Changing Tides
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Down south is a secret strip of land between the blue-watered Gulf of Mexico and a hidden, little bay. It has one restaurant and a lot of ocean shore. Somewhere along this strip lies my winter escape: no people, just an ocean in front of me and a bay behind me. Casey Key, Florida became my winter escape from the time I was born. My mom used to hibernate here with me during the cold months up north. I love my winter escape, often examining the ocean’s changing tides.
The warm, blue sky makes for an excellent beach day, I think to myself as I pick up my yellow bucket and walk down to the crystal-clear ocean. The sea breeze tickles my nose and the wind blows the wispy hair out of my face. The sun is warm on my skin, making my blue eyes squint just a little. I like it, though. The world is bright. I examine the tides, they sometimes create little shelves between the ocean and the sand, making a great spot to jump onto the crashing waves. But today is different. The water is still. I kick off my flip-flops, stepping off of the wooden staircase and onto the white sand. A little hot on my feet.
I run down to the water, the sand under my feet with every step, feeling three different textures: soft, crunchy, wet. I stop in front of the waves, looking out at the vast body of water. In the distance, sometimes you can see dolphins playing. Every once in a while, a manatee too. The shade of blue is calming, as it glistens under the sun. The world is big, I think about it for a second, listening to the rhythmic sound of the crashing waves, almost like music.
This kind of day makes you sit down and think sometimes, so that’s exactly what I do. I take off my white cover up dress and plop down onto the sand, feet extended to touch the tip of the water. It’s cold. I think about the many moods of the beach. Today she is happy, so I assume mother earth must be happy too. It is her baby after all.
The beach never looks exactly the same when you go. Sometimes the waves are big, crashing hard, while other times there isn’t a wave in sight. The tide can be high or low, which in turn decides how much shore there is. If you walk down the beach, the shape of the shore and waves changes a little. Certain spots have a curve to it, other parts have smaller waves. Maybe it has many personalities.
I think the ocean has moods: happy, energetic, angry, giving. I come down to the same beach every day and it never looks exactly the same. But I suppose that I never look exactly the same either.
A thought occurs to me as I watch the ripples—how does the Gulf show its moods?
When the ocean is happy and calm, you can tell. There is a certain aura of tranquility in the air. A clear sky, glistening water, no waves. The wind is soft, spreading a salty breeze. Just enough to keep you cool. The sky is blue, not a cloud in sight and the water is clear down to the sand. You can see the oceans inhabitants, the shells and rocks at the bottom, along with swimming schools of fish. The shore is long on days like this, the sand plentiful. On other days, the ocean is similar but has an energy to it.
On days when the wind is a little stronger, the ocean becomes energetic and alive. The sky is still blue, the weather is still warm, but the waves are bigger. They crash on the shore in a loud, rhythmic pattern, creeping up the beach in a white foamy state. You don’t expect the salt water to hit your feet, sending a cold, exciting chill through your body. It gives me goosebumps as I stick my hand in. The wind blows your hair just a little, either into your face or behind you like a ponytail. Today it blows behind me but only a little, like a baby ponytail.
There are different kind of days for the ocean, ones where it feels giving. On these days, the shore is filled with beautiful shells, both different shapes and sizes. Each shell is unique, like people. You can collect as many as you can but it will not make a dent. It adds a vibrant texture to the shore. I scope my surroundings for shells and think back to this time the most beautiful shell was given to me. It was a large conch shell, hidden by a wave and then suddenly so present. I haven’t seen one like it since. I pick up a rock and skip it into the water, continuing my thought.
The last mood of the ocean is when it feels angry. These are days when winds are strong and the weather is blustering. The clouds are a dark grey, making the water look darker than usual. The waves are large, crashing hard and long, leaving little shore to stand on. When the ocean is in a bad mood, no humans go in. On these days, I stand from the wooden staircase and watch the waves as they almost touch my feet. It blows my hair in every direction, trying to confuse me. The air is cold through my sweater. The trees around me blow in the wind, along with the bushes nearby, all nature confused and shaking. If it rains, perhaps the ocean is shedding a tear. When all is said and done, driftwood is left on the shore, a mark that the storm has passed.
We aren’t so different than the tides, ocean, and weather, all expressing moods and personalities. We never look the exactly the same, continually evolving and changing. We learn new ideas and grow off of them. This beach is where I learned how to swim, where I came each year, older and smarter, growing each time and appreciating the tranquility it provides. While I look out at this glistening beach, I know it won’t be exactly like this tomorrow but I’m excited to see what it’ll be like next. I get up, brush off my sandy bottom and decide to go for a swim, feeling thankful for my ocean friend.
The Mangrove Tree
Later I walk inside, warm and sandy from the beach and walk over on the back porch. I look out at Blackburn Bay for a moment and decide to go sit on the dock. The strip of land between the ocean and the bay consists of a narrow road and single row of homes. When the winds are wild at the ocean, the bay is always calm—no winds, no cold. There are no waves or shore, just a peaceful body of water.
At the entrance to the bay has always stood these vast, curly mangrove trees. I stop and touch the trunk for a moment, feeling its rough yet soft bark. The trees always provide shade and comfort when you need it. They show their roots, seeping into the swampy water, much like a human who doesn’t hide their true self. I feel as though it is part of what makes this place Casey Key. They are different from other trees you see. I used to climb on them as a kid, pretending I was a witch and it was the entrance to my lair.
I walk down the dock and sit on the edge, feet hanging over. I try to spot a manatee. They seem to like the bay, which based on their personalities makes sense. They peacefully swim about, eating grass and algae from the bottom. Boats aren’t allowed in parts of the bay to make sure the manatees aren’t affected. I come sit on the dock and look at the bay because no matter what, it is peaceful. In the distance, there are many little grassy islands inhabited by birds. I call them “bird poop islands” because they have distinct white marks all over the tops of the trees. Sometimes dolphins come to the bay too, but it isn’t good for them. Fishermen feed them foods that they should not eat.
My strip of land consists of two unlike bodies of water, both kind and beautiful. They are like people and we should take care of them like they take care of us. As the sun starts to set, I stand up and head inside, thankful for a calm and thought-provoking day in Casey Key.
