Dunes of fine gray sand shift continually along the flat shoreline, restrained only by the rambling sand verbena, whose vining stalks, rubbery leaves, and small yellow blossoms stubbornly resist the wind. Here and there a fresh drift engulfs the brushy growth along the shore. Occasional clumps of stubby, gale-bent trees, gray with lichen, cling tenaciously to the land’s edge, as though conscious that this is their last grip on the North American Continent—westward there is no soil for 5,000 miles. From the outer rim of the beach the traveler’s gaze into space is interrupted only by the funnels of an occasional ship, reminding him in passing that the earth is a globe.