The sea urchin's test

I grew up on a farm in a dry husk, set in the middle of nowhere. In those young heady days of mine, the sea was an entity of dreams; a seldom experienced sensory delight, and a memory, since the cresting waves, expansive ocean and the beach were not readily accessible. Due to this geographical glitch, the sea became something of a wonder lust to me; something that even today, makes me truly believe that I could not live without being within a short driving distance from the sea, or at least, a good sized body of water.

While the sea was too far for me to enjoy on a regular basis, my Grandparents lived on Kangaroo Island, which was many miles away. My brother and I, if we were lucky, usually visited them once a year.

My Grandparents had an expansive rural property, consisting largely of cereal crops and Suffolk sheep. Their old homestead stood atop a crest along the dusty road that hugged the island's northern coastline. In the summer, the coastal hills were carpeted in golden wheat fields that swayed in the nautical breeze, while large ships and tankers inched silently along the horizon; setting my imagination to wonder about the countries those boats were heading. What was the cargo they hauled? What did the crew do aboard the ship? Did they ever get sea sick? Were the crew leaving home with heavy hearts, or drifting toward their homelands with joyous smiles upon their faces and a special glint in their eyes?

During my time on the island, the sight of ships comforted me, as there was a slight feeling of disconnection with the rest of the world, which was in some ways a relief and in other ways disconcerting. Consequently, I could often be found sitting quietly on Gran's shady veranda wall, sending my whimsical thoughts toward the horizon and my daydreams out to sea.

My cousins lived within arms reach of my Grandparents, so whenever we visited, we would always have the opportunity to play with our cousins.

My cousins were all younger than I. The eldest of them was perhaps three years younger. I always felt that their lives were so idyllic - imagine living permanently beside the sea.

Whenever possible, I would steal away through the wheat fields to the secluded rocky bay that lay hidden at the front of my Gran's property, and wander in the company of my own self and the ocean song.

There were always mounds of seaweed strewn across the beach, but the large rocks that had collected there, made the bay dangerous and unswimmable. I enjoyed returning to that spot, regardless, as there were all kinds of sea treasures to be found in the rock pools, tangled in the seaweed, and stuck between the rocks themselves.

Collecting shells was a favourite past time of mine when visiting my Grandparents. The shells were not only beautiful and various in their uniqueness, but they also provided me with a sea connection during my absence; the salty aroma of my sea treasures bringing images of the sea; the island, and the gentle ocean lullaby, flooding right into my home in the dry husk, set in the middle of nowhere.

Finding a perfect, unscathed large shell lying within the questionable shelters of the rocky bay was always a delight, and somewhat of a miracle. The shell's survival was considered by me, to be a testament to its fate in my collecting it and looking after it, since manoeuvring its way through those unforgiving waters, without dashing itself upon the rocks seemed quite an achievement.

I remember one day, Gran took my brother and I for a walk to the rocky bay, along with our two oldest cousins, Bethany and Nicole. Bethany and Nicole didn't go down to the rocky bay all that often, as far as I was aware. They were too young to go there on their own and besides, the ocean was always there; its accessibility and permanence was taken for granted, and as far as I knew, none of my cousins collected shells.

It goes without saying, I arrived at the rocky bay with basket in hand and eyes cast down scanning the rocky coastline for shells. Bethany and Nicole, chased each other, giggling and jumping along the rocks. My brother searched in the seaweed to see what the tide had carried in for discovery. There was always plenty of old netting and floats, tin cans, old shoes and pieces of driftwood. I can't remember him ever finding anything overly exciting.

On this particular day, as my cousins ran amok, Bethany chanced upon a huge, perfectly formed and exquisitely detailed sea urchin's test. I was green with envy. In my opinion, she could have cared less about it - I was the avid shell collector, so it should have been MINE!

Gran went on about how "lucky" Bethany was to have found such a rare jewel in the rocky bay, and warned her to take care with it. Gran offered to look after it for her, but Bethany, so concerned that her sister might steal it from her, chose to hold the sea egg herself.

Bethany continued to scramble over the rocks, taunting her younger sister with the sea egg which bobbed and bounced in her hand. Nicole could not even get a close look at it before Bethany whisked it from her sight and stormed away giggling. Out of frustration Nicole threw a large piece of slippery seaweed at Bethany, and I remember watching it flip and flop through the air. Bethany turned just in time to see the slimy missile careening toward her and ducked out of the way, but the bay does not easily excuse those who are careless with its gems. While steadying herself, Bethany unfortunately trod unsteadily on a slick rock, slipping and letting go of the precious sea egg. I watched, seemingly in slow motion, as the sea egg dashed against the rocks, before being crushed by the full force of Bethany's collapsing body.

It broke my heart to think that the sea egg, which had somehow conquered the great ocean and survived the dangerous coastline before coming to rest in the rocky bay, was not ten minutes in human hands, before it was destroyed.

Bethany was not hurt by her fall, but when she saw her shattered treasure, a great wail sprang from the depths of her heart and echoed around the rocky bay, for she could see what she had done, and understood what she had lost. Bethany sobbed for the remainder of our walk in the bay, and frantically searched for a sea egg to replace the one that was no more, but her search was fruitless, and the five of us walked back through the golden wheat fields to the homestead, in silence.

Over the years that followed that incident, I often found unscathed sea eggs in the rocky bay, and I cherished each one as a reflection of the one once beheld and lost, but my finds were small and never as brilliant as the perfect giant that was Bethany's for those brief few moments. I have also wondered whether perhaps fate had intervened in that moment, not to punish Bethany for her carelessness, for she was but a child, but to demonstrate to our young minds that such things are precious, or perhaps it was something more...perhaps such things should never be taken from their natural habitat, for they are a part of the circle of life. So if turning into the pulp of the earth and grit of the ocean floor is part of that cycle, then Bethany merely hastened that process along.

For pictures of the area, check this out.

Submitted to Scribbit's May Write Away Contest.