Hard to recognize it as beach, these days. Granted, this is the most grown-in spot. The small creek that drains the swamps behind us comes out here, cutting a green path through the sandy bank between woods and waves. By late summer the stream mostly dries up; but after the heavy rains we had the first week of September it was once again flowing freely, dropping in a series of miniature waterfalls to join the waters of the Bay.
While this is the greenest spot, all of my beach is growing in. Sometimes I mourn the loss of bare sand and stones—of “real” beach. The other day, though, I paused at this spot and started thinking, wondering: How many plants are growing right here, within arm’s length? Within a step or two?
I decided to investigate. I got a measuring tape and four sticks and staked out a small plot, four feet by four feet, right at the edge of the water. And then I looked inside.
Peppermint (the purple flower), surrounded by something else. (?)
More mint and asters, silverweed (the short, leafy plant that looks a bit like strawberry—it has bright yellow flowers in the spring), Baltic rushes and a wild tangle of roots, exposed by the waves.
Grass-leaved goldenrod (I think).
The segmented, reedy-looking plants are scouring rushes. As kids we used to pluck one now and then and pretend to smoke it (the tiny cone on the tip looks a bit like the ash on a cigarette.)
In my four-by-four plot I also found a bit of Queen Anne’s lace, a second variety of goldenrod, a small purple flower I’ve not yet identified and something that looked like a willow. All together I could distinguish thirteen different plants; I’m sure a trained eye could identify more. A few steps away, higher on the bank there are growing several kinds of grasses, two or three varieties of thistle, beach pea and even a few white pine seedlings.
It can be easy to fall into the habit of thinking of all of this growth, sprouted up in the last decade or so, as a nuisance. The twisting roots and dense foliage make it hard to walk the shoreline in many places, and leave precious little space to spread out a towel or set down a few beach chairs.
But framing the picture differently (literally reframing it, using my artificial four-by-four boundaries), looking in and peering closer, I see things in a new way, appreciating the incredible variety of living things at the water’s edge. As if to emphasize the point, while I was crouched there with my notebook a fat bumblebee came by and stopped momentarily in my study plot,
A glorious tangle.