I drove our car onto the deserted beach and parked, which is not only legal in Texas but downright weird if you park anywhere else, like, say, on the street. There was not a jeep in sight.
When it comes to beaches, I can't decide whether I'm W.C. Fields or Will Rogers. The genial Rogers famously said he never met a man he didn't like. It is my view that he just never met many men. But taking him at his word, I might say the same thing about beaches.
Each beach has its own personality and each, in its own way, is likable. The white sand beaches with crashing gray waves, the sort you find off the New Jersey coast, are playful beaches, made for boogie-boards and obnoxious children. Pristine Caribbean beaches with shifting colors of royal blue and turquoise and ice green are adult beaches, places for a certain refined enjoyment, sunbathing, handholding, making credit card commercials. There are daredevil beaches with dangerous undertows, such as those in Oregon, where large signs warn swimmers in words and pictures that they may be swept away by the gigantic undertow or knocked flat by a tsunami. (Inviting, huh?) The rocky coast beaches of Maine give rise to poetry and art; bad poetry and bad art, but still