Susurration of the Sea

I recently read a poem by Danielle Hanson in Last Stanza Poetry Journal Issue #13 (I’m in there, too), titled “Bringing Home the Ocean.” Hanson uses the word sussering in her gorgeous poem, and much like the ocean itself, that word has been following me home all week.

After a life lived by the sea, I know what Hanson means when she writes, “Exhausted, we went/
upstairs to sleep, listening to the ocean’s/rhythmic snores.” If you spend all day in the ocean, it follows you home.

There’s sand is in your hair and nether-regions; salt tightens your skin. You can’t rinse it all off, no matter how you try – though you may not notice it’s still there until you go to bed at night. Then, the ocean speaks. It susurrates – whispers, murmurs, rustles.

You may feel the bed rock underneath you, a sensation of floating while still on solid sheets. I’ve heard before the crash of waves and felt their foam in my landlocked room. I know I’m not the only one.

But I do have more experience than most, and for that, I count myself among the very fortunate. From age 9 to 17 or so, the ocean was my backyard, and I spent all summer in its embrace. As I grew older, I chose to live as near to the beach as possible. Currently, I’m about five blocks away.

This summer has been busy – kids’ camps, family trips, swim lessons, all the things we lined up in excitement then plodded through in annoyance. I don’t regret our activities, but I found myself pining for days of waves, beach and boogie boards, time stretching endlessly on. I want it for me, but more so, I want it for my children.

This month, I wrote a post for EPIC Carteret, my writer friend Autumn Ware’s website that showcases local businesses; I’m excited to contribute a monthly “Natural Carteret” article for the project. As a reformed science teacher, I am uniquely suited to this task, and August’s essay is about the north wind.

Our beach is south-facing, and throughout the summer, the wind tends to come from the SW, causing choppy conditions. In the fall, though, it switches to the NE and makes the waves form into pretty barrels. Some days, when the wind is low out the north, the ocean slicks down like some fancy tropical island.

I could count on one hand the days I’ve been able to see my feet when chest-high in our ocean, when the water was actually aqua-colored, when my body’s slicking through the sea was the only disturbance on its surface. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I don’t want to miss it.

So the new goal is to hit the beach at least 2-3 times a week with the kids, until school starts back up, and guess what happened? The wind switched north.

Yesterday, I took the boys out boogie boarding and surfing. We also went the day before that, and the day before that.

This is what I want to give my children: The sea, with one wave after another, curling and rolling for their next ride. Each one different, each one full of possibility.

The warm water, the light wind, the low tide sand bar they can just reach, if they swim hard and stay brave.

The sun warm on their skin, the ocean turquoise clear, rich with salt and the slight tang of the fish starting to school offshore.

Let it follow you home, boys. Let it susurrate around you at night; let it rock you in your bed with your favorite stuffed animal. Let it follow you further, all the way to the hardest parts in life – let it whisper then, of these days. May this time on its bright surface pull you from whatever depths you may later find.