Oceans of power and grief 

Paw it forward 

Florida was never on my bucket list of places to visit. No offense to Florida, it just never really beckoned me.  

When a close relative died there, I flew down in February for her memorial. My relatives live in Navarre, where the Santa Rosa Sound sits between them and the Gulf of Mexico.  

I looked for an airport that wasn’t directly on the coast because I don’t like flying over big water, which is silly because if we crash I’ll likely perish whether it’s in the water or on land. Besides that, I flew over the entire Atlantic Ocean in 1987 on a trip to Ireland with my mom.  

Anyway, I enjoyed the landscape from my window seat until it got dark and I could see only the lights of cities and towns below. Then they disappeared and it all went black. “Hmmm,” I thought. I did see a light, but it was a boat on the water. A few prayers later we landed just fine.   

I stayed with a couple of relatives, and the next morning we travelled to a popular fish market in Pensacola so they could buy fish for the big gathering that night. I quickly found some vegan treats (spring rolls and hush puppies with sweet corn – yum), went looking for my party, and passed the lobster tank. My heart sank as I stood there gazing at these amazing pre-dinosaur-aged creatures piled on top of one another in the water, their claws shackled like the convicts I work with, except their only crime is being favored as food by humans.  

My relatives understood when I excused myself to go outside. I rounded the corner, passed a big fishing boat, and there on the pier were five pelicans. They were so beautiful! I’d never been that close to one before. I wanted to touch their fluffy head feathers, but refrained, of course, and settled for a few photographs. That night there was plenty of food to eat, including special dishes set aside for me, the only vegan in the family.   

The next morning, hours before the memorial, we ventured across the four-lane road that runs along the length of the panhandle to the place where water meets land. The waters of the sound are separated from the Gulf of Mexico by a string of islands, but it’s all Atlantic Ocean water.  

“Wow,” I thought, “I’m going to dip my hand into the Atlantic Ocean!”  

I didn’t know what I would feel, but I don’t believe I was truly prepared for what happened. First, I felt a tremendous power that was both awesome and humbling. I envisioned the life within the waters, from the tiny to the massive.  

Then, suddenly, I felt sad. My mind turned to an article I’d read just before I left about the current efforts of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and other environmental science and animal welfare organizations to protect critically endangered North Atlantic Right Whales during their northward migration between November and April.  

Every year, several of the remaining whales die after being hit by boats or slashed by propellers. Babies have a one in 14 chance of dying before their first birthday. As it is whenever animal or environmental concerns are pitted against human desires, the conflict is multifaceted and bitter. The rhetoric and photos I’d seen haunted my mind.  

I thought, too, of the dolphins, seals, countless sea turtles and others injured or killed by vessel strikes and fishing nets, dying slow agonizing deaths from wounds, drowning, or starvation. I imagined the islands of plastic and trash floating in ocean waters that trap, injure, and kill sea creatures at alarming rates; of oil spills, and dying coral reefs.  I knelt with my hand in the water for a long time, trying to reconcile these emotions and the empathy I felt for the life within.   

Back home, as I struggled to choose one of the several topics I had in mind for this month’s column, I was feeling overwhelmed, indecisive, frustrated and trapped.  

After my chain-smoking neighbor finally (after four hours) went inside, I dashed outside to listen to the birds, take in the greenery sprouting all around and breathe the fresh spring air. Within about 45 seconds (incidentally the length of time it takes a lobster to die in boiling water) the words I’ve just written poured into my head. All I needed was to be outside.  

I hope you, too, are enjoying springtime, and please take good care of this Earth. She gives us everything.