I’m crazy wild about beach glass. Amber, white, aqua, green or the less prevalent cobalt blue. It simply dazzles me. I’ve collected it while strolling the beaches of Lake Michigan, the Sound in Seattle, the seashore in Kauai and the Mediterranean surf at Malaga. It’s a Zen experience for me: spot, bend, feel its vibration, put it in the bag, sigh. Oh, the colors are the same wherever I’ve gone beach-larking, which suggests that bottling plants all over the world use the same colorations. Or that global companies brand their products with definitive, similar hues. Think Seven-Up green or Vick’s VapoRub blue.
Occasionally, I find something most rare: a brilliant orange or a crimson red. Then all bets are off on where they came from because…well, I don’t know. Perhaps a candy dish from some 1890s household or a vintage vase from a shipwreck? Which whirls me back into eras long-gone-by of mutton sleeves and spats. I guess that’s one of the things that makes me sigh.
The truth, however, is that beach glass originates from where I find it—where the water’s power has pulverized rock into sand, which, long ago, we humans figured out how to heat it to 3000ºF and transform it into glass. Then we mold it into all kinds of things—windowpanes, colored bottles, dishes. And after we’re through with our glass, we toss it into the lake where water works its magic: turning it—with waves of might—into something…well…awe-inspiring: a life cycle extraordinaire, isn’t it?
Sometimes, when I get my beach glass home, I create tiny mosaics from the pieces I’ve gathered: a brontosaurus, a dog with flappy ears, a human foot, a prehistoric fish, an elephant, a turtle. One time, I created a map of the US in beach glass, each state a separate piece. Oh, yeah, I had just retired and had time to devote to this whacky timewaster. But like Tibetan sand paintings, as soon as it was finished, I swiped all the pieces off the dining room table and put them into a glass [ahem!] jar. Reminder of both the eternal and ephemeral nature of life. Zen from start to finish.
I keep marveling at water’s majesty, manifested in this glassy gift.
Patricia Ricketts, Author 