A beach at its best is a glorious place, with soft sand underfoot, a warm sun overhead, a cooling breeze blowing past, and the rhythmic roll of waves against the shore. Ghost crabs skitter across the sand, gulls and pelicans soar overhead and dolphins frolic just past the breakers.
A beach at its worst is a dismal place, grey and cold with an angry wind whipping hard sand against you legs and a pounding surf sending spray into the air. Kelp and jellyfish are washed up on the beach and, if the wind is not strong enough to sandblast your exposed body parts, biting flies are at work.
I’ve always admired any bride brave enough to plan a wedding on the beach. It’s a real crap shoot, but off we went to Hilton Head last week for just such a gamble.
And, oh my, did the beach behave!
At five in the afternoon, the sky was a cloudless blue and the sinking sun cast a golden glow. The horizon had the crispness it gets in the fall after the summer’s haze is gone and there was just enough breeze to ripple the sea oats on the dunes and send festive bubbles swirling past.
It was cool enough for coats and ties to be comfortable and the sand was still warm enough for flip flops or bare feet.
It wasn’t a big group that assembled, but an enthusiastic one, ranging from a 10-year-old niece wielding the bubble wand to the mother of the bride and the aunt of the groom, both 80 and going strong.
The one four legged attendee, an adorable Pomeranian, was polite enough to wait until the ceremony was over before heeding nature’s call.
A winner of a wedding in every way!