Long Dock Dance - A Trip to Beacon, NY

By Darrell Spearman

I didn’t know it, but there was a dance waiting inside of me. I felt trapped inside of a labyrinth of noise and invisibility, and so I set out on a journey to a place where quiet is usually guaranteed. On July 15, I took the subway from Brooklyn to Grand Central Station, to catch the Metro North’s Hudson Line to Beacon, NY. 

Surely, I had taken the $30 roundtrip several times before. My relationship with Beacon’s Scenic Hudson’s Long Dock Park began to grow on (ironically) July 14, 2020; three years ago. At that time, the COVID-19 pandemic had just offered some leniency as we were finally able to spend our days outside again, and my first instinct was to find a park or waterfront where I could spend as much time as possible. With some research, I discovered a hiking trail in Beacon, to which my direction failed me upon arrival, and in error I ended up stumbling upon this park. 

Since then, I have taken several trips in honor of a promise I made to myself—birthed from revelation in 2020’s quarantine—that no matter how demanding life may feel, I exercise my birthright to tap into something more fulfilling that will aid who I am, and who I am  becoming. When there is lots of noise, and I feel like a body flailing beneath and above water, fighting to stay afloat, I walk out of the water, and watch the tide from Beacon, NY. 

Back to my most recent commute: I slipped out of the shackles of expectations that seemingly come with my racial identity as a black male, and my gayness. Sitting on the Metro north with “Dances” by Nicole Cuffy, the Hudson River glistening beside my face in brilliant flashes, I was just me. Since childhood, my interests have always felt more essential to my identity. This felt easy.

Stepping foot off of the Hudson Line, through the gray tunnel, I dipped my head into the bright afternoon. A brown polished sign that says “Beacon” greeted me. A tone of warmth moved through me. I imagine this warmth as magenta. The Hudson River slowly moved across the street, and the transition from noisy city to quiet town was melodic. I’d say this arrival has the texture of a carnation’s leaves; soft, yet anchored in being exactly what it is. 

I crossed the road to reach the dock where tours are given and boats row forth. I moved past the attraction, uphill, to take a right downhill into the sweet embrace of greenery and distant bodies immersed in the life of the river. I slipped into a pathway of damp dirt that split a field of switchgrass, and, literally, turned over a new leaf. I could hear the shuffling of unseen rabbits. 

After disappearing into the green, the sound of the river grew the deeper I fell into the embrace. I turned into a new path, a clearer one made of concrete. I spotted two friends having a photoshoot. One had been taking photos of her girlfriend, who wore a bright yellow ruffled dress and a prosthetic leg. The daylight that fell between the hovering trees kissed their dark-brown skins as the path swallowed them into their future. They moved out of the space and let me enjoy it for myself. 

Before I could notice anything else, bright yellow daisies illuminated the path, and I quickly faced them in amusement. The daisies reminded me of the aura of my cousin, Lala, who died in August of 2018. The vibrance of their yellow was her humor. The brown in their center was her transparency when pushed to it. Their gentle sway was the softness that she could not hide (she was a scorpio). 

In awe, and compelled to my expressivity, I dropped my floral tote bag, which held my snacks, water and books (suggested: a warm sweater for the chilly train ride), and set up my iPhone to film the moment to savor again later. I moved into an improvised dance, moving to the river’s song, using my body to talk back to the clarifying sky. This innocence was always meant to be. This curiosity needed to be honored. It felt like my limbs had eyes, seeing the smaller images of the large space. Bikers, and a father with his son, greeted me in passing. I tried not to allow their presence to make me shy, but ultimately I’d momentarily pack up my dance and return to it once the path was cleared. 

Behind the shrubs and bushes I had been dancing in front of is a waterfront where you can experience the dense side of the Hudson River. It heaves its excitement for your visit at your feet. With my over-shirt hanging over my tote, air forces crunching gravel, I found a thick log which was extremely close to the water, so close that it occasionally splashed me. Its enthusiasm was contagious.

At this point, it had been 7:28pm, according to my footage, and wind began to throw the water forth. The slanted trees, who’s leaves dangled over the shoreline, responded with glee. I sat and watched as a woman monetized the engagement of her two children and tiny ducks, 10 feet away from me. On my right side, a young couple were getting their wedding photos taken. Each of these happenings existed without much noise or commotion. Even activities were peaceful here. 

As I began to make my way out of this “hidden” part of Long Dock Park, I began to hear live acoustics. I found myself on the historic grass at the small pier where stairs lead down into the overview of the river. People sat on the steps, in different areas, and a guitarist played, while bodies swayed and voices sang. The water’s flow picked up ferociously, and I could tell it would rain soon. The sky formed clouds and they began to darken. The water bubbled up as if in response to the music. A man standing near the guitarist asked me if I’d ever seen a scene in Avatar: The Last AirBender where the moment was set exactly like what we sat in, with a crashing body of water, but I hadn’t. I stood beside him on a big rock right in front of the water, watching its emotions roll through its body, and would soon turn away to head for the train back into Manhattan, because I didn’t have an umbrella. The music stretched behind my back as I walked toward the hill.