Do
you know those weeks when you get an unflattering look at yourself
through other people’s eyes? I just had one of those. It’s not fun,
seeing the mud revealed at low tide. Necessary, I suppose. But not fun.
My search for a bench this week brought this into clearer focus for me.
When I found that I’d be in New Rochelle, NY, I did my usual Google search for a nearby park. Finding Five Islands Park within walking distance, I then took a virtual stroll down the lane leading to it with “street view.” The neighborhood looked a bit seedy. Once there, the walk down the busy, city street didn’t relieve my qualms. The visual irony of this sign was not lost on me.
And the new treatment plant at the entrance to the park was less than inviting. Nor was the aroma of sewage, mixed with the briny tang of salt marshes at low tide.
But I’m glad I didn’t turn back.
Because I had read this place all wrong. Beyond that point, the view changed dramatically. Like so much in life, just behind the daunting façade was a captivating experience. Sea breezes caressed a seascape worthy of a Winslow Homer watercolor, complete with old fishermen.
Most strikingly, when I went out on the rocks to get a better shot of them, I found this submerged boat. It lay just below the surface -- a mysterious relic.
And behind this, in another sense, was a story of how it got there – one most likely forgotten, not unlike the little known fact that these New York harbors were once a prodigious oyster bed.
I kept wondering about that boat. After a while, I approached two of the old men and asked them if they knew how it got there. “You mean the one that ran aground last week?” the one replied. I said this one was much older and pointed in its direction. But he was more interested in telling me about the recent incident. “Yeah,” he went on. “Some guy who didn’t know the water. They think it’s easy, coming in here. But it’s not. What they oughtta do is scope it out at low tide. Then they’d know how to navigate.”
Spoken with the wisdom of a salty sea dog. And it did make me feel better about last week. Low tide does, indeed, have its purpose. Knowing the mud is the only way not to get stuck in it.
My search for a bench this week brought this into clearer focus for me.
When I found that I’d be in New Rochelle, NY, I did my usual Google search for a nearby park. Finding Five Islands Park within walking distance, I then took a virtual stroll down the lane leading to it with “street view.” The neighborhood looked a bit seedy. Once there, the walk down the busy, city street didn’t relieve my qualms. The visual irony of this sign was not lost on me.
And the new treatment plant at the entrance to the park was less than inviting. Nor was the aroma of sewage, mixed with the briny tang of salt marshes at low tide.
But I’m glad I didn’t turn back.
Because I had read this place all wrong. Beyond that point, the view changed dramatically. Like so much in life, just behind the daunting façade was a captivating experience. Sea breezes caressed a seascape worthy of a Winslow Homer watercolor, complete with old fishermen.
Most strikingly, when I went out on the rocks to get a better shot of them, I found this submerged boat. It lay just below the surface -- a mysterious relic.
And behind this, in another sense, was a story of how it got there – one most likely forgotten, not unlike the little known fact that these New York harbors were once a prodigious oyster bed.
I kept wondering about that boat. After a while, I approached two of the old men and asked them if they knew how it got there. “You mean the one that ran aground last week?” the one replied. I said this one was much older and pointed in its direction. But he was more interested in telling me about the recent incident. “Yeah,” he went on. “Some guy who didn’t know the water. They think it’s easy, coming in here. But it’s not. What they oughtta do is scope it out at low tide. Then they’d know how to navigate.”
Spoken with the wisdom of a salty sea dog. And it did make me feel better about last week. Low tide does, indeed, have its purpose. Knowing the mud is the only way not to get stuck in it.
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