Saltwater and Wildness: A September Read

Ever since Michelle reminded me of the delights of an ocean dip earlier this year, I’ve been seeking out saltwater whenever possible. In celebration, Tom gave me this beautiful book for my birthday.

Peters shares stories of his various wild swims through each month of the year, interspersed with his thoughts on recovering from depression and the healing powers of water. He is clearly a water rat: searching out the hidden swimming holes on even the most unlikely of trips, and diving in with little regard for inclement weather. The photos are beautiful and the clear passion he shares for this pastime had even me, the most fair weather of wild swimmers, braving the depths this autumn.

Freshwater Bay is the perfect grown-up swimming hole: a steep shore that plunges quickly into deep water, with pebbles that leave the water crystal clear and encourage noisy families to head off to sandier bays.

The harbour is sheltered and there’s a small contingent of lifers: hardy old swimmers who are out here every day, their presence reassuring you that diving in is not completely bonkers.

I’m starting to see how addictive this wild swimming business can be. The ice cold shock of the first plunge pulls you in to a single moment, before the edge of the chill subsides and you’re left rolling about in the buoyant water like a giggling fish.

This is pure and simple joy, with added tingly-fresh skin, and the promise of coffee and cookies on the beach. Can’t get much better than that. It’s a revelation to me that this adventure needn’t be the sole preserve of the summer holiday.

Dip was a book that soaked in to my blood and gave me the courage to take a quick paddle even in this autumn chill. And I doubt I’ll be able to stop at one.

Standing Still

Like Tom’s class hamster on his wheel, it’s easy to start the autumn term at a furious sprint. With endless lists, appointments, and jobs to catch up on. Time can feel precious and squandered all at once. It’s easy to try to cram every minute with what I ‘should’ be doing.

I stopped by the roadside on my way to a meeting yesterday -just to wolf down a sandwich whilst replying to emails on my phone. After a short while the small-scale wildlife of the country lane adjusted to my presence and started going about its business with ever-increasing chatter. I heard the clicks of an animal poking through the undergrowth, the soft flurry of wings behind the hedge, a splash in a puddle, and the call of birds I wish I could name.

Just two minutes off the motorway, just five minutes of quiet, and all of this came creeping out to remind me of a different pace to the day: no clock-watching, schedule shuffling, or ‘asap’ing.

I’ve always been amazed by how quickly a breath of nature can calm me down. The quick arrest of the scent of eucalyptus, or the wind in an evergreen; it grounds me. I mustn’t waste my time rushing around, when all I need is right here in this one spot.

That Familiar Feeling

We’ve had such a good summer of sunshine and adventures, and now September has brought with it the full force of autumn loveliness. My road to work is covered in fallen leaves and the broad avenues are shifting to a palette of auburn and gold.

It’s a world away from lazy California days, but it feels good to be back. Good to be reacquainting myself with these familiar roads, this beautiful stretch of sea and this welcome dip in the armchair.

September is always a flurry of newness round here. With so many of my family members working an academic calendar, in August it can often feel like I’m the only person using an alarm clock!

We’re adjusting to the new timetable, the dark morning starts, and the accelerating pace. I’m busy at home making plans for my new business. It’s a whole new world of legalities and processes: companies house, tax returns, business insurance. It can be intimidating at times, but the pure excitement of it all keeps the fear at bay.

With so much newness, I’m happy to be on my old home turf: an anchor amidst all this change, reminding me why I love to call this place home.

American Homecoming

It’s been seven years since I was back in the place of my birth. As I consider myself pretty soundly British, it’s funny how quickly I slip in to little Americanisms once I’m here: the pavement is quickly replaced by the sidewalk, and I learn that no one will understand my request for water unless I pronounce it with a twang.

I’m reminded that crossing the road outside of a designated pedestrian strip alarms people greatly, and that it’s easier to get your hands on a margarita than a cup of tea. I’m bowled over by people’s friendliness, be it a chat in the brunch queue, a glass of wine with a table of strangers, or the bartender serving those margaritas.

I’ve driven automatic and had some rather dramatic reminders that the left side is definitely the wrong side of the road round here. I’ve eaten my body weight in french toast and Triscuits, and heard my first live Mariachi band.

The days have been full, and I still have another fortnight of American snapshots to fill up on; hopefully more of the friendly-chats than the bad-driving variety..

Grama by the Sea

This morning Mum and I are jetting off to San Francisco, to start our journey up to visit Grama in Northern California. So, today I thought I’d share some of my Grama’s thoughts on the sea, as I’ll be visiting this piece of coast in just a couple days.

“I so enjoyed your post this morning with my first cuppa, feeling the fresh sea air blowing (from my decades by the ocean in beloved Trinidad). The sounds rate high for me: the cries of the irrepressible gulls as they dive and salute the day; the coughs and grunts of the languid sea lions as they push and shove on their bits of rock repose; the constant and soothing come-and-go of the waves and tides which become ‘second nature’ to those of us fortunate to have integrated sea life into our bones.

The sudden storms that rise and give much-needed rains, the sun seen through rainbows across wide horizons, little local boats bobbing in close as well as the large ships passing out at sea. The seafood so fresh and special, the PEOPLE so lovely and graceful. Time has a way of familiarising all this to those fortunate to have sea access as I have for more than half of my life. Born a block from the ocean, raised in the soil of farming with animals and creatures above and below, it all has its magnificent place within. Quite amazing.

And you girls will be here very soon. Can’t wait.

I can’t either Grama!!