Starfish!

In our family, “Starfish!” is what you holler triumphantly when you manage to snag a big bed all for yourself and lie spread-eagle upon it, limbs outstretched toward the four corners to prevent any interlopers from trying to join (or rejoin) you. Calling “Starfish!” is simultaneously a victory cry and a dare–as none of us seems able to resist flexing about the luxury of big bed solitude. Thus, when I solicited ideas for what sand sculpture to build on this year’s beach trip, Little Big Boss’s (LBB) (13) suggestion of a starfish immediately appealed to me. 

I almost always build a turtle (Go Terps!) but thought better of it this year. Walking down the beach on our first full day of vacation, That Dude (TD) (12) and I had gone no more than 100 yards from our house when we spied a massive sand turtle already under construction, complete with a color-coded shell pattern to distinguish the underbody from the top shell and the top shell from the flippers. He looked very official, all roped off and underway, clearly the subject of a multi-day endeavor. There was no way I was going to try to compete with that. So a starfish it would be.

Shell collection for “Patrick”–as Big Daddy insisted on calling him–began right away, although low tide in Surf City, North Carolina reveals such a bounty of shells and stones that I was not at all concerned about gathering enough. I never quite know when the inspiration to embark on a day of digging will hit, but I like to have at least a bit of a stockpile amassed when it does. In the meantime, we jumped waves, flew our kite, visited the sea turtle hospital, ate too many donuts, and availed ourselves liberally of the community pool. 

LBB and TD prefer the pool to the ocean for reasons that will never make sense to me, so my quest for the perfect beach rental centers on finding an oceanfront property (for Big Daddy) that is nicer than our actual house but doesn’t bankrupt us (for me) AND has access to a pool, preferably a private one (for them). Typically one of these conditions has to give. I was pretty proud of myself back in April to find a destination that largely met the criteria and even boasted to LBB and TD that the pool was only shared among four dwellings!! Not private, but private-adjacent, right? In reviewing the trip details right before departure, however, I realized that the pool actually serviced about 80 homes. Womp womp womp. In my defense, the pictures on the website really did make it look as though just a few houses shared the pool. LBB and TD were initially pretty salty about my mistake, but not enough to deter them from a daily pilgrimage across the street to the pool.

Fortunately, the ocean is absolutely the main attraction in Surf City and the pool was blissfully uncrowded each time we went. But it did have another household of faithful daily visitors: 4-year old Tanner and his family, whom we first encountered on Sunday, when he was refusing to leave the water around 3 pm, even after an apparently full day of ping-ponging between ocean and pool. His family was trying to tempt him away with the lure of sustenance, which he was adamantly resisting, “I don’t want too much nuggets!” LBB and I ruefully observed the battle in silence, both fighting the desire to tell him that the correct phrase is “too many nuggets,” and hoping that some food and a rest might restore him to good humor. 

Alas, our paths next crossed a couple days later–again at the pool later in the afternoon–where Tanner was pleading with his grandma to return to their rental for water guns and the “good” googles (relatable), and Grandma was having none of it. “If we leave the pool, we are NOT coming back.” Tanner tried another tactic, offering to go on his own to retrieve the desired items, and Grandma gave him the longest, weariest look before reminding him that he was 4-years old and could not make a solo run. After several more minutes of Tanner continuing to lose his mind about guns and goggles, Grandma whisked Tanner (and an innocent bystander sister/cousin) away. True to her word, they did not return.

We’d see Tanner and his family down by the ocean, as well–not too surprising since we were staying in the same community–and our vacation strategies were in sync: beach from the morning until mid-afternoon and then off to the pool. On Wednesday, a delegation from Tanner’s family (minus Tanner) arrived at the pool about 30 minutes after us. One member of the delegation was tasked with going to invite Tanner to join the group, which they reluctantly did. When they returned a few minutes later, Tanner-less, an undercurrent of joy rippled through the group upon learning he had declined the invitation. Tanner was clearly a lot. But the whole family was kind of a lot. On this particular visit, they decided to drag pool chairs into the 3-feet to sit on. LBB, TD, and I were enjoying our accidental front row seats to the Tanner & Co. Show, and had started to look forward to what might transpire next.

