I have spent a good portion of my life being infatuated with water, environmentalism and sustainability. Yet the one story that resonates with me, was my one strong summer campaign to pressure the general public into action with a riveting name.

S.O.B. or Save Our Beach. I was nine and was incredibly proud of it, despite it’s unfortunate acronym.

It all started, as most summer projects were, with my brother and two close cousins, and just a visibly disgusted face (usually my own). Every weekday morning was swimming lessons on Lake Winnipesaukee – a mad dash to the car with hastily eaten breakfasts and dressed children. Our classes were at 9, rain or shine, and often we would have to race to our class across a dirt driveway to the center and the sandiest part of the beach.

In the 90’s this meant a slew of cigarette butts were just as likely to stick to our wet feet as we went back to our mothers. And that was part of the straw that broke my my back. That and leftover trash that would scatter in the afternoon breeze from lazy picnickers really pissed me off.

I was mad – the beach that was supposed to be shared, was treated like a dump. After a kid suffered a nasty cut from a shell on their foot, it is obvious I would become more paranoid of what could lie underfoot. So I did what I knew I had to do.

Convincing the Fearsome Four was easy. It was a crew that just clicked – Leader, Follower, Dreamer, Doer. We all took turns. Together we approached the lifeguards for a cardboard poster and art supplies. I inspired with the vocabulary of an audastic 9 year old, eager to write out the agreed upon rules. Kay designed the sign, adding her artistic flare that included a sun with sunglasses. My brother lovingly pointed out flaws and chatted with the lifeguards – a resource gatherer of sorts. Evan added more creativity, or pop, to the poster language, and I think he also helped get snacks.

Like I said, it was a perfect set up.

But for execution? Ah, I was the fanatic fundamentalist of that.

I still vaguely remember the routine. Get to the beach, have class. After class snack from the shack, then it was time to approach the lifeguards.

They would supply small plastic bags for containers and, most importantly, disposable gloves. I remember crossing the beach, if not half towards the shack, bag in hand, shuffling feet through sand as if I lived on Dune, trying to root out butts and other dubious treasures.

I would scour the beach for any little bit of trash, keeping in mind which trash cans were the hornet homes. Every morning there, I would check the poster to make sure it wasn’t torn down, and reviewing the rules as if they were the Ten Commandments. Though for me, that was what they were. And the beach Kay drew was the idea beach, the dream attainable only by group effort.

Summer, however, is short and eventually I could not clean any more. Not if I wanted to play. The poster had to be taken down for other things. But for awhile there was a change. It did look nicer. I felt better that waterfowl weren’t likely to eat trash or plastics. Lifeguards would go back to being teens, and eventually adults did put restrictions on smoking, to eventually it was not allowed on the property.

Change can happen. Yes it will take time. Yes it was a big dream from a four pack of precocious children. But if I, as a grown adult, saw even one child fervently preaching and actively cleaning a public land that puts adults to shame?!

Well, son of a bitch, count me in!