19. Midden
Midden
I walk barefoot along the beach in Bucerias, a town north of Puerto Vallarta.The sun is hot on my bare skin, but a sea breeze flows towards the land. As the waves roll in and out, they rake the surface of the sand, revealing objects, both natural and man made, that have come to rest at this intersection of land and sea. With a natural interest in anthropology, my eye always catalogues the unique artifacts swept clean by the surge.
Foamy bubbles pop, revealing a blue nylon water shoe, a purple hair scrunchy, a swim fin with a large chunk missing from the edge. I make up stories imagining a strong undertow that pulls the shoe from a bather who unwisely ventures into the dangerous surf. A swimmer tumbles in the breakers, her hair loosening as she scrapes the bottom. A gray shape, maybe a bull shark, circles a diver who explores the rocks at the mouth of the bay. Beach stories; relic stories.
Higher up on the beach, the shiny corner of a bag protrudes from the yellow sand. It probably held chili-laced chips, a favorite snack found in all the Abarrotes stores, a Mexican version of 7-11. A corncob, its flesh nibbled clean, is still tinted pink from the chili powder the vendor sprinkled on the kernels after she roasted it on her charcoal grill. A brilliant twist of orange peel. Bottle caps. A pop can that tumbles higher with each wave—Coke, the real thing.
I spy a Boots cigarette packet. On a background of red is a picture of a giant pair of cowboy boots. A sprinkle of tobacco drifts to the ground as I pick up the pack. I picture a Mexican rancher, his tanned skin dark against a white shirt as he leans against a tree, taking deep drags. No sissy filters on these.
Ubiquitous plastic, the material of choice of the modern world, rides the tops of the waves and is buried in the beach midden. An empty motor oil container protrudes from the sand, probably from one of the fishing boats that still haul in an impressive harvest of cabrillo, corvado, and dorado from the deep Bay of Banderas. Fishing line in a rainbow twist, prismatic reflections shining from the captured bubbles.
These human artifacts mix with their natural counterparts, the striped scallop shells, the soft clusters of seaweed, the translucent bones of fish. But the gaudy purples and reds, shiny surfaces and hard edges of the man-made objects have yet to be worked by the currents, and ground up by the stones of the bay. Only the beach glass, soft aqua, icy white, pale green, with rounded edges and sanded surfaces, shows the temporal nature of these objects.
As I turn to walk back, I can no longer find the footprints that marked my path down the beach. The waves have leveled the sand. Head down, I search this new field for the artifacts that bring me stories, both of humans and of nature, stories of Mexico.
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