WHAT I TREASURE
My heart of glass By Lydia Bailey
Not many people can say they found their heart on a beach – but in this case, I can. In more ways than one… I’m lucky enough to live on the north coast of Cornwall and enjoy nothing better than sifting through the sand along the shoreline as a tide turns, hunting for ‘sea treasure’. My usual finds are simply the flotsam and jetsam of beach life: driftwood, so worn it feels like silk to touch, shells of course, and, best of all, sea glass jewels; discarded broken bottles kindly laundered by the Atlantic, scrubbed clean and then deposited, rejected, back to the shore. Green and clear glass is the most common, brown is plentiful but not as pretty to look at, blue is my favourite, and red as rare as rubies.
A few years ago, my father-in-law sadly died and a couple of days later, still in a state of disbelief, my husband and I took my mother-in-law with us on our beach sojourn. We all got caught up sifting through the sand and shingle. Although therapeutic, there was nothing much to be found and after a while we all sat on the sand, backs against the ancient stone sea wall, looking out to sea at the myriad boats bobbing about. It was a cloudy evening in mid-summer. We chatted of my father-in-law, a proud Cornishman, when suddenly the clouds parted and the sun burst forth dazzling our eyes and transforming the scene before us; the sea turned from grey to turquoise, the sand to white, and a million diamonds bounced off the water, twinkling in the evening light.
I also became aware of light twinkling in the sand in front of me, on reaching forward I pulled out a piece of beautifully smooth, translucent glass – I could feel it was embossed with a pattern on one side and, as I looked closer, I realised it was in the shape of a heart. I collect hearts. I collect sea glass. To me it was the most fitting find and I believed that my father-in-law had helped me find it.
I’m still a keen treasure seeker. I haven’t found any other pastimes to better it; exercise, fresh air and mindfulness all rolled into one. My favourite time to hit the beach is early morning or late evening, and just after a storm. Not only does the ozone flow through your system without even trying, but the sea is guaranteed to have released a new batch of jewels. The only time I avoid going is high season when the ‘car park full’ signs are up before the sun is risen and even the gull cries are masked by human ones.
I return when the beaches empty and when the treasure trove’s been restocked. What means a lot to you? Tell us in 500 words; thesimplethings@icebergpress.co.uk.