December Sunset at Jones Beach

My son and I once took a December Sunday afternoon drive out to Jones Beach to see the Christmas lights display. I didn’t feel driven to drive that day. It was a spur of the moment decision and I just assumed that I would somehow find it once we got there. I had always heard that it was located in the parking field for the Jones Beach Theater and therefore made the mistake of not finding out exactly where to go. I’m not sure if I had a GPS at the time. Even so, I’ve only used my TomTom on a few occasions. It works fine, but I just prefer to do it the old-fashioned way with hand drawn maps and directions written on index cards.

          My wife, Reyna, chose not to go that day and so it was just Daniel and me in the car. As we approached Jones Beach from the Meadowbrook Parkway, the Jones Beach Theater, an outdoor amphitheater resembling a small stadium appeared on our left, but there was no sign of the Christmas lights display in the parking field. By this time, I had already driven past the theater exit, so we made a quick change of plans and continued on to Field 6, the last of the parking fields.

          The air was crisp and the sky a crystal-clear blue on this beautiful December day. As Daniel and I stepped out of the car we could see the sun already lowering in the late afternoon sky. It was daylight, but twilight was approaching. Some people sat in the warmth of their vehicles parked in the row of spaces nearest to the beach listening to the radio while enjoying the ocean view through their windshields. Some do this as well in summer taking advantage of the late day coolness as the sun sets behind them on their right. Because of Earth’s tilt, the sun sets over land at Jones Beach in summer, but gradually shifts closer to the shoreline as fall turns to winter. A totally different experience for anyone who marvels at the beauty of sunrise or sunset!

          Daniel and I began our walk on the paved walkway leading up to the wooden boardwalk. We encountered other walkers like us bundled up in parkas or down ski jackets, wool hats, and gloves. One group, mostly middle-aged couples and seniors, sat in beach chairs outside the concession stand just as they do in July and August calmly enjoying the salty air while looking out towards the horizon. I once read a newspaper article about a group of college age friends that in the late 60s or early 70s gathered here regularly at twilight to play guitars and sing songs. Attempts to reunite have had only partial success. Perhaps some of these people were once a part of that beach party group so many summers ago. It is only natural to have longings for the past. I hope they do eventually have a full reunion.

          Anyway, Daniel and I continued walking past the pitch-and-putt golf course, which sadly no longer exists (another story altogether), the iconic water tower, Jones Beach’s postcard landmark, the art deco band shell and swimming pool, and the immaculate softball fields. From there we came upon one of the less frequently used parking fields where we witnessed something I had previously seen in photographs, but never in person. A group of hobbyists were driving, or should I say riding, three and four wheeled wind powered go-carts with tall sails, from one end of the parking field to the other. I had seen these landsailers years before in magazine cigarette advertisements. The scenes were usually in wide-open remote places such as the Mojave Desert. These go-carts seemed to be do-it-yourself models built in garages and hauled to Jones Beach in pick-up trucks or trailers. With the steady wind blowing, my guess is that they were reaching speeds of up to 40 miles per hour. Not bad for vehicles with nothing but the wind to propel them! I admired the skill and hard work that must have gone into building these vehicles and took note of the joy and camaraderie the riders seemed to feel.

          Daniel and I turned around at this point estimating that we would make it back to the car at sunset. As we came to the end of the boardwalk, we started craning our necks every so often to observe how close the sun had come to the horizon. I recalled once reading that at low latitudes there is a brief moment at which the setting sun appears green and wondered if it ever occurs further north in places such as Long Island. There did not seem to be any change in color that day. All the while we had to be careful not to look directly at the sun, being fully aware of the potential danger in doing so.

          When the sun was just at the horizon, Daniel and I stopped to fully witness one of the most stirring and yet simplest commonplace events in nature. A change in perception came over me. I now sensed the motion of the earth and sun in relation to one another, something I’m not quite able to do when the sun is high in the sky. Now, I could almost feel the earth rotating on its axis. Without staring directly at the sun, I detected what I thought were wavy circular movements on its surface. An appreciation for the enormity of the solar system, milky way galaxy, and space beyond came over me. As big as our world is, it is really no more than a little speck in the scheme of space. I realized how insignificant I am as a mere human and yet at the same time I felt a strong connection with the universe.  I felt very strongly at that moment the presence of God, a higher being that created it all. The inevitable question of whether we are alone in the universe entered my mind. I don’t know, of course, but I do believe that with the billions of stars in the milky way, the many other galaxies, the many clusters of galaxies, and clusters of galaxy clusters, there must be other worlds with life. The question of whether that life is anything like us is one whose answer we’ll never know.

          Eventually, the tip of the sun dipped slightly beneath the horizon. It continued its disappearing act and did so rapidly. At the last moment I said to Daniel, “Let’s do a count-down!” I think I embarrassed him a little with people around us, but I couldn’t help myself, I was so enthralled, so we did it anyway. Well, actually I did it. Daniel was too self-conscious, so he just tolerated my silliness. Usually I’m the one who is self-conscious. Starting at ten, we counted, or should I say I counted aloud backwards to zero, but when we finished the sun had still not made its complete disappearance. So, we tried again with a baseball announcer’s homerun chant of “Going-going-gone!” just as the sun made its final dip beneath the horizon and disappeared from sight. This time Daniel chimed in. He’s an avid baseball fan and couldn’t turn down a touch of baseball in winter.

          A few minutes of twilight remained as Daniel and I walked back to Parking Field 6. A peaceful “hush” came over the remaining Jones Beach walkers as everyone returned to their cars. My inner mood of excited serenity almost put me in a trance while driving home. I only wish Reyna had been there with us to share in the experience.

Steven T.

September 2020