🌊 Sea Glass and Summer Walks ☀️

There are certain things that become tied to the people we love. A favourite flower, a particular bird, a song on the radio, or even something as small as a smooth piece of sea glass. Before long, it’s impossible to come across that thing without thinking of them.

That’s what sea glass has become for me.

Whenever I spot a tiny frosted piece resting among the shells on the beach, my first thought isn’t that I’ve found a treasure. It’s that my eldest daughter would love it. She’s sixteen now, and over the years she’s gathered quite a collection. Some pieces are no bigger than a pea, while others are big enough to fill the palm of your hand. Each one has its own shape, colour, and story, and somehow she always seems just as excited about the smallest finds as the rare ones.

We live close enough to the ocean that beach walks have become part of our lives. If the tide is right, we’ll wander slowly along the shoreline, looking more at the ground than at the horizon. We chat, or not, stop to admire interesting shells or unusually shaped stones, and every now and then one of us calls out, “I found one!”

It doesn’t matter if it’s a tiny white sliver that’s taken decades to be polished by the waves or a beautiful piece of green or cobalt blue glass. Into a pocket it goes, waiting to be added to her growing collection when we get home.

I love the thought that something once discarded can spend years tumbling in the ocean before washing ashore as something beautiful. Time and patience soften its sharp edges until it becomes a small treasure that people search for with delight.

Perhaps that’s one of the reasons sea glass feels so fitting for The Slow Life. It isn’t manufactured or perfected overnight. The ocean does its work one wave at a time, often over decades, creating something fun for us to find.

Every time I hear someone mention sea glass, or spot a colourful piece glinting among the stones, I think of my daughter and those slow walks together along the shore. Those moments have become some of my favourite memories of summer.

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🎧 💜 Prefer to listen instead of read? - Listen to the podcast version of “Sea Glass in a Jar” HERE 🎧

This story is called Sea Glass in a Jar and it’s about the movement of water, a gem out of place, and a homemade decoration.

On the other side of the hill, the green fields taper down into sparkling sand and the blue of the ocean. My breathing becomes slower and deeper as I make my way to the water. It’s always such a freeing feeling to reach the crest of the hill where the world seems to open wide in front of me.

I’ve always thought of any body of water, from oceans to lakes to streams, to be places of endless discovery. Their surface is ever-changing, and their movement can seem fast at a first glance. But if you look and feel just underneath, it simulates the steady, easy-going swell of the belly of your favourite animal as they snooze and sigh in comfortable sleep.

One thing in particular has drawn me to the sandy shore today. I have a glass jar hanging in one of my kitchen windows. I used a length of thin rope wrapped around the top of it and hung it from an antique bronze hook. So far, it hangs almost empty, save for one piece of cobalt blue frosted treasure.

I’d been sitting on a bench in the Japanese garden park a few days ago. Spots of sunshine dotted my legs and the clean cut grass around me. One tiny spotlight especially caught my eye, which highlighted a touch of blue. I wasn’t sure at first what it was, as it was out of place. I leaned down and knew with a closer look that it was a beautiful smooth piece of sea glass. I couldn’t help but smile as I picked it up and cradled it in my palm. And half expecting an answer, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

On my way home for lunch that day, I rubbed the soft glass between my fingers in my pocket. I had passed The Secret Garden Bed and Breakfast, and in a front window they had hanging, with thin golden ribbon, a jar filled with blues and greens, whites and soft browns. The perfect way to house my beautiful find.

I think about that day as I continue down to the falling tide. The receding waves exposing more and more of the sand and its riches with each ebb and flow. I slip out of my sandals to make the steps easier. Loving the warmth of the grains even when I reach the wet sand. The stillness of the weather and the midsummer sun have given the water a chance to be warm enough to leave my breath steady as I wade in just above my ankles.

Facing back towards the shore, I look to my right and see way down the beach a close neighbour and their dog. They come here daily even in winter for George, the old St Bernard, to have his romp in the water. I know my neighbour loves this time to themselves so I head the other way along the shore. I’ve brought along my cobalt blue piece of glass and ask it to help me find some more. Having looked up some information, I love that this particular shade is sometimes referred to as the sapphire of the sea. How wonderful.

I spot many ornate shells, all worthy of being taken home and displayed on windowsills and shelves, or in hanging jars of their own. But I leave them as future homes for shelled creatures who need them more than I do.

I turn over half a mussel shell near the shallow water to see its shiny concave underside. An iridescent pink peaks through the wet sand. As a small wave reaches my feet I squat down to rinse it off. I see a spot of frosty white where the shell in my hand had lain. It is indeed a well-tumbled piece of beach glass. It’s about the diameter of my tablespoon in my drawer at home. 

I introduce it to my blue friend loving the contrast of the colours, and putting both in my pocket. Taking only a few more steps, I see a small stone in a shade I now know is called kelly green. I like using this knowledge from my bit of research. Now that my eyes are accustomed to finding the frosted colours, I start to spot them more easily.

I decide to cap myself at finding three more. Partly because my pockets are only so big. But mostly, I don’t want to finish this project in one day. I want it to last me the rest of the season. I find two more white pieces and a very rare red one.

I turn back and notice that George and his owner have finished their beach play. They would both be well into their post-walk nap time by now. It makes me happy that I know this type of thing about my close friends. I appreciate when they take the time to learn facts about me that others might not be aware of, and I think they feel the same.

When I get home, I give my handful of sea glass a rinse with fresh water from the tap. I spread them out on the buffet countertop where a slice of sunlight will help them dry.

While I wait, I have a snack of fruit salad I’d made this morning, never taking my eye off my trove of gems.

I rinse my bowl and go to the window to unhook my homemade hanger. I gather the glass onto the island and lower each piece into the jar. I’m careful, of course, because of the delicate nature of the materials, but also to spread the colours evenly in a pleasing pattern.

I hang my decoration back on its hook and stand for a while just breathing. I breathe in the same rhythm of the ocean in which these stones were formed.

I look back at the kitchen island where I had left just one piece. It’s the sapphire of the sea, which I’ve decided to return to the park bench where I’d found it. Maybe someone left it there by mistake, after meditating with it, or using it as a comfort stone to rub its smooth texture. Maybe it was placed on purpose, for me or someone else to find just as I did a few days ago. Either way, I’ll take it back as an offering to remind others to breathe as the ocean, easily in and out.

I wish you sweet dreams.