Almost every wall of my house is hung with an image of water. We sleep every night beneath this painting, a masterful work by my friend Beth Van Liere, whom I met while working at Madrona House.
A painting of Fort Warden, the beach, seagulls, the grass flowing and crashing along the path just like waves. I look at this painting every night as I climb in bed, and every morning upon rising.
Around my house I have moon snail shells collecting dust—my other constant daily visual reminder that the water is never far away. Always ready for my return.
I bought this painting from Beth’s husband, Eldon, when Beth was still alive. While employed at Madrona, in the mornings I’d time my visit to the third floor so that I might stop by to visit with Beth when her husband, Eldon, usually came by. Almost overnight we became friends the three of us. Kindred spirits. I loved hearing their banter and the way they lightly teased each other. Eldon never came empty handed. He would bring books and read aloud to her often, but with my visits he’d always pause his reading.
Beth’s room was meticulously arranged with photos and simple furniture, but most astonishing was the careful placement and choice of her original paintings that Eldon had hung upon her walls. Thinking back now, I realize that all of the works, save one of a storefront window of puppets, were images of water. Just like in my little house.
Every time I visited we would look at her paintings together. Beth would study her largest painting and recount the trip they had made by boat halfway out to the middle of the large lake in Switzerland. “Half way” was always an important fact she shared of this story.
During our visits my eyes would always settle on the painting above her small bed of the brilliant blue of the painting of the Mediterranean Sea that she so magically rendered. Glistening green trees parted to expose the shockingly beautiful blue sea. I wanted to dive in every time.
My respect for Beth and the artist she was, and her ability to capture such fleeting beauty will always stay with me. Her travels with Eldon took them to Europe countless times, where she created her paintings and collected photographs to take back home to Michigan where they lived and she had her studio.
Beth would have appreciated my stories of swimming in the open water. Like Beth I wish to capture a few moments to try and convey the raw beauty I find out in the open water. The joy I find there. The colors. I want to help others pause and really see this water that surrounds us.
Today I had hoped to share a swim with others. I put an open invite out. A few maybes, a yes turned to no, several I wish I could but other plans. I understand. Never been great at planning ahead.
My last day of summer swim before the start of school turned out pretty darn special in its own way. I arrived first, to the smiling faces of a neighbor family I rarely see. The three children were happily getting in to the cool water, floaties at the ready. Soon my neighbor Dave came with his two children to join me. With an experienced swimmer for a dad, these two bounded in with nothing but their suits, fearlessly swimming out into deep water. Free and easy.
As things go, in my rush to get in the water, I’d removed the wrong key off my key chain and locked myself out of the truck. After a brief frolic with these jolly friends I swam north back into the bay to go retrieve a back-up key from the house.
Inside the bay, the water was murky and I got spooked by an oyster pot floating up from the bottom of the bay. I felt tired and ill at ease, deciding I’d exit at my aunt and uncle’s dock.
Anders was finishing a last swim of summer with his friend Max. He asked if I was going to swim up the bay—I replied no. Anders said, “Good. We saw two red jellyfish up the bay.”
I felt relief. I felt looked after. Things worked out differently than I had hoped, but I had again avoided the jellyfish. I felt refreshed and my son was having a happy afternoon with his buddy, Max.
If Beth was alive and able, I have no doubt she would have met me at the beach. Laughed with me at my silly plunder locking up the wrong keys. She would have joined me in the gentle waves. Looked out at the bands of colors made by the sound, the distant hills, the far off Olympics and commented on the different hues.
Beth noticed things. She really looked at colors, noticed the patterns. Admired the birds and flower petals blowing around outside her window.
If she was with me today, she would plan her painting and capture the endless shades of blue and green, tinged with light.
And then she’d dive under with me and plan her next painting. Or wave me in telling me I was nuts to swim in such cold water, smiling the whole time.
Mary Swims 