Seeing a lizard skittle across the rocks of a tide pool just seemed incongruent to me somehow. That a desert reptile should be sunning on the beach struck me as rather funny. But then, it’s like that here in Baja. So much appears that I would never have expected. Like the estero just a few miles away. It’s a salt water mangrove estuary where the fishing and clamming are great, oysters are farmed, dolphins are sited regularly and turtles abound. We went there this a.m. to turtle watch (for me) and fish a little (for Robert and Ed). I would never have expected to find mangroves here. Guess I always thought of them as a Florida kind of thing. But the cool breezes felt divine and we saw around 50-60 turtles, caught tonight’s dinner and generally just enjoyed the outing. Home by noon to lunch and then beach walk.
I admit it. I am a beachcombing junkie. I try not to look at the ground as I walk, really I do, but something irresistible draws me to inspect the earth for treasures that seem to have placed themselves there just for my enjoyment. I have finally stopped picking up every little shell that catches my eye. I am now discerning enough (or rather I have so many that I need to be discerning) and I only save the ‘perfect’ ones. But really, what makes it a ‘perfect one’? Even the little bits of abalone that are but broken pieces call to me for attention. My constant stopping and bending over to pick something up lengthens my walk a considerable amount, but I can’t help it. They call out to be touched, and I in turn want to adorn myself with each and every one. I want to create vast wall hangings – ones that span 40 feet and weave my treasures all together. It is as if they call to me to be noticed and I desire to share their beauty with everyone else. (‘See how precious this small cone is? Notice its delicate pattern, earthy brown on creamy white. Like a seismic spreadsheet drawn on a shell.’)
Inevitably I come home laden with this and that and I add them to my ever growing arrangement on the front patio. It certainly makes the daily sweeping much more time consuming, but I am cheered each time I look out the window and see these beautiful jewels. Ann Morrow Lindbergh wrote Gifts From the Sea and I remember reading it long ago. I must look into picking it up next trip to San Diego. I feel a kindred spirit there.
The tern colony has grown, if that is even possible! Never have I seen so many birds all in one place. For some reason I feel they are getting ready to depart. As the sun begins to set they rise from the water’s edge over and over again, alighting en mass only to hover about 25 feet off the water loudly calling their keerik keerik squawk, then descend to about 2 feet off the water’s surface and become completely silent. The sudden lack of noise is quite startling. Then they rise and begin the process all over again. What in the world are they doing? I imagine that they are training for some long migration where each must be aware of the group and how best to participate with the flock. Practice, practice, practice!
How I enjoy each day of discovery! The unexpected, the mundane, it all fills me with a sense of wonder and I find myself continually giving thanks for each footstep forward.
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