Transcript
Instacart Announcer (0:00)
A PSA from instacart. It's Sunday, 5:00pm you had a non stop weekend. You're running on empty and so is your fridge. You're in the trenches of the Sunday scaries. You don't have it in you to go to the store, but this is your reminder. You don't have to. You can get everything you need delivered through Instacart so that you can get what you really need. More time to do whatever you want. Instacart for one less Sunday. Scary. We're here Foreign.
Maggie Smith (0:33)
I'm Maggie Smith and this is the Slowdown. It feels like a quintessential American experience, taking your kids to the beach.
Slowdown Show Narrator (0:55)
I remember trips to Myrtle Beach, South.
Maggie Smith (0:57)
Carolina and Ocean City, Maryland when I was young. Road trips in the family minivan because.
Slowdown Show Narrator (1:06)
It was more affordable to get a.
Maggie Smith (1:08)
Family of five to the coast by car than by plane. My first flight wasn't until I was 20 years old, but that's another story. But for another day. Some years, instead of ocean trips, we would drive north a couple of hours to Sandusky, Ohio and stay on Lake Erie. We could swim there, build sand castles and eat saltwater taffy. These memories are so clear in my mind. Eating fried clams, collecting shells, and hilariously, the time my dad wore his money clip into the lake and the waves carried it away, along with all of our vacation cash. Well, it's funny now. I've taken my kids to Holden Beach, North Carolina a few times. They've been to the beach as toddlers and as teenagers. Yes, we had fried clams and saltwater taffy. Yes, we collected shells. The American beach vacation experience is pretty much the same for them as it was for me 40 years later. Today's poem took me right back there and reflected my own experience back to me in a way that helped me see it differently. That's the power of a good poem. Vacation by Sarah Moore Wagner at the Carolina coastline the sea laps up to the sand in great gulps. I want to burst. I on this beach be remade as Osiris. Instead, I put my children to bed sticky with salt, with bits of shell hidden in the follicles of their hair. In the morning the radios are all playing some tired country song about the ocean, about girls in the ocean. When I stand up to adjust my top, a man stops to say hello. I want to know the right words to heal this country. On the edge of this country. Look out, I say. Over that big ocean is another world. Remember all those ships on this very shoreline cutting through it as birthday cake. Not sharp, not craggy, not a pumice stone sweet cake. On the other side of the ocean is not another world. Look out. We are born from both the sea and the sand. Trace our American heritage to the Appalachian Mountains of Ohio, that great melting pit of loss which still in the tired hills contain fossils of the sea Were made from sea make our lineage coastline. There is here and there is there that great blue which is somehow warmer than the air above it. The man tells me predator fish wait just beyond the sandbar. Hello fish, hello sky. Hello America. You crowded beach of pushy people covered in sunscreen, taking up more space, claiming a spot early, playing your music so loud it drowns out the sound of the gulls crying Mine mine. Mine Mine Mine.
