Left my silkie suit behind today, inside out, hanging in our Japanese maple tree. My thoughts lay piled high like driftwood this afternoon, crawling with sand fleas, and despite my fatigue I hoped a swim would help. Clear some clutter out or at the very least numb my heavy thoughts, the collective weight of everyone’s private deserted islands of doubt and fear and uncertainty.
I hoped for solace, and energy. A break from the anxiety and ever present realization that this is all far from over. And that this, whatever this is, has changed us all. There is no end. And in many ways that is good news. There is no shortage of bad news. And there is a lot that needs fixing.
What I can count on is the tide. I have formed a new habit this summer of checking my tide app before I even check the weather, to see when I might fit a swim in.
I know that the water will look different every single day, with different shades of green or red or blue or black. I can count on new treasures floating around me as I make my way forward. But I know that the creatures I encounter are indifferent to me. They have their own work to do.
Today I stayed cold. Maybe it was the angle of the sun or the scattering of leaves I noticed on the still water at the head of the bay, reminding me that fall is upon us at any minute, but my skin felt different today. I swam in and out of long shadows, winding my way along, seeking out the sunny spots where I could find them and still keep my steady stride.
My feet stayed cold, I felt the coolness on my arms and legs, occasionally disrupted by a shot of warmer water in my path. Certainly the contrast from yesterday’s adventure with the wetsuit was still a memory in my body. What was I thinking?
But I’m not quite ready to give up the cold yet. I am drawn to the clarity and physical exuberance it manifests within me.
Today there were few treasures. No crabs, no seals, few fish, no jellyfish and no complete thoughts. I just kept coming back to the green water before me and the bubbles. The water was so absent of debris I found myself watching my hands carve in, forming bubbles. I listened to my breathe become bubbles. I surveyed the shore, noticed which boats had left their docks, watched for gulls and herons and crows.
I stayed in the bay, circled to the outer edge and was met by a new kind of cold. My body said no. I turned in, along the spit and came to a patch of seaweed. I was startled by this floating island and quickly dodged away from it, peering suspiciously at the underside preparing for blood red tentacles to appear.
They didn’t. I kept going, my mind relaxing and glanced left to find a large swirl of sea kelp hovering just below the surface. One strand was caught on an oyster net on the bay floor. I thought of sea otters.
I remember years ago taking the boys to the Seattle Aquarium. We stood outside the glass watching a baby sea otter rest on the ledge of their concrete home. The mama was cruising around in the water when suddenly the baby rolled off the ledge. Within seconds the mama otter appeared, rolling under and scooping up her baby onto her tummy in one quick motion.
I will never forget those two. Effortless swimmers, insulated with the most fur per square inch of any animal on the planet (I think).
The memory is sweet, except for the watery cage. The mama was likely rescued or bred in captivity, like her baby. Regardless, those two had each other.
One could say we are all trapped in a watery cage. The tide keeps rising and falling and rising again. The daily tallies remind me of the tide charts. The winds blow in then disappear. The stillness is rocked occasionally by noisy boats or the cry of an eagle. The rainy weather and grey skies loom over us. It’s hard to think about the darkness ahead when despite the sunshine there is so much darkness now.
But we have warm blankets and cozy dogs and mint tea and funny boys and hot showers and pea soup and wool sweaters and maybe even some fresh cookies if we are lucky.
And we are lucky.
We are lucky like that baby sea otter, with a mama to be there when we need her. We are the mama sea otter too, capable of sweeping in and protecting our babies—caring for each other—even in the endless wild sea, with crashing waves and miles of sea kelp twisting around our furry bodies.
We have each other.
Mary Swims 