The ocean is, was and always will be a big part of my life. My parents were ocean aficionados, and I was introduced to its beauty and serenity at an early age.
My fascination with the ocean escalated as the family spent summers on Long Island. By age ten, I was permitted to go to the beach alone each morning. One day, I noticed an older, shabbily dressed woman pulling a sled along the shore, stopping to examine pieces of driftwood.
I called out, but she didn't acknowledge me. Undeterred, I began helping her search. After half an hour, I left.
My parents explained I had met "The Driftwood Queen," or "Queenie." She was a reclusive figure living in a rundown cottage, supported by the community. No one knew her real name or story.
My parents allowed our friendship. Each morning, I'd wait for her, bringing an extra breakfast roll which she devoured with gusto. We scoured the beach in silent companionship.
One morning, I retrieved a large piece of driftwood. Queenie was elated. Her sled full, she unexpectedly tugged at my sleeve and led me to her dilapidated home.
Inside, I was astonished. Everything—furniture, cabinets, sculptures—was crafted from driftwood. "Did you make all these?" I exclaimed.
She nodded, then scribbled on a notepad: "Hello Anne, my name is Erma. Welcome to my home."
I learned she had difficulty speaking. We wrote notes, sharing cookies and a deep, wordless bond. "I love your company," she wrote.
Our daily quests continued until summer's end. Saying goodbye, I promised to return next year. Tears in her eyes, Erma gave me a small package and a kiss on the cheek. Inside was a driftwood seagull.
I never saw her again. Months later, my parents received a letter. Erma had been found in the snow near her home and had succumbed to pneumonia. Before dying, she wrote: "Thank you for being my friend. I love you. Take my driftwood and make others happy. Love Erma."
Her death was my first encounter with loss. My family donated her collection to the church community center. Every summer thereafter, our first visit was to that hall. I would stand in awe of the art born from the ocean and my friend's hands.
I learned that kindness receives far more in return. Like the ocean, love goes on forever. The driftwood seagull still stands in my cabinet, forty-eight years later.