More than Work

The secret is to get the water just right. Too little, and you get a sand pile. Too much, and you get a sand pie. Just enough, and you get smooth sides, tapering to a clean edge with a firm top for anchoring a seaweed flag to your sandcastle.

You also have to hit the tide right. Start at high tide, and you walk for water more than you build. Start at low tide, and you get flooded before finishing. If your first scoop holds its shape, you are in the middle of the receding tide, which means half the walking and twice the time for building.

You can purchase all sorts of tools. The prefab molds come in every shape and color: blue towers, red walls, purple arches, green turrets, and orange staircases. You can buy a whole kit, complete with netted carrying bag. I prefer a solid shovel and a medium bucket with a strong handle. The fewer tools, the more you work the sand with your hands.

We always included a moat with a bridge. We gathered smooth, flat rocks to protect the bridge from erosion and staffed a water brigade to keep the enemy at bay. Four corner towers and thick walls crowned with carved battlements are standard. Tiered towers and a drawbridge are the work of veterans.

The ideal crew is three: one for gathering water, one for bucket work, and one for shaping. As we got older, we learned the drip method, incorporated feathers, used shells for carving and even paved cobbled roads. We built raised foundations to make our work tide resistant. As we advanced from the single-bucket flip to elaborate castles filled with hermit crabs, one thing never changed: the ocean always reclaimed her sand.

Sand can be shaped into anything, but it cannot be changed. A valuable lesson for us as we imagined our futures: magician, athlete, musician, and then watched time erode those to make room for different work: carpenter, doctor, teacher. Through each discarded profession, we had the opportunity to see ourselves raw and to consider who we were becoming more than the work we would do.

Sandcastles can be extraordinary. It is incredible what our imagination and opposable thumbs can create. But there is nothing more beautiful than a beach undisturbed by human hands. The fresh look at sunrise when a full moon has pulled the tide high enough to erase every footstep. The stillness of a low tide at sunset when the ocean reveals rippled flats of inverted waves.

The same is true of people. Professions are impressive, the work we produce can be extraordinary. But something about the interplay of grandchildren and their grandparents living outside the confines of professional life speaks to our most extraordinary capacity: love. The one innocent of future concerns and the other removed from professional ambitions, there is a quiet they inhabit where we can see ourselves at our best: caring without distraction or reservation.

When we accept loss as part of a cycle beyond our comprehension, as the reason to continue to share ourselves and be present with the ones we love, then time stops counting down. Our living becomes like the tides: low embraced by high, returned to low, and welcomed again by high, replacing the compulsion to finish with the patience to observe. Revealing that who we are with the ones we love matters most.

Constant change redirects us to our core and encourages hope. Accepting that nothing lasts, focusing on who we are, and embracing the brevity of moments, we can immerse ourselves in our living – free from worry about things we cannot change.

Peace,

Chris