History is written in trash. Somebody somewhere is always digging up something that opens new rounds of discussion: who were these people? what went on here? why? what? who? where? when? We are endlessly fascinated by…ourselves. That, after all, is the seed of the real question. Why am I here? What role am I supposed to play? How do I know if I’m doing it right? What is RIGHT? What happens to me at the end? Will I matter?
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Finding a few bones and shards of pottery? Answers? Hardly! I can’t imagine a single thing that I leave behind that will enlighten anybody hoping to fill in the blanks of my story…except words. Is that why I write? Yes. It really is as simple as that. I write because I want somebody else to know that I loved to watch birds, that I find pure magic in unexpected beauty manmade or otherwise, that “numinous” is my favorite word, and when I come back to earth for a second go-round, if I’m not a nightclub chanteuse I will be completely pissed off.
Meanwhile, about that trash. The burden of being a rich nation is that we have it…and need to hide it somewhere. Fort Bragg, California, decided to designate part of their ocean beachfront as “The Dump.” It was 1906, long before ocean beachfront was measured in dollar sign per foot.
By 1943, Site #1 was filled. Onward to Site #2 (1943-1949) and Site #3. The whole place was finally shut down before 1970. Much of the bulk had biodegraded by then. Metal was sold for scrap or to those nutty artists. What remained was glass, glass that was tumbled smooth by ever-present ocean waves.
By 1998, the beaches were made up nearly entirely by glass and the private owner decided Glass Beach should belong to the State of California and sold all 38 acres through the California Coastal Conservancy.
1000 to 12,000 visitors stop by daily to admire Glass Beach. Some come with buckets to take sea glass away but that’s become illegal so don’t do it. Regardless, the glass is disappearing. Those waves keep breaking the trash down into tiny bits of….sand.
Hmmm…