Thursday we awoke to an overcast day in Surf City, and with beach days now running out, I knew I should take advantage of the cloud cover to bring Patrick to life. Dig day is serious business because a sand sculpture of any scale takes hours and hours. Nothing else can be on the day’s agenda. I was hard at work by 10 am, slathered in sunscreen and geared up in long sleeves, capris, and a bucket hat. (Big Daddy calls these “Go to hell!” hats because anyone who wears one clearly doesn’t care what anyone else thinks of them.) For the next four and half plus hours, I worked sweatily but contentedly on my starfish, being sure to stay hydrated and taking a brief lunch break around 1 pm. No doubt other grown-ups sitting serenely on the beach–reading, napping, enjoying the breeze on their faces–had plenty of side eye for this middle aged sand sculptor, busily excavating my dig site with shovels and claws and contemplating seriously just exactly how a sand starfish should look. Big Daddy helpfully brought me buckets of wet sand up from the shoreline, and we worked together to gather more shells and stones when we realized the existing stash would be insufficient.

Around 2:40, Patrick was finally finished, complete with a protective ring of shells to alert beachgoers to his presence. LBB pointed out later that the ring also made the sculpture look like a sand dollar from afar, so a 2-for-1 creation! I was pleased with the outcome, although the process itself is really the most satisfying part to me. Digging in the sand, shaping it, placing the shells and stones atop like crowning jewels. Standing back gazing at Patrick in all his glory, I was really happy I had decided to build something other than a turtle. And since I built him right in front of our rental, we got to watch passers-by stop to admire him and snap pictures as they took their Thursday evening and Friday morning strolls.

We set up our baseball canopy on the deck early on Friday to provide shade throughout the day and to hopefully lure the beach-weary (I’m looking at you, LBB and TD) outside for a final marathon beside the sea before our Saturday departure. Surf City is a very breezy beach, so even on the hottest days there are cooling winds. Add shade into the mix and you can be out there for practically forever. I ate my breakfast and drank my coffee under the comfort of the canopy, perched on a tall chair, absorbing beach energy. I watched people and their pooches making their way up and down the shoreline; folks fishing and wading and swimming and boogie boarding; families setting up camp for a day on the sand. Tanner’s family was among them, ready–like us–for a last beach hurrah.

They stayed for a few hours before starting to pack up around lunch time. An older brother/cousin of Tanner’s hesitated just outside Patrick’s ring for a moment or two before stepping inside. The perimeter had been breached. Brother/cousin peered intently at the starfish. Big Daddy, seated to my left on the deck, looked at me to see whether we’d be intervening, and I shook my head. We would leave Patrick to his fate. LBB, seated to my right, was indignant. Suddenly brother/cousin stepped back out, leaving Patrick unharmed. We could breathe again. 

Just as suddenly Tanner swept onto the scene. He leapt over the shell barrier and instantly started kicking furiously at one of Patrick’s arms, sending sand, shells, and rocks flying. Brother/cousin looked at him mesmerized, a newfound respect for his bada** little relative dawning on his face. Tanner went ham on another of Patrick’s arms before Dad noticed the carnage in progress and mustered a half-hearted, “Tanner, no,” before shrugging his shoulders and declaring it too late. They were all headed for the beach access point when brother/cousin–apparently emboldened by Tanner’s nonchalance–sprinted back, crossed into the circle once more, and pocketed a few choice shells to take with him.

We sat blinking at one another on the deck for a while before laughing our way through various fantasy revenge scenarios, which included razing Patrick completely and then spelling out with the shells “We know it was you, Tanner” or the more succinct “It’s on, Tanner”. But sand sculptures aren’t forever art and the beach is a public place and the finale of the Tanner & Co. Show did not disappoint. So we would leave it at that, all the more convinced that “Starfish!” is both a victory cry and a dare.