I'm sure a case can be made for every beach in North America, but you haven't truly experienced the beach until you've been to Bald Point, right here in Florida. There's really something magical about a pristine white beach, free from the high rises and beer pong tournaments one usually finds in this part of Florida. The hour long drive from Tallahassee takes you past all the sights that make this state such an oxymoron - first you pass government buildings and law offices, then Walmarts, Dollar Stores, and Piggly Wigglys, then onto long stretches of road with an over-abundance of bail bonds offices and tattoo shops and oyster bars streaking past the car windows. An endless parade of fire stations, and Ace Hardware stores, and gas stations, until finally, nature takes control of the environment and for several miles its nothing but pine trees and palm trees and scrubby oak trees mixed in with open Savannahs of tall grass and alligators, as far as the eye can see. Then a bridge, and a small marked road, and a ten minute drive past rental houses and fishing boats and boiled peanut stands, until finally, the State Park sign appears in the distance. The beach itself is relatively small, but littered with ancient palmettos, and great masses of exposed pine tree roots, and enormous sand dunes, and wild, untouched beauty.
So I say it again - if you haven't been to Bald Point, you haven't truly experienced the beach as it was meant to be experienced. But enough of my ramblings!
My sweet mama and I got up late this morning and decided there was no time like the present to pack a lunch and head down to the coast. One hour later we staked out our spot, dove into our lunch (three bean salad, potato salad, deviled eggs, green olives, watermelon, and baby Cokes), and spent a glorious afternoon exploring our surroundings.
There really is something magical about the beach.