It is a small beach and if you blink you’ll miss it. Wedged between two old production factories it faces out towards Lubec Narrows. To the left the old smokehouse stands quiet. Its windows have been boarded up and the worn shingles are separated, falling one by one into the sea. Looking across the narrows Mulholland Light stands like a sentinel, its red and white coloring standing out against the green landscape.
The beach is littered with broken old pottery and broken bottles. It has always fascinated me, as if every piece were a key to the past. Many people have said that the bottles are just from people who came down to the beach to drink, then threw their empties down onto the rocks. Perhaps they are right, but I wonder if there is more to it. There are little pieces of pottery, and bottles with dates etched into the glass. What stories were linked to these small trinkets?
My Mothers memorial was in two week, and I went to the beach to collect sea glass. It was our intention to spread part of her ashes while we were in Maine. In only felt right to bring something back with us. She taught me how to find the best pieces when I was little. It was a hobby that I had fallen into passionately. It was fun, yet it made me miss her. Some people mourn in a loud public manner. My grief is private and dignified. It hurts, but I bear it best I can. I want to move forward and be strong.
I walked around the beach quietly collecting bits of green and clear glass. I felt the edges, assuring that they were soft before picking them up and pocketing them. Later we would put them into mason jars, to remember this trip. This trip would different than any other, and while it was hard,we wanted to remember.
So as the tide went out, I continued on. Searching the ground for the little shimmers of light. The different colors. Thinking of the past, a heaviness in my heart. Yet slowly moving forward with each piece of sea glass that I discovered.