Sea otters sometimes store snacks in their armpits. I did not know that until today.
I also didn’t know until today that wool knee high socks would feel so good after my first official autumnal swim. Marking the Fall equinox was not intentional, but swimming today most certainly was.
The bay was mostly quiet again today. Usually the only sounds are the flapping swish of an occasional flock of geese overhead, or the intermittent hum of traffic on the main road across the bay. Or the cry of a seagull or the sound of some tool being fired up or shut down. Sound travels so easily over the water, Mother Nature’s natural amplifier.
Today the bay gifted me with the sound of music. The tide was fairly low, and as I surveyed the mud, eyeing the shore and steadying my mind to cross the threshold into cold, I heard voices and the sound of digging, and happy banter in Spanish through the trees to my left, just across the bay.
And then one man started singing.
Easy, steady notes floated across the bay. I stood still, listening. I wished I spoke Spanish, could know what the song was about. Most of all I was just happy for the man singing—he sounded happy.
We are all so tied up right now, trapped, trying to work through this unbelievable mess. Like swimming, music also liberates me. Hearing this music added lightness to my mood and drew me forward.
I was reminded how important it is to just let myself sing and swim for the sake of it. This man singing was working very hard I am sure, in the company of a few others, and he was joyful.
He sounded free. Light. At ease, even amidst his hard labors. Forcing me out of my own head, the music brought me into the moment.
The music continued as I waded up to my waist. The signs of Fall were everywhere —golden oblong leaves and brown, lacy maple leaves and tiny bright orange cedar leaves bedazzled the surface of the bay.
I swam steadily outside the bay, passing an elderly gentleman in a rowboat. The tide slowed my exit out the mouth of the bay, where I was struck in the forehead by a large wet maple leaf. I swept it away, feeling the significance of this run-in, as I swam beneath cloudy skies threatening rain. A very clear reminder that Summer is behind us now—dead leaves and spiders now reign supreme.
At Fletcher Landing I waved to a couple sitting on the bench and turned West, looping out around the twin pilings, one of which is topped by a bouquet of man-made bird nests. A lone seagull perched atop the other piling, clearly not interested in the nests or me, and as I neared his perch he took flight.
I did a figure eight around the pilings, peering down into the depths, both completely enshrouded in barnacles and crawling with a few fiesty spider crabs.
The water was deep out by the pilings and I reveled in the feeling of so much water below me. As I swam back towards shore I daydreamed of deep water crossings and contemplated doing an assisted crossing soon, to the west or south, if I can secure a boat.
If I do expand my aquatic adventuring to Blake Island, or Brownsville or across Hood Canal, I will most certainly bring my wool socks along to warm up afterwards.
And maybe I’ll try packing some snacks in my armpits like the sea otters.
Mary Swims 