Jersey Shore Magazine

J e r s e y s h o r e • F A L L / H O L I D A Y 2 0 1 9 66 HOME PORT I t was an unseasonably warm day in mid-October and my family had decided to take our two dogs to the Sea Bright beach. Just a little over a month ago, the beach had been packed with tourists, beach umbrellas, and sun worshippers. Now it was unmistakably off- season. The beach club was shuttered, the sky was gray, and the dogs were running wild with off-leash abandon. I too, was in off-season beach mode. Eyes normal- ly focused on chil- dren riding waves or a horizon sunset were instead drawn to the fascinating detritus of high tide. In summer, the sand was too clean, maintained and picked over by visitors, lifeguards, and seagulls. But the tidal lines of autumn storms were a treasure trove of unusual shells, driftwood, feathers, crab remains, and more. I loved scouring the sands of the off-season beach. Like most people, I had spent many years collecting shells. My fascination varied from year to year depending on what I found new, unusual, or simply prevalent that season. One year it was unbroken bay scallop shells. Another, it was all about the pearly iridescence of jingle shells. Still another was about finding the largest surf clam shells. When on vacation at the Delaware Bay near Cape May, it was all about whelks. I would coat some shells with clear nail polish to bring out the hues. I would pile some in mason jars. I would line up others on windowsills. With an overflowing trove of shells, I became more interested in the beautiful organic forms and patina of driftwood. I would bring home different sizes and shapes and place them at structural angles in planted pots, lean them against my house, or simply throw a tangle onto a table. My children even helped me drag home an enor- mous piece that now sits on my patio, succulents planted in one of its undulating curves. In recent years, I've also been drawn to feathers. Often too wet, sandy, or mangled to reclaim, every once in a The Beachscape Offerings Of Sea, Tide, and Wind by Christine Menapace while a fluffy gull's feather would present itself and find a home in one of my vases. But on this day in October, the beach issued an offer- ing I had never encountered in my many, many years of beachcombing. My young daughter was the first to notice. "Oh no! Look Mom, it's one of those butterflies. But it's dead." She came running to me with a sand encrusted mon- arch in her hands. While deceased, the delicate creature was nevertheless intact and still beautiful. We examined its gor- geous, bright orange and black wings, thin as tissue paper but stiff and crum- bly from the drying effects of salt, sand, and sun. It wasn't long until I spotted another dead monarch lay- ing in the sand. I picked it up to show my daughter, but before I could yell to her, I spotted yet another. And another. And another. Like a scene in a movie when a character looks around and has the sudden dawn- ing realization of the full extent of what is happening, I came to see there were dozens, if not hundreds, of dead monarchs scattered across the beach. Many were partially or nearly fully covered in sand, providing just enough disguise to initially hide the scope of the tragedy. I realized that, within just a day or two, the deaths of these beauties would most likely be fully obscured by sand and wind. As an avid gardener, I had heard about the plight of these awe-inspiring butterflies. Traveling from southern Canada to central Mexico, they migrate an amazing 3,000 miles each fall. That is, if they make it. In the past two decades, the number of monarchs who are able to complete this trip has been decreasing dramatically due to loss of habitat and pesticides. As a result, word has gone out among naturalists and gardeners to help them along their journey by planting milkweed and sources of nectar. As I walked the beach, I became determined to some- how preserve the stilled brilliance of these perished mon- photo by Christine Menapace continued on page 63

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