The Mindful Hunt

The day began with excitement. My eyes opened to predawn darkness as my mind recalled there was a coincidence of sunrise, low tide and a rare day off from stressful work. I slipped out of bed to make a quick, hearty breakfast to take my mind off my stomach and to fortify my hunt. I then dressed for comfort. The only pressure I would feel on this day, on this hunt, would be the gentle pressure of coastal wind. I found my coat and grabbed my hat. I parked in my favorite secluded spot not yet discovered by other hunters. No one has asked me where I hunt or else I would tell. I swear I would.

The hunt begins with the desire to not think. This desire comes over me like a whole-body thirst. It pulls me to the coast. To that special place I can get to in fifteen minutes in order to fill my mind with beauty. To the edge of the continent where the sea and earth meet the sky. To that one beach that yields the most perfectly pocked nuggets of sea-tossed glass.

I walk slowly along the beach where the waves lap carefully looking for a flash of color or a glimpse of texture. The glass always rises above heavy rocks to rest on the sand as waves recede. A seagull cries as it passes overhead. Perhaps it thinks I am after it’s breakfast. The green curve of a discarded bottleneck catches my eye. I lunge to reach it before it is swept to sea maybe to never return. My mind clicks along in sync with the hunt. My ears are filled with the sound of the turning tide. I remind myself to never turn my back on the beloved sea as I embrace the scent and wetness of the ocean spray.

Animals began to hunt as the sun began to rise high enough to reach beyond the cliffs and onto the sand. Seagulls strutted in the shallow pools left by the last high tide hunting for sand crabs. Seals bobbed and dove just offshore catching their fishy breakfast before retreating onto rocks. I continued to hunt for treasure once considered garbage. I find a chunk of thick white pock-frosted glass … a bottle, a jar, maybe part of a lighthouse lens?

Another hunter has come to the beach. I can tell by the way the person is squatting in front of a rock pile occasionally reaching in to retrieve some interesting thing. The person sees me looking at them and waves to me. I wave back out of politeness. My hunt is compromised now, I think, I might as well leave the beach. Before I could make my way across the beach this person approaches me.

“Hello,” says the stranger, “I am visiting here! What lovely beaches you have! There is so much sea glass! Though I haven’t found much here today. Do you collect sea-glass?” The stranger smiled.

The sun beamed fully onto the beach causing the sand itself to glisten like polished gems. I opened my pocket wide to reveal my morning take. “I do collect sea glass though I have always thought of it as more of a hunt than as a collection.” I smiled back. “I suppose I certainly do collect it though as I always bring it home.” I laughed.

“What do you do with it after you get it home? I have a small jar but not much,” the stranger said. We both began to walk slowly along searching for glass as we talked. “I’m from a place where there are no beaches near me. I rarely get to search but I love to collect.”

“I like to sort the glass on a plate or keep it in a jar,” I answered. I opened my pocket to show the glass I had collected that morning. “Here,” I said to the stranger, “take some with you. I pretty much picked all the glass off this beach earlier.” I smiled again and jiggled my pocket.

“Really? Can I? You sort it on a plate? What does that mean? I would love some! Thanks,’ said the stranger as they reached in to grab a handful.

I laughed lightly. “I like to take it home, put it on a plate, and then sort it. The sorting engages my brain and is good for my mind. I sort into categories by color, by size, sometimes by roundness or shape. I make patterns on the plates to then take photos. Maybe someday I’ll make a calendar of sea-glass photos. Some people make jewelry but for me I get a certain mindfulness when I sort sea-glass. I have jars of sea-glass on my kitchen windowsill. Also, I give it away at every opportunity.” I smiled.

“Thank you so much! Where does it all come from? I mean,” the stranger paused, “how does the glass get so polished that it looks like a bead? Well, not polished but, well, sometimes sea-glass looks like jewels to me!”

“What happens is that over the years glass that is discarded into the sea gets tossed around among sand, salt, and rocks to become rounded and frosty looking. Like this one,” I picked a piece from my pocket that was as big as my fingernail but rounded like a jelly bean. It was green but had a thousand small dents that made it appear frosted. “This was probably part of a bottle. Sometimes it’s really evident what the glass was before it was discarded.” I picked the piece of green bottleneck from my pocket, “see this has threads where it once had a screw top lid, take it for your collection.” I dropped the piece into the stranger’s hand. “Decades ago, before plastic, everything was packaged in glass and garbage was often tossed into the sea. At least around here.” I smiled.

We walked in silence for a few minutes before turning to walk back along the short beach. The tide had turned and was now a rising tide. The stranger stood a moment with a thoughtful look then said, “thank you so much for sharing with me your quiet morning. I hope I didn’t intrude. I’m heading up the coast tomorrow all the way to Oregon. Do you know of any good beaches to stop for sea-glass?”

“I do know of a beach north of San Francisco. I forget the name. It’s difficult to get to and you aren’t allowed to take any of the glass off the beach but it is fun to see. I was there once just before sunset many years ago, it was really cool,” I answered. “I bet you could research to find it,” I offered.

“Thanks again for the sea-glass! And for talking with me,” said the stranger with a smile, “I’ll do some research on that and maybe find that beach. When I get home I’m going to put my collection on a plate and sort it like you describe, it sounds so relaxing.”

The day ended with less of a haul than usual but with an immense sense of satisfaction. I dumped my glass from my pocket onto the table then slid it onto a plate. I gathered a snack and a drink and then settled in my favorite chair to sort my glass into a pleasing pattern.