Note - Two days ago I enjoyed a sunny late afternoon
on the beach at very low tide. Yesterday I recalled an essay I wrote for
publication five years ago; upon rereading the piece I was struck by how
identically it matched my experience a couple of days ago. Here is about one-third of that original essay, in snippet-excerpts:
I have lived in a number
of beautiful places around this diversely landscaped country, but none have
soothed me with their natural balm like the Pacific Northwest.
To have the diversity and
abundance of the Crayola greens that we do, we learn to live with excessively high
moisture content. Even so, we do have moments in which we must meet our need
for the healing light and warmth of the sun.
I keep an eye on the tide
chart to see when the waters will be low because I crave leisurely walks far
and deep along the beach near our home. Trees overhang the pebbly shore, boats
in various states of disrepair are lined up like children waiting for new
clothes, huge logs have piled themselves with the help of waves and tides. The pairing
of a sunny warm day and low tide in
this overcast, rainy Pacific Northwest is a pristine gem.
The view is magnificent. “The mountain is out!” we exclaim when we
can actually see Mt. Rainier looming
to the southeast; sometimes amnesia sets in when we have had too many weeks in
a row of gray cloud cover and The Mountain’s presence comes as a grand surprise.
The mudflats extend down to the low tide line in beautiful textures of taupe
wetness. The patterns made from puddles and sand are refreshing to our eyes and
feet on this usually-cobbled rock path. The Cascades lining the eastern horizon
are muted so that only the snow-covered tops are visible, hanging draped from
the sky.
The entire feel of the landscape
changes during low tide. The typically rounded textured floor upon which we
walk at high tide seems but a fragment of the entire terrain now; the sandy
beach usually hidden under water dominates my eyes and my nose.
It is a more
fully sensate experience at sunny low tide. Salted air on my tongue, fishiness
in my nostrils, my skin greedily sucking at the sun’s warmth, the easier stride
on hard packed sand, my occasional stoop to touch the exposed wet sea life, the
softer ripple and flow of the long stretches of water saying sssh as they ebb; these sing together in
a chorus of sensory delight.
Out in the warmed salty
sea breeze, sun stars, anemones, kelp, and eelgrass carpet the tide flats
beneath my feet. I watch, amazed, as a bald eagle flies from his perch atop the
snag on the high embankment down to the sand about two hundred feet from where
I crouch with my hand in the depression made by a scuttling rock crab. I notice
a great blue heron standing erect at the water’s edge; the tall-legged fisher’s
long downy feathers blow in the breath of the wind as his eyes scan for a meal.
The sand itself seems to be spewing streams like fireworks; one well-aimed squirt
of the clam’s saltwater manages to climb the inside of my narrow pant leg.
The gulls who have joined
us on the beach are in search of sustenance. So am I as I fill my cramped body
with energizing movement, my soul with glee and beauty.
All blog images created & photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted. Please circulate images with photo credit: "©2016 JenniferJWilhoit/TEALarbor stories. AllRightsReserved."
