Protecting our Beaches

Originally published 8/22/2024

If any beach were to be mine, Anastasia would be it. This is the beach I have gone to all my life. No other beach has ever compared. From the moment you enter in through the gate, it’s like driving into a piece of wild Florida trapped in the amber of time, safely ensconced from anything that might dim its beauty.

It’s all live oaks and palms and sandy ground and beach daisies as far as the eye can see until you round that last corner into the parking lot. The bathrooms are old and creaky with an occasional banana spider hanging precariously nearby. And the boardwalk over the dunes to the beach is quite the trek complete with searing hot wood under your feet and a blistering sun overhead, reminding you that you probably should have applied sunscreen as soon as you exited the car. 

But the moment you reach the top of the last dune, you can immediately feel the ocean breeze, hear the roar of the waves, and smell the salt soaking the air. And the view makes it all worth it. It’s a pristine endless beach dusted with millions of shells and grains of red sand with not a house or hotel in sight. It’s just you, a small handful of other people, and miles of beach for you to share. It’s probably the closest you can ever feel to how those first conquistadors felt when they stepped foot on La Florida’s shores hundreds of year ago. And for the next few hours, it’s yours. 

It’s yours to search for dozens of shark’s teeth and your sister to find her first one. It’s where your mom first teaches you to body surf and you realize how painful it is when those beautiful shells scrape against your stomach, but also how much fun it is when you do it right. 

It’s yours to build endless sandcastles and mermaid tails while your brother attempts to chase sea gulls and sand pipers. It’s where you see your first hammerhead shark accidentally caught by a fisherman and you’re a little more hesitant to go back in the water once he throws it back.

It’s yours to explore and splash in as you experience the power of the waves and the give and flow that makes up life. It’s where you come no matter the season or weather because it’s a natural haven just a drive away. 

And no matter what, you walk. You walk looking for shells, broken bits and perfectly whole. You wade through pools left by the tide and let the edge of the water tickle your toes. You see dolphins far in the distance and a sea turtle swimming in the waves rolling in to the shore. You look at sea turtle nests and talk about coming early enough one time to see them hatch. You take pictures of sunrises and too many sunsets to count. You come when you’re happy and you come when life is too much to bear. Always walking. Knowing that somehow the beach can take all the broken parts of yourself and help make them whole, smoothing the edges out like a colorful piece of sea glass hidden among the shells. These are the memories etched in the sand and in my heart. There is no other beach for me. 

You don’t come to Anastasia to experience another tourist attraction or to play golf or pickleball. You come to escape the trolley bells and hundreds of people bustling from one shop to the next. You come to escape the chaos of civilization and instead breathe in the chaos of the wild.

We don’t mind sharing it with tourists. But we want to them come, not because we put out a flashing neon sign screaming check out our new resort and amenities. We want them to be adventurous, looking for hidden gems to explore, and then leaving in awe of this stretch of unadulterated beach and wilderness. Because that’s what it is and how it should always stay. That’s what makes it beautiful and worth visiting. 

Florida is not an amusement park for tourists. It’s not an attraction to those of us who were born here and choose to stay.

The beaches, state parks, Anastasia, and the last little bit of wild Florida that they represent belong to us, to the Floridians who come and grace its shores every single day. Because it’s our home. 

Our memories are etched in the sand and whispered back to us on the waves.