“We’re not on a planet we think we’re on—when we call it the earth but it’s clearly the ocean.”
Richard Powers
Trying to imagine a planet that is ¾ water and contains 90% of the life on the planet, where life first evolved before life on the terrestrial surface, is a humbling thought. Trying to imagine a
habitat in which I “breathe in and expel water” and can survive in total darkness is beyond comprehension.
As I stand on the shore of the Gulf of Mexico at sundown, where the horizon of the water on a curved surface of the earth appears flat, I’m reminded of the largeness of the planet (not just in size but in complexity) and the limits of what is visible to me. I have found my way to this place after driving miles west before sundown on the barrier spit island. Beach houses and condos line both sides of the roadway, facing south to the gulf and north to the Small Lagoon. Today, nearly all the buildings stand on stilts a full floor above the sandy ground in anticipation of the next hurricane.
My generation is witness to a tremendous spurt of growth in population and in private land grab of beach front property, where the wildness of estuaries and dunes is displaced by vacation homes. Shelters that vary from single dwellings to multiple dwellings under a single roof to long rows of co-joined buildings. Few are primary residences and most are investment properties. As the sun sets, the houses disappear into silhouettes behind me and my gaze reaches far out to the horizon before returning to the currents at my feet.
Tonight, I stand alone on the shore looking out over the gulf. I’m mesmerized by the waves moving toward the beaches and receding back, pushing over a sand bar just 30 feet from where I’ve planted my feet — the sand bar created by a large human made incision in the barrier spit for easier passage of boats and greater disturbance of the estuary. As the sun lowers beyond the horizon, the light rakes across the cross-currents and under-currents of water, causing abstract wave patterns.
At this moment, I feel very far from whom and where I think I am.
December 1, Gulf Coast, Alabama