I asked her to hold the seaweed up for a moment—a photo was needed.
Dazzled by her innocence, her spirit, her red dress, her strong legs, her need to move, I saw myself in this young neighbor friend as I exited the salty water the other day. I had begun my swim at the head of the bay, but run out of steam at the landing. My early exit was rewarded with the company of this young sprite, dressed all in red.
As I caught my breath upon the shore, the post-swim calm setting in like medicine, easing my day, lightening my mood, little R. frolicked about, swinging seaweed about and dancing barefoot along the edge of the shore.
With the photo done, R. was ready to move on to something new, with the lightening speed and ease that only a four-year old can summon so seamlessly.
“Watch me climb!” She called, dropping the seaweed to the ground where it collapsed silently onto the pebbles and wet sand.
R. scrambled up to the top of the rock bulkhead on her sturdy legs, as her mother held her wide-eyed baby sister and I watched my younger self looking down at me from above.
I know this girl. That is me. Was me.
“Do you like to swim?” I asked.
“I love to swim!” R. replied.
Her mother added, “Well, she loves the water, but doesn’t know how to swim yet.”
“I love the water too!”
“R. loves to climb,” her mother added.
From high up, R. found a loose rock as large as a melon, sitting atop the bulkhead.
The high tide shimmered silken under the lowering sun. Small waves lapped ashore where a glistening line of bright green and white and brown seaweed sparkled wet and happy.
“Mary, help me push it in!” R. asked.
I rose up and raised my hand to assist my younger self with this singular task. Pushing the rock over the edge.
Two small hands and one big one and plunk! The task was done. The rock landed with a splash among the seaweed-rich water, sending salty drops onto R.’s mother and the baby.
“Wow! What a splash!” I exclaimed.
The red dress warrior girl scrambled back down to join us on the beach. Her blond locks tangled and fluffy and floating around her round cheeks like golden seaweed.
In the water, white and green seaweed hovered just below the surface, in a sea full of brown fuzzy flecks — the decayed remains of countless sea creatures scorched to death in the record heat wave that descended upon the Pacific Northwest a couple weeks ago.
So much beauty in one place.
And here, also, amidst shimmering seaweed and green water calling to me like a lover, gently and sweetly, is a world struggling to hold onto life as the Earth heats up.
I want this world to be here for little R. and her baby sister, as I was blessed to know it as a child. A sea rich with mussels and seaweed and starfish and salmon.
I fear we have gone too far. Billions of mussels and other sea creatures were literally roasted to death by the heat wave, dozens of people died, and the sun still shines bright here with no sign of rain.
The warm Salish waters are such a relief and delight to swim in right now, but as I move through the silken water, my body easing, my heart breaks.
I am overflowing with love for the sea, my steadfast friend, my muse. She wakes me to myself and I become that little girl again, carefree splashing through the shallows.
Like R. I will twirl the seaweed and dance over the rocks at the shore, and hope upon hope that the Earth will keep us.
Breathing. Swimming. Searching.
Mary Swims 