Pockets of Summer

Low tide swims.

Everything you need for a salty girl summer.

Hello friends,

The tides have been low this week, and a morning swim has required a trek. I prefer to swim at high tide when it feels like you’re in nature’s infinity pool. But these low tide mornings have other perks.

Down the boat ramp, onto the slippery, muddy bits, a few pieces of broken shells and barnacles digging into the bottom of your feet. The exposed shore is strewn in sea lettuce, which glows a fluorescent green in the morning sun.

Crabs are everywhere. Tiny ones scurrying along, big ones taking their time. Another one, another one! we exclaim as if we were children discovering tide pools for the first time. I soon lose count of how many there are.

I try to see where I place my feet, so that I don’t step on any, but after a few steps the water is murky with mud. Instead, I kick a little bit with my foot, in the hopes that the disturbance of water will notify the nearby crabs to get out of the way. Mostly though I just have to hope for the best. Each step is a matter of hope. As my foot lands with the next one, I feel a tiny bite. I shriek as I yank my foot out of the water.

The shriek inevitably turns to laughter. It feels ridiculous to be so hesitant in water that is only ankle deep. Eventually I give up and awkwardly lay my body down in the water. It’s so shallow that I can’t even kick my legs, and I let my arms do all the work instead, pulling my body out and away from the shore, letting the crabs live in peace.

I turn to face the shore, where an assortment of birds are out for their morning scavenging. Intertidal breakfast. A great blue heron flies low across the water right in front of us. I love being in the water for this reason, so many of the animals seem unperturbed by our presence. We get to exist in the space in an entirely different way than on land. Everyone just going about their morning.

I always think that herons look like pterodactyls. As if I had ever seen one of those in person.

The heron lands in the green sea lettuce right at the water’s edge, balancing on her long, spindly legs. With a slow and methodical walk, she’s not in a hurry. Just focused, taking her time. On occasion, she plunges her bill into the water, then pulls it quickly back out again and slurps down whatever she has grabbed.

We tread water and watch her as she carries on with her morning excursion. One step at a time with those gangly legs.

I jumped off a dock this week at the local state park. It was an early evening that still felt like afternoon. There were so few people there I wondered if people had forgotten they could just go get in the water after work, catch a sunset.

With bare feet I stood on the wooden barrier and took a leap. Forgetting to pinch my nose shut or breathe out as I landed in the water, salty brine shot straight up my nose with great force. It hurt a little, but mostly it felt like a direct hit of summer nostalgia. The feeling of freer, untamed days of childhood.

I’m trying to fit more of these pockets of summer in. Tiny windows of time that hold far more than minutes.

As we emerge from the water, the heron takes a quick look at us. For a second, I think she is going to fly off, scared by the fact that tiny heads bobbing on the surface of the water have now morphed into full bodies walking onto land.

Instead she turns, walks along the shore in the other direction, picking at whatever she finds along the way.

-Anna

Draw water.

I haven’t had much time in the sketchbook lately, but I did take out my Neocolor II Crayons and scribble for a bit with watery colors. Blue and green squiggles are good for resetting your mood, I promise. Process not perfection!

I was also inspired this week by seeing the pastel seascapes of Tanya Avchinnikova and the water in Cecilia Reeve’s work.

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