Double Dip Day
Water is my sanity and these months, the waters of the sea and river have been my anchor, my roots, my ground.
Unusually for me, the sea has been my most frequented spot. Reasons why you ask….? Work requires an early swim and river tides don’t always rise and fall at the times that best suit a ‘traditional’ work start time.
So for a good while now , between the hours of 6.45 and 8.15, I have reached out for my sweatpants of the day before from under the bedclothes, found my feet, slipped downstairs, said my good morning to the four legged, opened the garden doors, done a quick refresh of the kitchen, put on the kettle, located my ikea blue bag aka swimming bag (that has definitely seen better days) found my car keys, made a swift tea for the ride, and stepped out into the early day.
My must haves on colder days include a woolly hat, hot water bottle, warm huge plaid jacket, socks, wellies, swimming booties and gloves. More recently there have been flip flop days, no hat, layers or extra warmth needed.
Through these months, for the first time ever, I have repeated my ritual almost day in and day out. This privilege has given me access to a new way of being in my day and a new noticing.
I have truly witnessed a season changing for the first time ever in my life… Noticing on a daily basis - branches growing buds, buds growing leaves, leaves turning green, seeing so many greens - daffodils came and went, blossom so pink and fluffy bloomed, hawthorn arriving as if it were wearing fluffy pantaloons, the cow parsley tall and grand, daisies everywhere, elderflower like Christmas decorations along the lane.
My path down to the sea started dull with a touch of green. Then it turned green and bird song raised its voice. Then flowers came and now this walk is goldfinch full with all sorts of wildflowers and colour.
Bird song has slowly built octave by octave. Now my walk is choir full and everywhere, all the time, I feel like I am being spoken to… In the morning before I wake , through the day and late into the night - on my walk to swim , a cuckoo, a woodpecker , skylark – the pigeons cooing down the chimney of our house.
The light has changed on my walk - dawn is now many hours earlier - light has changed through the day – always moving - on the fields, over the sea, through the trees even the shadows on the walls in the house.
The fields that started as mud flats after such heavy rain in February are now full of wheat and barley swaying - where have I been all these years I have to ask myself ….
Why have I never noticed..? Was I ever really here when I was here before…? Was I ever really home…?
I have always had rituals to keep me sane - yoga, walking barefoot in the garden, swimming in the sea or river, fires outside when possible but my ‘doing’ in these moments have been in ‘between’ time or on what felt like borrowed time. Always in then out.
I park my car by the railway and cross the track. I don’t think I have ever almost consistently, walked the same path for fourteen weeks (except may be a walk from the station to school a very long time ago).
At the beginning, this walk was head down and, at most, a quiet hello to anyone who passed. Slowly, the dog walkers, few runners and a scattering of swimmers have become braver. We have scaled up to full good mornings and greeted each other with smiles. Now we pause for a chat or even a canine cuddle. There are now many dogs I know well, several German shepherds, one of which is adopted and a petting dog, a three legged terrier with a man on this own ….they go to the same post above the pebbles every morning - he sits, smokes and throws a ball, the dog runs. Then there is another three legged hound, a slightly overweight yellow Labrador that runs to the beach oblivious of what is in his path. He just cannot wait to get there.
The walk is perhaps five minutes past ruins of mills and more to a wide pebble beach. Lighthouse and skeleton pier at one side, the sailing club shack midway and cliffs at the very far other end.
Up until recently, more often than not, once I dropped down to the sea I was alone or mostly so with the exception of a few fisherman.
The water temperature has gone from under 9 degrees to around 17 and the air temperature has moved from 3 to 20 something degrees. Winds have come and gone. Miraculously most days have been the right conditions for a really good swim.
In April I couldn’t put my head under the water for any length of time. Many mornings were spent getting the towel cape over my head and wet clothes off as quickly as possible. That followed by the one legged hop and inelegance of trying to get dry cloths over a cold wet body when your fingers are chilled. Next socks over not properly dried feet then hat, grab hot water bottle and do a dance if I was waiting for another or, move as quickly as possible back towards the railway hoping the walk would get the blood moving.
More recently, I have ambled towards the water. I have sat down and actually taken in the sea in all her beauty. There has not been the need to undress quickly although I still usually do - creature of habit, time between times. Swims are getting longer, the buoys that mark the 200 m mark appeared a few weeks ago and now are regularly visited.
The water has shared many facets of herself. Cold and still, feeling so, so cold, cold with extra sparkle, swell and yet so gentle, mixed emotions with waves moving all ways, rough, low tide with waves running up the beach, low tide waves with almost no movement, green and full of sea bloom and, a little smelly, grey and full of mood, blue and deep, silver, slate, olive and now almost turquoise and so clear each pebble is visible.
The sound of the water has been different each day - sometimes silent, often moving the pebbles with a voice of stones chiming, occasionally fierce, and many times lapping
Each day has been a new swim, a new sensation, a new seeing, a new feeling.
Today she was so still. I swam to the buoy. Even at the buoy there was almost no sound at all.
A paddle boarder stopped to chat. Me, a buoy, the paddle boarder gliding past and the ferry looming as it approached.
On the beach I paused mid change to lie on the warm pebbles. I glanced at my watch - still living to a tick and a tock.
I bade my farewell and slowly walked back to the car stopping once to hear the birds.
I pass the woman who does her cross word in her van, listening to the radio before she walks her beautiful wolf hounds and liver Dalmatian. Another hello, the beginnings of a friendship.
At the end of this day I manage to return to the sea with dogs and the other half for a second swim.
The water is the stillest and clearest have ever seen it. The dogs bathe like we came for them.
I swim out to the buoy again mostly on my back because I forgot my goggles.
I watch my arms against the sky. I notice the light and how my arms look orange. At the buoy there are no sounds …just flat still.
It’s colder on the beach and wet dogs don’t help the dryness of my cloths. We walk back through the long grass and ruins serenaded by the skylarks. One young black dog pretending she is a gazelle. The other dog matching the tall grass - lion like.
Its 8.45 pm on a Monday evening in June. In any other year I would have spent around six weeks of the last fourteen away somewhere.
I reflect that perhaps I am truly home in a way not known to me before and that there is so much to learn and see…. Really see.
Gaye Wolfson