By The Sea

It’s been a long slog of a week at our house. The 24–year-old furnace had a bit of a snit fit and gave up the ghost and a whole lot of water. It was declared dead by the man who has kept it going the last few years, and we were fortunate enough to be able to clean up all the water, pack a few things and move into a friend’s seaside cottage while waiting for a new furnace and subsequent installation. 
The cottage sits on a rise overlooking both dunes and Cape Cod Bay, so we have a constant awareness of the sea. When we arrived the wind was wild, the temperatures were well below freezing, and the bay was awash in white caps. Waves slammed the shore relentlessly, spewing foam and stirring up sand before quickly changing course and sucking it all back up. The thunderous waves continued their noisy work all through the night, slowing down a bit to greet the sunrise.
I decided to walk down to the beach, but once there it was so cold that even with all my bundling I was soon convinced to turn back, shed my many layers, and enjoy a hot cup of coffee.
Living by the sea is as old as humanity. The ocean has afforded food and transportation for many centuries. It has given us access to new places and encouraged us to explore.
The sea is not benevolent, as many a sailor will tell you. Storms come up quickly and many a seafarer has been lost and never heard from again. Even today, with all our technology and maps, the sea presents challenges that aren’t easily overcome.
Old timers will tell you no one built homes looking out over the sea back in the day. The sea brought sorrow to too many. Those who built close to the water often didn’t put windows on the side facing the ocean. From where I am sitting writing, I can see a dozen or so newer homes built on a sand dune that is quickly being undercut, their very future uncertain, unlike the arrogance of the builders. 
Depending on where you live on the Cape, your experience of the sea may be different from that of your friend in another area. If you live on the bay, you may enjoy expansive sand flats at low tide. If you live in the Sandwich or Barnstable area, the beaches on the bay are filled with rocks. The water in the bay is cold and bracing, even on hot summer days, due to the fact that it is part of the Gulf of Maine. Lobsters, anyone?
On the south side of the Cape, the waters of Nantucket Sound are warmed by the Gulf Stream, and on the outside of the Lower and Outer Cape the wild waters of the Atlantic Ocean create big surf year round. 
The fish and other creatures that live in the ocean vary in all these locations as well. It may be rare to find a blue crab in Cape Cod Bay or on the outer beach, but on the south side there’s plenty of good crabbing. On the other hand, finding sea stars is easy in the rocky areas of the northside beaches. The hard surf of the Outer Cape means you won’t find a lot of intact seashells unless you’re looking for the big, sturdy surf clams. Even the crabs are tough out there, with thick hard shells in case they get tossed about.
On sunny summer days the sea is often blue and inviting, so much so that people travel from all over to hang out on our beaches and play in our waters, whether swimming, snorkeling, surfing, fishing or boating. In winter and spring, the water may appear greener as well as grayer depending on the weather, but it is always alluring.
The winter beach has been written about many times over the years. The starkness and isolation one feels when alone on wind- and wave-beaten beaches lends itself to poetry, especially if it celebrates solitude and loneliness.
Looking out over the sea into a horizon that eventually melts into the sky is a favorite occupation of those of us who live here. We can do it endlessly some days. What are we looking for? What dreams are we evoking? The answers are probably as individual as those doing the looking, but I’m guessing it has to do with the human quest for meaning.
As I watch the water on this freezing, wind-swept day, I see a few gulls over the swells, their small bodies gleaming with the sunlight on their backs against the dark blue water. I wonder how many of us have stood on the shore on days like this just watching the waves, knowing that no matter what crazy and alarming things are going on in the world around us, the sea remains constant. She will outlive us all, coming in and out with the pull of the moon, covering and uncovering the sand filled with the bleached and broken skeletons of creatures large and small that have washed ashore, long forgotten. Maybe, just maybe, that is the appeal. She is as old as time, and perhaps we hope that if we stare at her long enough, she will share some of her secrets.