November 30, 2016

Too soon the tether of the lungs

Is taut and straining, and we rise

Upon our undeveloped wings

Toward the prison of our ground

A secret anguish in our thighs

And mermaids in our memories

-F.R. Scott, Lakeshore

xxx

In September, I set out to discover if Willow’s Beach can be considered a wilderness. Over the course of several months, I have researched the history of Coast Salish aboriginal people and of the seaside resort tourist industry. I have read essays by Prime Ministers and books by oil painters. And I have walked to the beach many, many times. Now autumn is on its deathbed, and I am sifting backwards through my research for an answer. Is Willow’s Beach still a wilderness? Most of what I have read would lead me to say no, because nothing is wild anymore. Man’s poison has curdled nature, we have sucked the blood out of the world and left it cold and leafless as a maple in winter. That is what my research says.

But then I go to Willow’s Beach and sit on the rocks, and a seal pops up her head and says, “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re not that strong.” And I see that she is right.  The earth has endured meteor showers and ice ages. If we loaded the sea with all the oil we could produce, the tides would still turn. And if we all fell dead and rotted on shorelines like spawning salmon, then the waves would take us under and the earth would go on spinning dreamily through space, calmly awaiting the next natural disaster to begin a new cycle of life in her forests and seas.

So as my final answer, I say that wilderness remains, do what we will. And when I next walk on the rocks at Willow’s Beach, wearing sneakers and jeans and carrying an iPhone in my back pocket, there will be salt on my tongue and mermaids on my mind, and I will feel wild.