This weekend I read one of the most precise comparisons for the beach – land’s veranda. Architectural historian Philip Drew in his book Veranda: Embracing Place says:
“The veranda is an interval, a space, where life is improvised. The beach, in Australia, is the landscape equivalent of the veranda, a veranda at the edge of the continent.”
Philip Drew, Veranda: Embracing Place
Although the author writes about Australians, the coast dwellers, I think it can be ascribed to many beaches around the world. I’m not surprised that Drew has dedicated a whole book to the phenomenon of verandas. It is a captivating place to be. For some it may embody laziness, but it’s more than that. Just like beach.
Our house has an old veranda. In Summer it is filled with hot afternoon sun, my sons and family friends. All my plants go crazy in green and lavish in blooms. When sitting on the worn wooden steps of veranda in evening, you can see how the sun goes down behind dark green pine trees. Behind the trees lies the beach with prepared bed for the sun – right in the salty sea where she goes to sleep. The sunrise is never a cliche for me, it’s always spectacle, never the same. Then you look up from those worn wooden steps of veranda and count the stars in the midnight blue sky or look down by your feet and notice how emerald the grass becomes at night.
I’m not a true mariner, I don’t sail, surf or scuba dive. I’m a true coastal girl with my feet on the ground but my eyes wandering far in the sea and my mind wondering of all its secrets and gems.
Living on the edge of the land.
Similar feeling is experienced right there on the worn wooden steps of my veranda. On the edge of my house, in the middle of boundless nature. Where finite meats infinity. Where coast meets the sea.