Searching for Sea Glass

For almost 60 years, which includes all of my life, my family has taken one week a year to “camp” on Lake Erie. We’ve gone to the same exact campground. We rent the same camper and cottage. We keep the tradition alive because we all grew up doing it.

Beyond the habit, it brings us all together. It is a time we can all pause life, take it easy, and soak in a bit of our worlds. From Virginia and various towns in Pennsylvania, to as far as North Dakota, we come together to enjoy the downtime. It is the only time, each year, we get to enjoy one another, share happy stories of our past, and bring each up to date on current life events. It is a time I look forward to, yearly, and cherish always.

One of my favorite things to do during this week of R&R, and it is hard to pick favorites, is searching for sea glass. I love the campfires. I love the sunshine, and beach time. I love the waves and floating on the lake. I love most my family. But sea glass searching has always been a fun activity during this annual tradition.

As the years have gone on, there seems to be less and less of it, making the search all the more difficult. It was fun to pass the hobby along to the younger ages, teaching my kids what to search for, the unique methods, and the rarest pieces. I, too, learned many many moons ago, as my grandmother would stroll the shoreline, plucking shells and sea glass treasures along her way.

I’m not sure if the sea glass was just far more prevalent “back in the day,” or if my age simply makes my vision worse by the year. I remember walking up and down the shore, seeking for the perfect pieces for many years now, marching dutifully along the water’s edge until my neck would ache from looking down. But these days, I like the more laid-back version of the hunt, sitting in one place, digging around a single spot for whatever may come.

I’m not incredibly picky, per se, about which types of glass I find. I’m always keeping my eye out for the rarest of colors, but I enjoy the search for each and every one. Each is unique and brings its own flair to my collection.

Sometimes, just sitting still and discovering what the world brings to you can be beautiful. Other times, exhausting yourself, pacing the shore can be a futile practice. After all, you may come home with nothing.

Some hunters spend times digging for the “perfect” piece, a piece you’ve built up in your mind, a piece that may or may not even exist, closing your mind off of finding others. But I could see how gathering every single stone can mean owning far too many, to an extent that you don’t appreciate each piece as much, as they are one in a plethora of others just like them.

Another pitfall of sea glass searching can be that first glance appearance. They used to call iron pyrite “Fool’s Gold” in the mining days of our country. It resembled gold. It glittered like gold. But it was not gold.

Sea glass can be a lot like that, too. You may see a sparkle in the stones, the waves of the lake might glisten with what looks like beautiful gems, which may turn out to be just some wet rocks. You must look carefully and not be tricked by the occasional spark of shine that isn’t an authentic piece of sea glass.

Some come to the beach, and of course, don’t seek sea glass at all. They splash in the lake’s waves, blissfully enjoying a vacation break without any purpose or goal of productivity. Still others may arrive at the lake to rest, take time to enjoy the peace of the lapping waters, not bothered by sea glass searching at all.

I spent some time considering these life parallels as I sought the sea glass treasures during this year’s visit. I thought of the differences in new searchers versus those with decades of experience. I thought of the varying methodologies, the resulting fluctuation of outcomes. I just kept thinking how very much the search of sea glass mirrored real life.

As I got clearly too deep in thought about a single metaphor, I watched an elderly couple come up the beach. They came from around a bend in the shoreline, where I’d not seen them prior. Each had a large bag in their hands. They were of an age that the rocky, unstable beach was a worry for me, concerned about their footing and risk for falling. But they didn’t seem to mind.

As they came closer, I could see what they were doing. And it wasn’t searching for sea glass.

Instead, the pair was canvasing the beach, picking up trash. They were removing garbage, the plastic spoons, the empty cans, the washed-up store bags. They were clearing the way for the next generation. They cared enough about the space that they wanted to make it better for others.

In the end, it was probably the life lesson this duo taught me that struck a heartstring, even deeper than an analogy on sea glass. In 20 years, that couple probably won’t be here anymore; not just gone from the beach but will likely have left this world. And, despite that fact, they decided to spend at least a portion of their peaceful holiday removing the barriers, the debris that threatened the shoreline and surrounding habitats, so that future generations could continue a life-long tradition.

I am thankful for that couple. I am thankful for my family gatherings. And I am thankful to enjoy my annual searching for sea glass.