Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea,—
Past the houses, past the headlands,
Into deep eternity!

Bred as we, among the mountains,
Can the sailor understand
The divine intoxication
Of the first league out from land?

~Emily Dickinson

First things first–mad props to Pam, who has been blogging solo this past week so that I could go to the beach without lugging my laptop along.

The beach, for me is really about the ocean, and this is probably my very favorite of Dickinson’s poems because it so purely and perfectly captures the essence of the wonder we landlubbers feel at the sight, sound, smell of the sea. Of course, we don’t all feel it. One of my grad school friends, born and bred in Kansas, said she hated the ocean. I have other friends who detest sand with such an incandescent loathing that they can’t enjoy the beach. But for us landlocked mermaids, the first glimpse of the sea is truly a divine intoxication.

During our vacation, my husband read a book about Highway 12, which links the Outer Banks. The author writes that

The Banks themselves, which stand as a barricade to the Atlantic, are composed of tiny bits of stone chiseled by time and weather from the faraway Blue Ridge Mountains. Carried to the location by rivers through the ages, these granules of quartz and feldspar are mixed there with the shattered remnants of shells of countless departed sea creatures whose only proof of existence lies in the blended residue called sand.

~Dawson Carr, NC 12: Gateway to the Outer Banks

Maybe this explains why I have always been drawn to this place, why it feels as much like home as the place of my birth. Bred among the Blue Ridge Mountains, maybe something deep within me recognizes that these barrier islands are relocated pieces of home.