No Public Access: Nature and Public Spaces in the Time of COVID-19—Britta Purcell

There’s a spot along the 101 just south of Carlsbad where the cliffs swoop in a rolling hill, dropping off into the foamy Pacific. Dolphins swim in pods just off the coast, their fins peeking out of the still water as they ride the waves northward each afternoon. On a typical day, it’s a slow crawl into town, with a procession of cars inching their way towards the best parking along the seawall, pulled towards the water for a walk on the soft sand or a surf session amongst the throngs of like-minded Californians.

These days, that cherished spot along the cliffs is dotted with harsh orange traffic cones and metal gates have popped up on the pedestrian path, neon and silver guards preventing residents from walking along the edge of the world. Parents with strollers and siblings on skateboards weave between the obstacles, insistent on breathing in the salty air for at least one hour of each monotonous day. In town, homemade signs flap in the wind, advertising takeout specials or merely stating that “this establishment will be closed until further notice.” The schoolyards have become eerily quiet, with gentle reminders posted for overtired parents about online class schedules.

But beyond the severe barriers, the beach still thrives. The cliffs seem to be regrowing after years of wear and tear, and the sand remains protected from children insistent on digging to China and teenagers spilling badly concealed beer. The dolphins have moved closer to the coast without any fear of an overzealous surfer invading their space. The grass along the beach wall has become the feeding ground for an army of mangey squirrels, who are simultaneously incredibly ugly and wondrously endearing as they stand off with chihuahuas and Great Danes alike. The squirrels win every time, by the way. They aren’t weighed down by bothersome leashes like dogs are, and the rodents harness their power wisely.

Now, will we all remain at home and not use the beach once all of this is over? Probably not. The beach heals our spirits: there’s a reason there remains a fight for parking as close to the water as possible, and there’s a reason people are willing to put on their masks and walk for miles along the seawall with their dogs and babies in tow. But if we’re going to encourage continuing to take care of our communities once we can start learning the new normal, we must keep using this space with caution and care. As Mother Earth rebalances from years of overwork and misuse, we must reconsider the strain we put on her - and how she is her most beautiful and pure without us stepping our heavy feet on her sands.

To view the full photo series, click here.