Kaya Pulz

 

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I throw open the creaky front door of my light yellow Victorian house. My bare feet leap down from my porch, covered with cracked white paint and sandy shoes. I look across the street to the dry field as my eyes follow the lime green frisbee that some middle-aged locals are tossing. I catch myself giggling as one of the men runs towards the wooden gazebo, yelling at the other player because she threw it too hard. My eyes glance passed the mixture of aged houses and newly built mansions, while I feel a sense of adrenaline every time I place my foot over a small pebble. The early autumn sky beats down on the small winding tree at the end of the road that I once thought of as a jungle gym. Then I stop, trying to work up enough energy to run across the steaming black road between the two beachside inns to get to my destination.

It’s off season here in Beach Haven, New Jersey. I hear no voices of humans, but faint screeches of seagulls and crashes of shoreline waves. I step through the fields of white sand and broken shells, as if I were sneaking past a sleeping lion, until I reach the end of the dry border of the ocean-kissed floor. While I watch the white ocean foam inflate and deflate from the rough wind, my feet descend into the soft, muddy ground as if I were trapped in this place of pastel blues and misty skies. I can smell nothing but salty seaweed and a slight touch of grilled chicken from the beachside houses. The warm feeling of the sunrays grabbing my bare arms is astonishingly comforting. The beach has always been my go-to.


For holidays, mostly Christmas, everyone on my father’s side, including distant relatives, would join together and celebrate on this beach. After the Christmas feast everyone would hurry to the frigid shore in our sweater dresses and ironed suits. Some would run into the ocean searching for sea glass, while others conversed about the poor horseshoe crab they found washed up on the sand, or maybe about what unimaginable desserts awaited us in the kitchen. With each gust of wind pushing past our ears, it was as if the beach were trying to spark up a conversation too. Maybe about how rough the summer was, or about how happy it is that we were all back again.
On the rare occasion that we would get a snow storm, I would be at the beach all day. I remember my father pulling my bright pink winter hat over my eyes because we were in such a rush to get started. As we ran out of the front door with our multicolored disk sleds wearing snow suits that resembled giant marshmallows, we would try our hardest not to slip to our deaths. The winter wind on the shoreline made me livid, but sliding down the frozen dunes face first was worth the frost-tipped nose on my face. Being so small at the time, I was drawn to the conclusion that I was sliding down mountains. As we descended for what felt like an hour, I would scream a scream that could shatter glass. Thankfully it never snowed too often, but when it did you would know where to find me.

Although the beach was an exhilarating place to be, it was also a place for me to run to when life was not the most enjoyable. Sometimes I would leave a note, sometimes I wouldn’t, but when my father knew I was upset he always knew where I was. I remember a time stumbling out of my house in tears, knowing nothing but the fact that I needed to be on the beach. I didn’t even care about stepping on all of the small pebbles. It was mid-Spring, which meant there may have been another person or two soaking up the sun and enjoying the cool water. I saw someone, but I could not let them intrude on my alone time in the place that taught me stability and restored my sanity.
As I sit here in the warm, dusty sand reminiscing about all the times I have had on this beach, a small sandpiper scurries across my view. As I start to stand again, the lightly colored, miniature bird soars across the ocean. I begin to wonder where it might be going or when it will land again. I continue to make my way to the mussel-covered jetties that my mother always warned me about, mostly because she thought I would slip on the mossy seaweed. As I stroll, I catch a strange movement out of the corner of my eye. I think it’s a wave, but as soon as I turn my head I see a silky grey fin arise from the rugged waters. I decide not to walk any further, but to imbibe the beauty of the local dolphins. Each one submerges in sync with the others. I watch the sun begin to set, as the vivid colors of pink and orange fill


the sky. The dolphins begin to swim away from shallow waters, and my view is like a Bob Ross painting. I look down at my sandy toes and find a full, palm-sized sand dollar inches away from my footprint. Each design amazes me. Every
moment that I spend here, I am amazed by something new. I realize that this place pulls me in as if I were part of the tides. My father calls me to come home soon, but I am already home.

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Kaya Pulz is a 19 year old student from Beach Haven, NJ currently enrolled in Unity College as a Sustainable Agriculture major. She plans to run a small-scale organic farm and further her studies in soils sciences. Her ultimate goal is to encourage sustainable practices and healthy living, so that everyone has the chance to experience the beauties of the world. ​