Sometimes we have to dive under water, look below the surface to see clearly. And breathe easily.
If there was a day to wish for gills, this was surely it.
Today was literally one of those days. Above and below the surface I reflected on some points that needed attention.
Smoke from wildfires raging far off in every direction arrived today over the island, casting an orange haze over everything, completely obscuring the Olympics. People stayed indoors, windows closed, as eyes got scratchy, throats burned, dogs didn’t get walked, kids didn’t play outside and the gentleness of the Fall sunshine was shrouded in a smokey cloud of distant doom.
Reading a bit of the burning news, so heartbreaking and scary on so many levels, I found myself thinking about the relative safety of living on an island, surrounded by all of that cold water. Yes, today I thought a lot about islands.
I always think about water. Well, salt water to be exact.
I spent a good portion of the day between a multitude of mundane tasks during which I weighed the pros and cons of swimming today watching the air quality readings hover at “moderate”.
Looking for an answer about the risks of sucking in smokey air while exercising, I happened upon a story about this very topic, from Australia in 2019. A time when so much tragically burned and like now, as we try to navigate safety during COVID, weighing risks and benefits of time with people we need and love versus exposure In either direction to a still giant largely unknown risk, the article touched on the importance of exercise and how to mitigate when smoke is hovering over your head. And seeping into every nook and cranny of clean air.
All of this made me stop and consider the clean air that some of us get to access on a daily basis, while others live their whole lives in smog and smoke.
Or live surrounded by islands of putrid water, by rivers and lakes too polluted to even wade in let alone swim.
It gave me pause. Yet another opportunity to feel gratitude for where I get to live and remind me that I need to do as many small things as possible to help save this planet to make it more hospitable for everyone.
After much deliberation, I chose a swim. I put in on my neighbor’s dock, with the acrid smell faintly blowing across the silent bay. Not a soul was out on the water.
This might have been my moment to reconsider, except that it had been several days since I got to take a solo swim, and ignoring my better judgement—or at least my lungs—I stepped into the cool water. I just had to. The mud oozed between my toes as a teenage crab strutted nervously by.
I felt unsure that this was the right idea, and stepping in deeper I was taken by the deep cold of the glassy water. I convinced myself that it must have been all of that thinking about fires today that perhaps left me feeling overheated. Or maybe it was seeing the leaves everywhere, spinning in the currents or settling down where the crabs roam, reminding me that winter is coming. Whatever it was, I struggled to shift my focus away from the persistent cold sinking into my skin.
I waited. I faltered. Then I made up my mind to commit, and under I dove.
My watery world was intact, and erring on the side of caution I made myself promise to do a loop just in the bay, take it easy —this was not the day to push myself and fill my lungs with smokey air for a long swim.
I glided out towards the entrance to the bay, calm and happy to be back in my element, feeling the stiffness caused by the adjustment to cold water ease up and feel my body relax and limber up.
The water was blessedly clear and green. I could look ahead and watch for stinging jellyfish.
And then geese.
I startled them, or perhaps they startled me—I think maybe it was a tie. As I neared the mouth of the bay, rolling along over crusty oyster shells I glanced up to check for boats. To my right was a large Canadian goose just ahead standing on the shore. And another. As my mind caught up with my eyes and I registered that geese are always in a flock, and not always friendly, I slowed, rolled to my right side and waited as they squawked and then took flight. A few lazy seagulls stood watching the show, unimpressed. I apologized aloud to the flapping bunch as they took their formation like a group of trained dancers, lining up and striking south, again reminding me that Fall is here. And Winter is coming.
Below all still looked in order. No smoke. Just my smokey bubbles. Oh, to have gills! As promised, I stayed in the bay, crossing over the deep channel cast in darkness by seaweed forests.
Once across, I stroked south inside the spit and the waters turned warm. The temperature difference was a pleasant surprise and as I softened more to this private salty paradise I gazed out below the surface and was amazed to find visibility was at least 20 feet in all diirections. The clam beds lay burbling, littered with shells while the hazy sun shone down flickering golden upon the muddy bay floor. I paused and just gazed belly down for several minutes, just looking out below the water. Imagining what this world must be like for a seal, wondering how they manage when the water is all fogged up and cluttered with debris. Wondering if they swim more freely, catch more fish, frolick more happily when their watery world is crystal clear.
Back at the neighbors floating dock, I found my footing again.
The waters stayed clear, the smoke still hung in the air and the mud still squished between my toes and fogged up the water at my feet.
Nothing had changed since I had left. And everything looked and felt different.
And I was so glad that I went for a swim.
Mary Swims 