Thinking of the Gulf Coast
Port Aransas is not the most beautiful beach in the world. But it never needed to be. It’s the most beautiful beach in Texas.

It’s where I caught my first fish, a piggie perch. Where I kicked off my shoes and ran through the grass, pricking my feet on what seemed like a thousand sticker burrs. Where I scaled dunes in nothing but a half-ripped t-shirt and diaper, wind whipping my face, feeling a word I couldn’t then name but now know as “freedom.” Where I learned to do a backflip into the pool at the Island Retreat — and lived to write about it.

Where I once took my first love and got stuck on an awful casino boat for hours but had a hilarious story to tell from it afterward. Where a year later I sat on the beach until sunrise, heartbroken. Where, slightly shivering, my family scattered ashes off the end of the jetty while grasping at gin and tonics, the salty wind whipping away our tears. Where I went on my honeymoon, just my husband, our dogs, and me.

It’s where I’ve spent the last ten Thanksgivings, countless summers, and many long weekends. Where I saved a pelican tangled in fishing line one cold winter day, scooping his trembling, featherweight body up out of the lapping tide. Where I crouched on the shore making drippy castles with my nana, my mother, and — just last week — my nephews. Where I once asked my family if they thought the world was getting better or worse and we couldn’t decide. Where I would lie in bed at night trying to hear the waves — pressing my ear to my pillow like a conch shell, I listened and they were always there.

It’s where I go when I want to remember — freedom, heartbreak, love, and family. It’s where I go when I want to hear the waves. It has always been there.
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Here is a good roundup of how to help those affected by Hurricane Harvey:
http://news4sanantonio.com/news/local/hurricane-harvey-how-you-can-help-those-in-need
