I was fortunate to grow up in a small New England town situated on Long Island Sound. Everyday as a child I'd ride my bike down to the shore Summer and Winter to explore and marvel at all the wonders I found. When I joined the "rat-race" as an adult, (anyone remember that cliche?) ;-) I lost my connection to this important part of my childhood. It's come back to me, though; as my life grows smaller.
I had to give up running in the early '80s because strenuous exercise brought on asthma attacks. I have since had to give up biking and driving a car and my need for exercise reintroduced me to walking. I returned to my beloved beach and found the magic still there.
This touchstone to my childhood is constantly in flux; always changing and never remains the same. Everyday the sunlight on the sand and water is different. The tide and clouds are forever in motion. Migrating birds drop by on their ageless whistle-stop journeys; carrying with them adventures and memories I can only guess at.
If I go to the shore in the morning and return in the afternoon it will be different. Looking down at my feet gives me the barest glimpse of the marvelously complicated ecosystem here that successfully waged a struggle for survival against human encroachment since Leif Erickson first touched the shore of Vinland. Reading about this tiny universe fills me with awe and wonder...
In the Summer; the shore and walkway are teeming with uncounted thousands of visitors. Despite daily walks; I have yet to recognize the same face twice. It's a warm feeling to know my joy is shared by so many.
In the Winter; it's just me, the salt ice and the gulls. The shore is anything but bleak in my eyes when snow covers the sand. It still brings change from day to day; hour to hour. Occasionally I will see shore birds I never imagined visited or lived in CT. And the gulls never fail to keep me company.
I find I miss the raucous cries of gulls as they quarrel over a spider crab or fresh oyster; stolen from the sea at low tide. Their assertive, defiant voices always brought me back to my childhood; when I would lie on the sand and listen with my eyes closed. I've never found an explanation for it. It just always felt so good to close my eyes and listen.
In the winter of 1989, when I was still hard of hearing; I noticed a gull repeatedly dropping a succulent mussel onto the concrete walkway. I stopped to watch and when the person behind me caught up I was about to declare my jealousy that this bird would enjoy fresh mussels while I was starving! Before I could speak he said, "Disgusting creatures; aren't they?" I stiffled my impulse to lecture him on this wonder of nature and only asked, "Why?"
He introduced himself as Frank and told me of a friend in Atlantic City who was enjoying a day on the boardwalk. It happened that a seagull defecated in his friend's eye. Apparently the seagull dropping was very acidic and caused his friend to become blind. I reasoned Frank had good cause to not share my love of wildlife.
Frank continued chatting and eventually shared he had colon cancer. I told him how my father nearly died from colon cancer several years earlier but had successfully beat it. Frank was not so lucky. He had been treated with surgery, radiation and aggressive chemotherapy. In the end; he lost the battle. His doctor had just told him he had a few months left to live. How unfair it seemed. My father, who would not share his feelings with anyone, got a reprieve from an early death.
Frank grew fatigued and returned to his car. I continued walking and pondered this brief gift of intimacy he gave me. I knew if I had sped by on a bike I would never have known his dislike of shorebirds; nor would I have been able to share his pain. Today, being deaf as a stone, I could not repeat that encounter; but perhaps with better speech reading skills I might yet someday make a momentary connection with someone else who needs a little human contact.
The shore in Winter also provides me with a deep sense of solitude. I am not a loner; but occasionally I need time to myself to ponder decisions and experiences on my journey through life. The gulls are always there to keep me from feeling lonely and in return for a bag of popcorn or a loaf of bread they continue to sing their quarrelsome songs while showing me the beauty of flight. They don't for a moment deride me because I can no longer hear them.
There is nothing more graceful than a gull on wing; effortlessly carried on gossamer currents so subtle only my cheek can detect them. Riding high and motionless; in the blink of an eye one dives at blinding speed to steal a manhadden from the ocean. Then the aerobatic loops and spirals begin as rivals in the flock challenge him for the prize. Triumphantly He stands tall in the breakers and throwing his head back enjoys the fruits of his labor. Without a moments pause he flips his wings once, twice, and is again carried aloft as softly as the fluff of a dandelion.
This is why I will never pedal a stationary bike or walk a treadmill or use a stair climbing machine or swim in a pool indoors. Life is temporal with precious little time to accomplish all our goals. Dare I trade all this for the four interior walls of an exercise club? I think not. I have known some who abhor the aroma of low tide. But it is fragrance to my senses when compared to the stench of dried perspiration one finds inside a gymnasium. For now; I make the trek unaided. When I can no longer do that; I will remove my detested cane from the closet where I banished it and come to terms with its usefulness. And when the time comes; I will purchase and use a second cane. But I will not give up the joy of walking outdoors.
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