My toes in the sand, book in my hand… as absorbed as I was in my reading and resting, my peripheral vision caught a man walking past our umbrella to the couple seated a few feet away from us. I didn’t catch the conversation, but Corbin did.
“He just asked that couple if this is a private beach, asking if it’s ok for his family’s tent to be set up behind us.”
Their tent had been set up all morning, a party of 15. Even before we arrived, the boisterous family frolicked to and from the water, throwing balls and playing in the surf, then retreating to their tent for shade and snacks. I hadn’t been paying much attention until Corbin’s comment.
I’d seen the older gentleman smile and usher the man back to his tent amicably.
“He said yes, this is a public beach. Told them to enjoy it.”
“But it’s not a public beach. Do you think that’s the owner?”
“I have no idea, but it sure looks that way.”
The enforcement of beach privatization along 30A is no joke. We’ve seen a massive shift in the years we’ve vacationed along the Emerald Coast, particularly in the last decade. But we typically rent houses in private neighborhoods, so it’s never been a problem for our family. We’ve been saddened for the locals and vacationers when the private beach signs cropped up and began to dominate the beaches over the years. But it wasn’t until Esther spent last summer at 30A – crammed into tiny swaths of public beaches sardined between giant stretches of private – that we really felt the pinch. This summer, our rented beach house sits across from a public beach access, which is flanked by private houses.
Except for this couple’s home. Which sits adjacent to the public beach access. Down the boardwalk, step to the right, and violà! A lovely, open sugar sand beachfront.
Esther was flabbergasted. She strode over to the gentleman and his wife, introduced herself, and got to the bottom of it. Yes, they were the homeowners. No, they did not own the beach. It’s open to anyone who wants to stick an umbrella and chairs in the sand, and don’t let anyone tell her otherwise. No, their neighbors don’t appreciate their approach to letting strangers take up the private space. But they’re not budging. They love being beachfront homeowners on 30A, but they don’t own the beach.
The whole thing made me want to cry. Esther and her friends thanked them, a thanks they wouldn’t accept. Because again, they insisted that they did not own the beach. They exchanged names, and Esther offered a complimentary beach photo session for their grandchildren, a thank-you in return for his generosity not only to us, but to any beachgoer enjoying that sacred space.
Goodness. There are some good people in the world. People who know what can be owned and what cannot. May we go and do the same.
