Sea Glass
The first time I remember being attracted to sea glass was at the beach in England, when I was little. It was probably Southend-on-Sea, a place where the sea goes out for over a mile. Left with an immense flatness, Mum said, ‘Why don’t you find some pretty shells?’ My Mum and I walked across the blipping brown sand, sheared flat by the receding ocean. Pottering was one of the best things to do, and my Mum was the best at finding free adventures. After earnestly examining the contents of the shore bed for a good time, we convened to audit our haul. A handful of graceful things that we thought fascinating. My Mum held out her hand. She had a few big, curly shells, their inner caverns hauntingly unknown, some broken pieces of shell interiors that made a purple/pink glow, and some scraggy pieces of sponge and a monstrous bladderous seaweed. It is odd what some people find pretty or interesting, and others do not.
I held out my hand, in it some small sediments of sand, and 3 tiny periwinkle shells, perfect in their smallness, and two green stones. These stones were perfectly smooth and the most incongruous things on the beach. I turned over my shells with my finger, just double-checking no creature was living inside.
‘Oh,’ said my Mum, ‘Sea glass.’
‘What is sea glass?’ I asked, imagining the sea had birthed this amazing treasure.
‘It is just rubbish,’ said Mum.
‘It isn't glass?,’ I say, appalled; ‘it isn't sharp. Look, feel it.’
‘I know,’ said Mum, ‘the sea did it?’
Cut forward about 35 years on the other side of the world, and I am Fremantle Markets, Western Australia. If you know Freo markets, they are on the corner of town, in a heritage market building, one part home-made crafts and one part farmers and fresh food. In the small connector, there was a stall with rings and other homemade jewellery. Now, I am not a fan of jewellery shop trinkets; there seems to be no heart or craft in a shop ring. I like to see the dents in the metal, feel the imperfections and wonder at the art and inspiration of a different piece. The jewels in these silver rings were dusky, opaqued, smooth, imperfect and beautiful. I picked up a smooth-edged, obscurely shaped, white milky ring.
Sea glass, the artist proudly admitted, I pick them up on my morning walk on the beach just here in Fremantle.
I was hooked. This was going to be my treasure too.
Fast forward another 7 years, and I am deep in the fallout of my sister’s death and on a preplanned break in Margaret River. I am trying to write, I am trying to understand, I am trying to be. I am willing to let the wilderness heal my rough edges. I want the wind to round out some of the pieces of me that are too sharp to hold. I walk head bowed through wind and tears, looking at the spaces between. The spaces where rocks have captured little pockets of life that once were. Little pieces of shells, once homes to tiny creatures, are broken and smashed on the shore. Looking hard for sea glass, a man with his family sees me and asks what I am looking for. I tell him about sea glass and what it means, that it can be brown glass, green glass, clear, or opaqued glass. He moves on, and as I round the point, he comes back with a handful. He has the knack. Here you are, he says, handing me a rough hue of sea-battered charms.
A month later, and we are at my Sister’s beach in NSW. Little Sharkies Beach. A rocky beach, just like the ones I love. Big rocks and little rocks. We scope out a place for my sister’s final resting place. And I start collecting glass. Here are my pretty charms. What is sea glass? Asks Hayley. Is it glass that someone threw in the sea? It is that, I say, collecting it from the beach, but it is much more than that. It is human refuse that found its way into the ocean, all sharp and bad, and the ocean took it and pounded it and pummelled in and smoothed off all of its sharp edges and made it into something pretty, something that feels good and smooth and loved. The patina of the thousands of tides gives their energy back and forth and back and forth, till every surface of it is ground and beautiful.
Back to Perth, seven months later and a new year. 2026. I find a little parcel in the mail from Hayley, and in it is a clean dog poo bag, a pile of tiny shells, and a handful of sea glass from Meggie’s beach. The ocean made beautiful again. The ocean takes off the edges. x
