My Little Kingdom by the Water
So, this whole “bay lord” idea. Sounds pretty fancy, doesn’t it? Like I had some grand estate or ruled over a whole stretch of coastline. Truth is, it was nothing like that. It was this tiny, forgotten little patch of shore, tucked away where nobody really went. When I first found it, man, it was a mess. Just pure neglect. Old tires, plastic bottles, you name it, it was there. Most folks probably didn’t even know this little cove existed, or if they did, they sure didn’t care enough to do anything about it.
I started going down there, just to get away from things, you know? And seeing it like that, it just bothered me. So, one day, I just started cleaning. Didn’t ask anyone, didn’t make a big deal. Just started hauling junk out. Took weeks, felt like forever. Slowly, very slowly, it started to look like a place again. A decent place. And I kept going back, every day. I got to know every rock, every shift in the tide. It felt like my place. That’s when the “bay lord” nickname popped into my head. Just a little something I called myself, because I was the one looking after it, the one who knew its secrets.
The So-Called Reign
Being the “bay lord” wasn’t about bossing anyone around. There was no one to boss around, mostly. It was about the work, the care. I’d clear out new trash that washed in, shoo away folks who were looking to make a mess. Sometimes I’d just sit there and watch the water. It was peaceful. I even planted a few hardy shrubs I dug up from my backyard, trying to make it a bit nicer. Felt good, you know? Like I was making a small difference, at least in that one tiny spot.
Of course, it couldn’t stay a secret forever. Eventually, other people started finding their way down. Some were alright, just enjoying the quiet. But then you’d get the party crowd, leaving their beer cans and burger wrappers. Felt like a constant battle sometimes. I wasn’t an official anything, so all I could do was ask them nicely, or clean up after them again. Some days, it felt less like being a lord and more like being an unpaid, grumpy caretaker.
What “Lordship” Really Means, I Guess
Then the local council finally noticed the spot. Noticed me, I guess. One day, a couple of fellas in suits came down, clipboards in hand. Next thing I know, there’s a plan. A “Community Improvement Project.” They brought in diggers, flattened out parts of it, put in these awful, uniform benches. Said it was for “better public access.” My little wild cove, all tamed and official. They even put up a sign with some generic name on it.
My “reign” as the bay lord was definitely over. They didn’t need me anymore, or want my kind of unofficial care. For a while, I was pretty sore about it. Felt like they’d stolen something from me, even though it was never really mine to begin with. But you know, time passes. I still walk by there sometimes. It’s… cleaner, in a sterile sort of way. More people use it now, which I suppose is the point.
What I figured out is this: being a “lord” of anything, whether it’s a tiny bit of shoreline or some project you pour your heart into, it’s not really about control or ownership in the way you think. It’s about the connection, the effort you put in. That feeling of making something better, even for a little while. That’s the real stuff. The rest is just, well, the rest. You do your bit, and then life, or the council, moves on. And you just gotta find your next “bay,” I suppose.
