“Have you heard of Bottle Beach?” my mom asked in an email. Go to this blog, she said and like a single clue to a treasure hunt, I clicked, followed and am in love.
More in love with the bottles waiting than the odd history of Brooklyn’s Dead Horse Bay:
“It was during this era, around the turn of the century, that the marsh of Dead Horse Bay’s began to be used as a landfill. Filled with trash by the 1930s, the trash heap was capped, only to have the cap burst in the 1950s and the trash spew forth onto the beach. Since then garbage has been leaking continually onto the beach and into the ocean from Dead Horse Bay.
Thousands upon thousands of bottles, broken and intact, many over 100 years old litter the shore. Though other hardy bits of trash pepper this beach of glass: leather shoe soles, rusty telephones, and scores of unidentifiable pieces of metal and plastic. The beach is usually empty, conjuring a quiet, eerie post-doomsday kind of scene that is the perfect setting for scavenging another era’s trash.” (http://atlasobscura.com/place/dead-horse-bay)
We are going back to NYC November 19. And something is drawing me there. Ghosts or the hope of touching objects rocked back and forth by the sea. These once, as we all did, belonged to something.
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