There Are No Beaches In Atlanta…

…but there certainly are some on the Gulf Coast of Central Florida. Sunday night I visited Siesta Key. It’s a little over an hour’s drive from my dad’s house, but every Sunday night, starting about an hour before sundown, there is a drumming circle on the beach. It sounded pretty cool to me and my sister has been a couple of times, so I talked her into making the drive with me.

The drumming had already started when we got there. I could hear it way down the beach where we parked the car. We shed our shoes, sunk our toes into the silky white sand, and headed for the sound. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting – but I was totally blown away by the experience!

There was a small pit containing a small fire in the middle of a piece of the beach designated as an “athletic” area. Surrounding the fire was a clear space where people were dancing. Surrounding the dancers were drummers. LOTS of drummers, as well as an electric guitar, a wood flute, a glockenspiel and a multitude of tambourines, rhythm sticks, maracas and other rhythm instruments. Surrounding them were lots and lots of people who were sitting or standing to form the outer ring of the circle. My sister and I nudged our way into the crowd.

There were 3 belly dancers circling the fire. How wonderful to watch! One of them had beautiful ebony skin and her moves were an entrancing mixture of traditional belly dancing and African tribal dance. All of them had large flowy scarves, which they surrendered to the handful of small girls who had joined the dancers in the middle. The little girls were fascinated by the gossamer floaty fabric and twirled round and round as it floated out behind them. They wrapped themselves in it and danced.

There were a couple of men dancing completely to their own rhythm. Their eyes had an unfocused look. Maybe not unfocused – rather other-focused. A shirtless young man wearing the blousiest pair of red harem-style pants I’ve ever seen soon joined them. A slender woman with waist-long jet black hair and clad in a long white flowing dress joined it. Her movements were slow and deliberate and seemed to me to be very prayerful. The rhythm changed a little and I started to look around at the drummers.

What an amazing group! There was a gorgeous reed-thin Asian girl with a drum that stood nearly as tall as she did. There was a very tall and very striking woman with high cheekbones and a seashell choker playing some sort of two-layered rhythm instrument that I am not familiar with. There was a grandmother with her drum suspended in front of her on a shoulder harness. There were lots of men. Young men and old… clean-shaven and heavily bearded…short and tall. There were all sorts of drums – from congas to bongos to even smaller hand-held drums. There was one young man with dreds that fell way below his shoulders that was sheer poetry in motion. (Note to the Universe – if you send another man my way – I want him to look JUST like the guy with the dreds – just a little taller!!) Their bodies were covered in sweat and they just kept on beating those drums.

The guitarist looked like a lost member of ZZ Top. The fellow with the glockenspiel could have been my grandfather. And into the mix came the most unusual fellow of all… a drumming cowboy. There he was on the beach, wearing his cowboy boots and hat. He sported a gorgeous handlebar mustache and had a huge metal washboard suspended from his shoulders, which he rhythmically strummed as he walked around the circle.

A woman near my age coaxed her son (who looked to be about 14) into the middle to dance. Mom danced with abandon…and the son made an embarrassed beeline back to his anonymous seat in the crowd. But never underestimate a mom! Pretty soon she had her son back out in the middle with his arms stretched wide, doing a sort of eagle dance around the fire.

As the sun sank below the horizon a roar arose from the crowd. My entire body tingled. The energy was amazing. Some of the drummers wandered off – and a few new ones wandered in. The tempo changed, the beat changed… but the drumming and dancing was not done.

It began to grow dark. One of the belly dancers was now sporting a live snake curled around one arm. The beautiful black girl was now dancing with sticks of fire attached to her hands. More people, perhaps feeling a little freer in the growing darkness, began to join in the dancing. Then a shift took place. A lot of teenagers – particularly young men – had been hanging out at the back of the crowd. They now moved to the front and then stepped out into the dancing. The dancers became a close-knit circle around the fire, as it got darker and darker. It was now almost exclusively males dancing with a shuffling sort of step. It was very tribal in appearance.

My sister and I were swaying to the beat of the drums – it was almost too much to take in. We had to leave before the crowd broke up entirely – we had a long drive back and it was about 9:30. We had been standing on the beach, lost in the circle, for nearly 2 hours!

I now know 2 things for certain… I want a drum…..and I WILL be going back.