Ericka Nimbley
For many within the Northeast, vacationing to the East Coast beaches is a family staple. The food-stealing seagulls, the mile-long hike across the sand to get to the ocean, and the five-dollar fee to access the beach attracts millions of yearly visitors. While we may complain about the stealing seagulls, mile-long beaches, and beach admission, climate change threatens for all of these to become a distant memory.
Just like the average Northeast family, my family vacations to the Jersey Shore every summer. We rent the same one-story house each year, squeezing my extended family of ten and three dogs into three bedrooms; just don’t tell the landlord. There is a bay one street over from the house where we would take daily sunset walks. Along the pathway stood an oak tree, which has seen me grow the same as I have seen it. In 2010, my sister, cousin, and I climbed the tree with a trunk divide four feet off the ground and posed for a photo. Five years later, we decided to recreate that same photo, foolishly forgetting that just as we grow, trees grow. Rather than climbing the now ten-foot-tall tree, we stood in front of it and captured the same photo. One year later, we visited the same spot; the tree was now gone. Now, neither of us will see each other grow.
The shed of our vacation home contained several crab traps that we used to create an annual crabbing tradition. The side of the island bridge was deemed our lucky spot. I have never participated in the event of crabbing; instead, I would set up a beach chair along the coastline and watch from afar. Each year we came back, I noticed the dwindling number of catches.
Not only had the population of crabs changed, but the coastline changed as well. The one and more notable only time I attempted crabbing, I threw the string in with the cage and had to trench the bay in my beloved pink shoes to find the cage. Rather than having to walk ten minutes to reach the water, I now could walk two and feel the crash of the waves at my feet. Attempting to find that crab cage nowadays would be a hopeless cause. My beach chair is no longer needed for our crabbing trips as I now stand to avoid the waves from soaking me as the coastline is nearly nonexistent.
Within twenty years, I have seen my favorite vacation spot slowly start to fade away. Traditions have become memories. ‘King of the Mud Flats’ creates that Northeast aesthetic that is all too familiar. Writer Laura Muha tells the story of Charles White, a resident of Mount Sinai Harbor, and his reflection on his hometown. Muha tells the story through the lens of a man who has seen his hometown change within his lifetime. ‘King of the Mud Flats’ resonated with me for its ability to tell a simple story with an impactful message. After reflecting on his lifetime at the Harbor, the older man stated:
“I often wish those days I had a camera — but nobody realized things was going to change the way they are now.”
Nowadays, we can take a hundred photos within the span of thirty seconds. We press the camera button fifty times when we visit the same monuments that we all know: the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, the Sydney Opera House, etc. Despite the fact that we have thousands of photos, we are in the same situation as Charles in ‘Mud Flats.’ We need to change our lens’s focus to the simplicities we appreciate ourselves. The photo of my cousin, sister, and I remains framed in my living room with many other pictures of family memories, none of which include the infamous boardwalk roller coaster.
I have only experienced twenty years of change; I could only imagine the state of my beloved vacation spot in seventy, as Charles had to his hometown. I wish I had captured one more picture of the tree along the bay. One more photo of our crabbing adventures. One photo of my beloved pink flats lost to the bay.
Every individual may not feel the physical impacts of climate change yet, but they may feel it. They feel it the photo of them at their favorite shore point is now facing intense flooding. They feel it when they cannot swim where they have countless summers because of an algae bloom. They feel it when the photo of them on their honeymoon is now faced with ravenous wildfires, destroying the chance to recreate it years later. Climate change may not be occurring right in our backyards, but we all feel it. We must act to find solutions before our traditions all turn to memories.
Ericka is a sophomore at Lafayette College, double-majoring in Environmental Studies and Government & Law.
I was inspired to write “Capturing Real Memories” because I resonated with the story told in “King of the Mud Flats”, a news feature written a number of years ago. It has become all too common for the places we love most to become threatened by climate change and development. “Capturing Real Memories” expresses my appreciation for the Northeast’s beauty and all it has to offer. You can read the original “King of the Mud Flats” article on the Alliance website.
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