The Magic of the Shore

The Magic of the Shore 

We walked in the darkness, single file. Our lanterns were the only thing seen, imitating the constellations above our heads. The moon was full, as if knowing there was to be a full moon ceremony; something magical was about to occur. We made our way onto the sandy path, crossing onto the beach. Percussion instruments began to be played, as if to tell the night that fourth graders were coming, ready to participate in a tradition that many other fourth graders have engaged in for many years—as long as there has been “The Shore Trip.”

The magic of childhood was felt from the moment the bus parked on the grounds of Cape Henlopen, Delaware. The grounds were open and free for kids to run freely, laughing with unabated glee. And they did. With nets, we captured sea creatures: crabs, silverback fish and a cousin of the puffer fish, the burfish. We painted watercolor masterpieces from the hawk watch overlooking the ocean. With glee, we went hunting when we learned that the hawk watch was a former World War 2 bunker, looking through any space that allowed us access. And we marched in the darkness to the shore.

We danced beneath the moon; we recited poetry. We sat in silence, listening to the tides crash against the shore. Some lay on the sand, looking up at the constellations that looked down on them. Others whispered to each other, giggling at the moment when memories with friends were being collected like sand in a bottle. Others watched as the wishes they had written into the sand were taken away by the ocean and given to the world.

In the morning, we took the same route back to the hawk watch that overlooked the beach where our wishes were no longer etched into the sand. The horizon was orange and pink and purple. Something was on its way upward. We had seen the darkness when we stepped out into the morning; the moon was on the opposite side of where it stood the night before. As we journeyed on the path we saw the darkness recede. As we wrote sensory details, someone whispered, “It's coming!” We stopped and we looked. There it was: as round and full as its sister the night before. The sun had risen above the horizon. We looked away from it, understanding its strength. The sun had risen and we were witness to it.

Walking back to have breakfast and pack our bags and reflect in a circle and play on the beach, we knew that we had come to the shore and experienced the joys of our childhood.