“She” Shells
“She sells seashells by the seashore,
The shells she sells are seashells, I’m sure.
So if she sells seashells on the seashore,
Then I’m sure she sells seashore shells.”
~1871 “The Family Herald”
You won’t find me selling my shell collection any time soon. Take me on vacation and my bag is always heavier on the way home. Shells, rocks, driftwood, sand—all collections of nature-made treasures. Each jar, shoebox or pottery bowl holds a cherished memory of a day, a stroll or adventure.
The beach has always been a refuge for me. Whether distant islands, the Pacific coastline or our unique Puget Sound. Walking bare feet along the shore. The repeated act of creating foot prints is meditative. Sometimes filling with water, others a perfect replica. My eyes scanning the shoreline ahead of me, looking for a treasure.
A favorite collection takes me back to the Long Beach Peninsula with our boys. Each Spring Break & Kite Festival Week were long & carefree days. Dogs running in the sand, boys building forts, plaster footprints, sandcastles & sandy sandwiches. A particularly intriguing find, buried in the sand. A collection of small toys. Treasures left for young boys to puzzle over and imagine who left them to be found in the expansive shoreline.
A memorable family trip to Hawaii produced a heartfelt collection of tiny shells from Kauai, reminding me of my father. Tucked in their home of a child’s shoe box and in my heart. More exotic travels to the Caribbean even turned up a turtle egg casing. Along with my other treasures from tropical travels, they are home in an apothecary jar. A conk shell from a Harbor Island lunch shack, sits atop a stack of books. An heirloom collection of shells passed on to me accent our Guest Room. And treasured white pebbles from a landlocked beach in Greece. A sea of white, which we soon discovered were marble pebbles of all sizes. Soft & smooth from their time tumbling in the harsh elements of the sea. A few now reside in a silver bowl on our coffee table.
Both reflective & celebratory memories can be found in the Puget Sound. My favorite beach scattered with smooth granite stones. Speckled & varied in size along with tumbled pieces of driftwood. A few chosen pieces find their way to my garden. Lining a pathway, grouped at the base of potted plants or added to our fountains for the birds & bees to rest upon.
Pebbles have found their way into my own art too. My signature pottery piece is called “The Pebble Pot”. Telling the story of the pebble, much like our own human story. Edges softened with time; comforting & familiar. This story is woven into the tale of the pebble that is tossed into the water. Its rings spreading further and further, reaching far beyond that initial splash.
Writing the chapters of endless summer days & winter respites, strolling along the shore, resting in a comfortable beach chair reading or exploring a new seashore are welcome anytime of year. A sense of gratitude washes over me for this tiny world nature creates for our enjoyment & balance—whether you find me selling seashells or not.
“The sea air and society were meant to coax her out of her shell before her season commenced. It didn't quite work that way. Instead, Maddie spent most of those weeks with shells. Collecting them on the beach, sketching them in her notebook…”
~Tessa Dare, When a Scot Ties the Knot
