Last weekend I spoke in Long Island at a sea glass festival. As I’ve done dozens of times coast to coast, in addition to lecturing, I did sea glass identification, judged the contest, and hosted a table where kids of all ages fill a bag of beachcombed finds. My favorite parts of these shows are always watching passionate kids at the table; so enthusiastic about learning the origins of the pieces, and seeing someone who’s curious about the history of a find excitedly discover its origin in showing them the match from a photo on my phone. I love when people of any age dork out over the same reason I became passionate and involved about beachcombed finds: provenance, history, and origins.
I fell into this world accidentally, having simply found a marble on a beach 25 years ago and wondering how it got there. I was fortunate to live near the leading expert on the topic, learning everything I know from reading his books and eventually working for him, traveling to shows learning how to research and identify pieces, judge contests. I eventually became Vice President of the national organization of which he was a founder. I had other knowledgeable and helpful mentors as well, and opened an international beachcombing museum, though after working hard to accomplish this, with little help I was unable to afford the overhead costs to keep it open, and have been disappointed to see other initiatives begin that haven't sought to utilize the research and resources available from my efforts.
Two years ago I wrote an article for this site about fake sea glass and the following week was unceremoniously thrown off the board of the organization where I spent 10 years volunteering in sea glass education. At the time, I wrote about it, but glossed over the mental health impact it had on me. Being betrayed by people you thought were friends and colleagues in an organization you dedicated a decade of your life to is difficult to describe, and has been a challenge to navigate. I had to show up at a sea glass show a month after my “dismissal” and run a booth beside three of the board members who’d dismissed me. Over time this has gotten more familiar, even as I’m “shunned” from the organization, but this past weekend I made a decision to put my personal feelings aside and allow one of the board members to join me in judging the contest because it was what was best for the show since I wouldn’t be returning. In some ways, I was hoping for closure about the previous situation and got none.
I used to speak at eight-10 sea glass shows a year across the nation, but as I’ve gotten older travel has become more difficult as a result of health conditions. After this year I’ll attend only the Eastern Shore Sea Glass Festival since it’s close and enables me to do identification which I still love. Also I can avoid things in the hobby I can't stand, like over-bragging on social media about “hauls,” obsession over followers/buying fake followers, an incredible greed over beach locations, a hyper-competitiveness about finding or owning certain types of finds, extreme cliques leaving out people, constant Facebook wars about quality or types of finds, and beyond. This type of narcissism, jealousy and negativity has nearly ruined the hobby to the point where I nearly stopped posting on social media. I’m not sure why people on this “hobby” can’t seem to remember that it’s broken fucking glass they’re waging war over. If it isn’t about peace, tranquility and joy of discovery, it shouldn’t be happening.
I’ve revisited my childhood passion for miniatures. I’m revamping my website, working on finishing a book that’s a compilation of my writing over the last three decades and in the middle of work on another that details in particular my experiences on this wild ride in the world of beachcombing. I’d love to return to the sea glass festivals one day to sign books. Maybe by then, the power-driven Rankin and Bass “Burgermeister” regime will have moved on and I’ll be able to see so many people whose positivity has meant so much to me over the years.
My sea glass life because of these and so many other stories yet to tell became too much of a rollercoaster, and I’m too old for rollercoasters. I just want to ride the carousel and enjoy the view of the ocean.