I’m having a hard time understanding sandbars. Sandbars are quickly becoming my favorite “place” on Earth and as much as I want to know more about them, I kind of am enjoying the wonder that comes with…not knowing.
Things like, do they ever get named? (I only found one search result that indicated named sandbars, so I guess not?) Or, how come if they are supposedly made of sand being slowly moved around from one beach to another, the sandbar itself manages to stay in pretty much the same place? And what the heck makes this shape (see photo)?
And why aren’t more people doing time-lapse videos of them as the tide changes? And how is it that there are so many sandbars in the Bahamas, making it the best place in the world? Maybe I actually want these questions (and google searches) to remain unanswered for a while. I love sandbars. They represent a time and place that by its very nature is finite. I guess if you think about it, they spend half the time under ocean water. When you first arrive at low tide, it’s a clean and empty beach. Just ripples that have been suggested into the sand while it was submerged. In some areas of life, I think that anticipating an end to something can make it seems less satisfying. Yet sandbars feel different in that respect. You can arrive and get lucky; maybe the tide has just gone out and you have a couple of hours in a magical, safe place. But you know that the tide will come back and we will have to leave. But nobody ever hears the clock ticking in the back of their heads, counting down until it’s over. The time at the sandbar is very “now.”
It’s almost like sandbars are the gentlest lesson in impermanence. An enjoyable one, even. There is something exhilarating about setting foot in a place that is temporary. (Burning Man, anyone?) The sandbar won’t always be above water when you want, but it will be back eventually. And it will be clean slate…no matter how much you tore it up last time with foot and dog prints.