"Do you do this every night?" the shivering couple inquired as I hopped down from a windswept picnic table. "No, this is only my second time," I replied, tucking my gloved hands under my arms for warmth. With all the enthusiasm of a Pass-a-Grille tour guide, I proceeded to offer them a concise introduction to the local custom of ringing the 10-foot cast-iron bell at sunset.
Since none of the old-timers had turned out this blustery night, I rang it myself. While folk up North were digging out from yet another heavy snowfall, we too were feeling the effects of the Nor'easter. Despite near-freezing temperatures and high wind, a few brave souls had managed to gather together at day's end. Their unanticipated applause added a touch of warmth.
I recalled how impressed I had been a few years ago when I was new to the area. Each evening as sunset approached, walkers would come to a stop, shell collectors would pause, couples and friends would circle their arms around each other and wait. All would gaze across the gulf toward the setting sun, forming a fine line of humanity that stretched up the beach as far as the eye could see.
Invariably, it was a time not only of natural beauty, but of reverence and community. As time passed, I met many of the old-timers and even had the honor of signing their log book the first evening I rang the bell. All that was many years ago. Back then, I came because of a man, but I continued to return because of the place.
In looking back, I realize how fond I am of late afternoon and early evening. Summer heat begins to cool, the harsh light of day softens, and long, thin shadows fall upon the Earth. Children are home from school, commuters are returning from work. Though all activity may not cease, there is at least a pause, a momentary shift in energy. Dusk, that liminal border zone between day and night, is a magical time.
Not least in our bag of magic tricks is sunset itself. Although by now we certainly should know better, every night we continue to ooh and ahh as sun descends in the sky and disappears beyond the horizon - when actually the sun is going nowhere, and it we who are moving. Still, another day has drawn to a close.
The next evening we were blessed with softer winds and more agreeable temperatures. The sunset promised to be spectacular. As the sky exploded into bands of orange, mauve and magenta, I was more concerned with capturing the feast of color on film. As sunset neared, however, I noticed a young couple romping on the beach with their boy just beyond the sea wall.
I remarked to the mother that her boy might enjoy ringing the bell. Quickly, the father hoisted his son up on his shoulder. With clouds nearly obscuring the giant circle of light, the father turned to me and said, "Your call." Then his son grabbed the metal chain, and the old bell rang and rang. As I turned toward home, I realized that some customs are worth passing on.
- Kathy Sands is a photographer and writer who lives in Pass-a-Grille.
