[A] foolish man...built a house on sand.  The rain came down, the streams rose, and the wind blew and beat against that house and it fell with a great crash. 

Matthew 7:26-27 - as cited by NRLI guest speaker Thomas Ruppert

When our kids were young, Karen and I rented a house on St. George's Island with three other families. It was heaven to sit on that porch, coffee in hand, overlooking the beach as the sun rose. Walking barefoot across the sand seemed to make work stress melt away, and the sounds and sights of the children giggling, exploring and digging can only be described as pure delight.  

What is it about sand that makes us happy? It is merely dirt, a type of soil. Track it inside and expect a scolding "don't bring that sand into this house!". Yet spread it along a shoreline and we can't stay away, or even keep our shoes on. In 2017, 131 million visitors came to Florida and spent almost 89 billion dollars. Not all of that was beach travel of course, but it is a safe bet that a large percentage of those people - and those dollars - was related to the desire for soft white sand underfoot and a front row view of the glistening sea. Sand is tiny pieces of rock and minerals. It comes in different colors and shapes and particle sizes. Those colors and sizes and compositions decide and impact the life that dwells in, on and around sand, from mice and crabs to grasses, birds and well, people. And sand moves. It piles up in dunes, washes away in storms, shifts and shapes, ebbs and flows. It can boost tourism, protect a house or block its view. It is, as a stakeholder noted, Florida's gold. And as a result, people want to access, control and protect it. 

In the Florida panhandle we can find some of the most beautiful beaches in the world (note: St. George Beach Island Park made Dr. Beach's top 10 list in 2015, Grayton Beach was #3 in 2019). They are public, they are private, and many are contested spaces.  None of them are static, which complicates things when different stakeholder groups want to manage them in different ways for different purposes. Some want empty, whiter-than-white sand and monitor who is walking in the space that separates their prized lodging from Gulf waters. Others desire a public setting to hang with family and friends or serve visitors. Still others worry about habitat for sea turtles, beach mice or shorebirds. And when beloved beaches erode, all is threatened, people naturally want their sand back. Repair is referred to as beach nourishment (vs. the oft-used term "re-nourishment"), a hugely expensive treatment that has a surprising number of complex implications.

In Walton and Okaloosa counties we explored both "nourished" and "natural" beaches and learned of the myriad thorny issues that surround their management.  When a "private" beach is nourished with publicly funded sand, that nourished portion is public. What does that mean for private landowners? Can a beach truly be private in the first place - under Florida law? How do we assure public access to Florida's coastline? How should governments and residents think about beach nourishment when the costs are high and the results often short-lived? Should we still be building on or near shorelines? Who benefits and who or what pays the price? What is fair? What is prudent with rising seas, strengthened hurricanes and ever greater numbers of people (understandably) longing for that idyllic Florida beach? These are classic NRLI issues and questions.