Bridges at the Beach

Abstract

To a nine-year-old future engineer's eyes, the beach is a giant construction site. Mounds of sand become arch bridges, soaring castles, and tall spires. Entire cities and civilizations rise and fall between the tides. When I was a kid and we visited the beach, I would build from dawn until dusk. I would stake out a good patch of sand not too far from the edge of the water, but not so close that the waves would undo my creations. At a young age, I developed a rough feel for urban planning. I designated patches of sand for cities and for the farms and hinterlands in between. They were sand farms, but I imagined that the sand was covered with cornfields, farmhouses, and cattle. My sand cities had medieval walls and turrets. The streets were winding and mysterious, and the buildings had carefully crafted shapes formed by my collection of clam shells and plastic shovels.