mighty Pacif. On the dozen various trips to the Ocean, Autistic me ran in to a number of unexpected problems, sand being one of them. (Loud Ocean waves, fear of stinging danger water thingies, and a new terror called "sneaker waves" that can sneak up and steal you stealthily into the sea for drowning are some of the others.)

I would eagerly anticipate a romp at the beach only to get there, be filled with hypervigilance and anxiety, and leave in an uncomfortable, nervous, disappointed mess.

Then, this past Tuesday happened. I've been living a solitary life for about a year now. The kids are grown and away. I had spent 12 of the past 14 days under quarantine, in house, due to hazardous air quality. Tuesday, I decided to take off.

I drove the hour to Newport, a city I had visited probably a couple dozen times. Familiarity breeds less anxiety and more enjoyment so it felt good to go there. I stopped first at the Marina as my primary objective was to see oceanic fishing boats up close. Whilst I was walking the docks and taking pictures of the many vessels, I realized that I had not been to the ocean in months and that it was a very short distance away from my location. I was risking burnout and exhaustion because I hadn't ventured out in so long but i couldn't pass up the opportunity to at least view the Ocean from my car.

I pulled into the Nye Beach parking lot. It's apparently referred to as the "Historic Nye Beach", or so the signage states. (Why? Well, I have no idea but I digress...)

This was a new location for me. My previous beach ventures had been to smaller, out-of-the-way parks, however as I stood downtown I noticed the Yaquina Bridge in the distance. Man, that thing looks high, so high. I could remember if my fear of heights and bridges was a constant or intermittent but it certainly did make me take pause when I saw it. Nye is this side of the bridge so I wouldn't have to wager on panic attack or no panic attack. Nye it was!

It was a long winding path till my feet touched sand. I noticed the young couple that had preceded me had slipped off their shoes. I realized, well, I remembered how much sand in shoes freaks me out so I carefully removed both shoes and socks, managed to actually effectively tie the laces together and swung the shoes over my camera strap. Now, to see what it is like to walk barefoot, on sand.

Gingerly I started to step. I could seeby the darker coloring that some of the top layer was wet while under that the sand was dry. I took step after step noting my direction, toward the water, and being observant to each footfall so that I didn't step on anything sharp or potentially painful. Step by step, I strode.

The entire bottom surface of my feet made contact with layer after layer of wet dry sand. The ground molded around each foot like a slipper that only covered the foot to below the ankle. I could sense the various foot/ankle/lower leg muscles working and straining in new ways, positions they hadn't encountered in hard soled shoe. It was okay, though. Felt different and new but not alarming.

I observed the other humans to determine what was and what was not protocol at the beach since I was such a sand virgin. I wanted to touch the ocean with my feet but I wasn't sure how close I could get to the waves so I watched and made note of the others and their positions.

My theory was to get closer to the water but to make sure others were closer as well as performing this feat with others in the near area lest I run into trouble.

So I did.

It took a couple attempts before both feet became covered in the cool water but it did happen, and I have the photos to prove it.

I walked the beach for about an hour or do marveling at the near invisible horizon line between white water and cloudy sky. I was amazed at the Vast of it all. The infinite toward the horizon and to my right and to my left. The sky was immense and hung High.

I didn't want to leave, but my doggie was at home and needed me.

It was the first time that I ever enjoyed the beach without fear and without concern for sand. My tolerances are probably shifting. The beach was fun. The sand, no problem.