Last year, someone planted a few scrawny geraniums, struggling sticks stuck straight into the dirt (you can't call it soil) on the dusty path that leads to the beach here in Paradise Cove. People would water the poor things, lug down gallons in their golf carts and pour it on, and because the ground was packed so hard, the water would run right off, spread everywhere except, or so it looked, near the roots of the plants.

And yet they grew, and here they are now, big and blooming, a pretty pink gateway to the sea.