When I was a kid, up until I was about sixteen, my grandma would take me to collect sea glass from Pickering Point. It was a steep climb down the stairs, a large jump onto some rocks and then a treacherous path down to rock pools and sand covered entirely by sea shells and sea glass.
I liked blue sea glass the best. Green was good, yellow was good, brown was usually ugly but if pickings were slim that day, I’d choose a small brown piece that looked interesting — like, if it had an interesting shape or if you could tell it had been tumbled for a very long time.
I stored all my sea glass in a little trinket box which used to below to my mum. Then my little stash became too big, so I found a bigger trinket box which has a dolphin leaping out of the top of it.
My sea glass is still on the shelf of my old room, and one day I plan to do something with it.
The point though, even though I just liked collecting things, was that I liked doing this beach combing thing with Gran. She was happy just to watch, as grandmas usually do. The last few times I have been there, I haven’t been able to get to Pickering Point due to the stairs being inaccessible. I’ve kind of made do with sitting at the look out for a bit and then continuing on my merry way.
Sea glass is poetic. It’s sharp and pointy, but becomes smooth and pretty after being thrown around by the waves.
Sea glass doesn’t care about anything. If some kid finds a piece of sea glass on a beach, it won’t mind being kept in a trinket box for twenty years.
Sea glass is a peaceful protester. It becomes more vocal, more beautiful through being tossed by the ocean.
Sea glass is a lesson in turning lemons into lemonade.