Memorial Day weekend, breaking waves dropped seaweed stretched like a net filled with trash on the beach at Ft. Morgan. Plastic bottles once filled with water, detergent, lotion, and shampoo. Styrofoam plates and coolers. Crushed and faded beer and soda cans. Toothbrushes, roll-on deodorant, a bubble wand, and a large Lego. A scrap of an egg carton from South America. A Russian tube of toothpaste with Cyrillic language on the side.
Pink and purple Flip-Flops, the necks of whiskey bottles, and the chord of a refrigerator covered in barnacles. A long sheet of plastic covered in recycle symbols and suffocation warnings caught by a fisherman.
Each piece of trash has a story. Where was the bottle of Smirnoff vodka emptied and what was served with the tub of whipped cream? Who wore the high-heel shoe and what was written with the pen?
In creative hands, trash becomes art. During the week, coconut and crab shells, a SKOAL can, a feather, and an empty bottle of rum are added to the split limbs of bamboo. Driftwood stands tall as a sunset Stonehenge. Seaweed makes the tangled hair of a mermaid, an American flag, and the words “I Love Karen” and “Thank a Vet” written in the sand.
In the right light, the trash is photogenic and even beautiful. It is also a disturbing glimpse of what lies beneath the surface of the Gulf of Mexico, even if most days we cannot see it
