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Tag Archives: gulf of mexico


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big water. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we sometimes forget.

as close as we are, as much of a presence it is for us, we sometimes forget that this giant lake is right there.

we walk along it, we drive past, we linger – staring at it. but we still forget the magnitude of lake michigan, its oft-seemingly-own weather pattern, the big-water force it has on us.

i’ve never not lived near water, big water. my growing-up town on long island is between the atlantic ocean and the long island sound. i lived in florida a hop, skip and a jump to the gulf of mexico. on island we were right on water’s edge on the lake michigan side. and here – a block or so off the lake. i don’t know what it is like to live in an area that doesn’t have big water, that’s land-locked. i suspect i could find it difficult. so, near or on a lake will have to be the future minimum standard. somehow, big water all makes me feel closer to the far horizon, closer to the universe, closer to a two-way with god.

valerie bertinelli in her book enough already wrote, “i [] had long since lapsed in terms of structured religion. but i [] had develop[ed] a recipe for my own spiritual soup. it still included a belief in god, a higher power who accepted collect calls in emergencies.”

i, too, have lapsed in terms of structured religion and i, too, have my own spiritual soup. after thirty-five years of working for churches plus all the rest of being at churches, i have had enough of it all. i realize now that my last church job did me a favor when they fired me. they broke the continuity, making it possible to NOT do that which seems obvious TO do. i am grateful. it was a long time and i endured much at churches that you would likely rather not know. it was time to stop.

but my faith has not stopped. and as i stood at the edge of the sound a couple times in last months, as i stand at the edge of our lake michigan, i can feel the tidal strength of the universe. i can feel the days sink into nights into days into nights. i can start to understand the stars and the vast-ness. i can feel the connection to that which is so much bigger than me.

maybe that is what big water does for me: a place that brings the divine closer, just across the waves, just beyond the shore, just brushing the sand and leaving shells and rocks in its wake, just right here for me. a place to gaze and stare, a place to ponder and pray.

*****

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the water. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

lake michigan – and its looming presence – it’s always there, though sometimes we don’t notice.

i’ve been around water my whole life: long island and florida and here. i’m not sure if i have thought about what that means to me. i’ve lived most of life at or around sea level. i have always been able to – via a short walk, short bike hike, short drive – get to a large body of water. and, regardless of whether or not i am on the shore of that immensity, i can feel it.

the last few days have pulled me out of center – whatever center i have mustered in recent times. in the middle of the middle i can’t feel the grounding gravity that usually helps – perspective that keeps the rest at bay. i know the flailing time is limited and that we are not trapped there. adrift in the onslaught of emotion, i tune in to the things that balance me. i listen for the windchimes outside, i stand in the living room and look at the lit trees, i sit at the kitchen table opposite d, we take hikes in cold air, we light a candle.

i fend off the pining for the high mountains, knowing i can’t get there right now. in guided imagery i sit at the side of the brook – on a log – in the lodgepole pine forest – high on the mountain. i – curiously – am never on the shore – of rock or of sand.

have i always taken the water for granted? do i take this presence – merely a block away – for granted? is it human to pine for the things we don’t have, things that are harder to access?

yet, if i imagine being away from the water – any water – i have a visceral reaction. for it’s always been there and i hardly know what it would feel like without it.

the days i have sat on the coast – sandy beach beneath me – i can feel the deep breath that powerful surf affords.

the days we have hiked streamside up the mountain, the days we have sat on its bank or on rocks in the middle of rushing water – i can feel the the deep breath that the flow affords.

the days we hike along our favorite local trail – river at our side – i can feel the deep breath that its familiarity in all seasons affords.

the days we choose to walk by the lake – on its bouldered shoreline or on its beaches – i can feel the deep breath that an unbroken horizon affords.

and the water – the innate healer – is always there. grounding.

“take a course in good water and air; and in the eternal youth of nature you may renew your own. go quietly, alone; no harm will befall you.” (john muir)

*****

ADRIFT from BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL ©️ 1996 kerri sherwood

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and the beach. [k.s. friday]

i lived in florida. merely 14 miles from the gulf of mexico. for eight plus years. yet, i can count the number of times i went to the beach while i lived there. likely on two hands. i spent more time on the gulf before living there and after living there. just not during.

as a teenager and young adult i was at the north shore all the time. biking there, vw-ing there, boating, diving, fishing, walking, climbing the fence to take sunrise pictures – winter, spring, summer, fall. all the time.

in recent years i’ve yearned for the days on those long island beaches. and, though they are remarkably beautiful and warm and sunny and tan-producing (definitely not important anymore), i can’t really say the same for the florida beaches. i don’t find myself pining for them.

maybe it’s just my history with them. or, perhaps, the lack thereof.

the other day we went to the beach. on lake michigan. we walked and walked for a couple of hours, searching for hagstones and paintable flat rocks. then we settled down on a big log of driftwood in soft sand and sat and watched the waves. we wished we had a picnic lunch with us and a good book. it was that kind of day. the only thing that drove us out was hunger.

but we’ll go back, because the beauty of that beach was powerful.

when you live with someone who also likes to walk, you will walk anywhere. strolling in the ‘hood, hiking on the trail, trolling for stones on the beach. it’s the thing we do when all else stops – all work, all tasks. it’s the thing we do when we want all else to stop – all wistfulness, all thought, all worry, all out-and-out angst.

it’s funny to me that there was this big chunk of my life when i wasn’t walking, wasn’t hiking. just like this big chunk of my life when i wasn’t going to the beach – to stare at the waves, to watch gulls swoop and dive in the wind, to find the gifts of the air and the water – tuning into soul and energy, soothing and healing.

i’ve pondered, before, what would have happened had i walked. now i ponder what would have happened had i gone to the beach.

*****

DAWN AT CRAB MEADOW ©️ 1996 kerri sherwood

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