Driftwood

One of the great incidental benefits of living in a seaside community is driftwood.

I like pretty much everything about driftwood—starting with its name. It’s not “washed-up wood,” it’s driftwood—as if it has been out for a pleasant journey, leaving the forest behind, taking its time and seeing the sights, without a care in the world. And the physical characteristics of driftwood reflect its ocean journey. Driftwood has a special feel. Its bark has been washed away, and the water and salt and sun and wind exposure somehow have left the driftwood with a smooth, silky feel. It’s warm to the touch, but also feels lighter than branches of similar size, as if its waterborne experience has sucked the weight away, leaving just the essential sturdiness behind. It’s one reason why gnarled pieces of driftwood make great walking sticks.

And the other great thing about driftwood is its innate air of mystery. Where did it come from, and how far has it traveled, and how long did it take for it to reach its destination on a rocky beach? Consider this huge piece of driftwood, below, that we saw on the beach at Barred Island this past weekend. From the notching, it’s clear it has been shaped by human hands for some purpose—but what? We’ll never know for sure, which makes it all the more interesting.

Driftwood And Shells On The Barrier Beach, July 21

The barrier beach at the Sheldon Marsh State Nature Preserve is home to many seagulls and other birds, as well as a piece of partially buried driftwood that forms a perfect natural bench.  The shells are, I think, the shells of zebra mussels, one of the invasive species that has changed the biology of Lake Erie.  The beaches are covered with their shells, which crunch satisfyingly as you walk along.