“Mama, more shells,” says Lily as she beckons to me from under the shade of her hiking backpack perched on Dave’s shoulders as we walk down a seemingly endless stretch of white sand beach.
Dave throws a log back into the perfectly warm 76 degree aquamarine sea, and our dog Bandon sprints into the beach break to retrieve it. We pause for a moment to watch him time his entry, secure the log in his teeth, and surf the break back onto the beach.
Lily giggles and then looks over to me.
“Mama, more shells,” she says again, her voice lifting in the form of a question in the word, “shells.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll find you another one,” I answer back to her as I turn my gaze onto the sand as we continue walking.
Surveying the tideline, I find a beauty.
“Oh, honey, look at this one!”
I pick it up between my right thumb and index finger, transfer it to my left palm and brush the sand off with my right fingertips. I examine my finding, a small cream clamshell with tan zigzags evenly spaced from one side to the other.
“Here you go,” I say as I look up to her and hand over another tiny treasure.
Discovering shells is part on morning beach walks is part of our new routine since we moved to the East Cape of Baja. While small in size, seashells are no doubt objects of wonder.
The details, shapes and artistry of these once-homes to ocean creatures are somewhat mind-blowing. I can’t help but look them over and wonder how nature created them so perfectly.
And then I look up at the raw desert and over to my little family.