Seagull with clam. photo by John F. Williams

How did I get here? I ponder, stunned once again as we walk down to the water, a little hand squeezing mine and slowing my movement as we step, step, step down the steep hill to explore the waterfront.

“Mama! Seagull!— aaawwh aaawwhh aaaawww!” he squeals, breaking my confusion. The Olympic mountains are bright and grand today, crowning Sinclair Inlet. I smile to see them and feel glad for the warmth on my face. It has been gray for weeks. My hand bounces up and down with my son’s body as we cross the street to meet the water.

“Ferry boat, ferry boat, it’s coming in the water!”

“Yes, there it is,” I say. “Hi, ferry boat!’

Foot ferry. photo by John F. Williams

Wasn’t it just yesterday? I think, but no: Here is proof of the years passed standing in front of me, one, two, almost three since we lived in that other world, one my son will never know. Those years have been turbulent for our little family, upending us over and over before finally depositing us here, back in our home state, down by the water picking up rocks and looking for crabs.

The inlet is alive today. Sea lions bark across the water, their conversation echoing over to us. People enjoy the sun, feet crunching over clam shells dropped by gulls. The quiet presence of a great blue heron off to our left pulls our attention. Its thin, tall legs do not disturb the water as it takes a single, slow step forward, then stops. We pause our crab hunt to stand still like the heron, watching it as it watches the water.

But nitrogen and other nutrients are not evenly spread throughout the waters of the Salish Sea. Tides and wind keep the water moving and mixing, bringing nitrogen up from the depths and exchanging water between Puget Sound and the Pacific Ocean. This constant turbulence raises nutrients from the deep up into the light where phytoplankton can use them.

You may have experienced turbulence on a flight, when the airline pilot announces “fasten your seatbelts, please,” and you experience that gut-dropping feeling of air currents colliding, the airplane shuddering, rising, dropping. Similar things are happening in the waters of the Salish Sea.

Great blue heron with fish. photo by John F. Williams

As we turn back to peeking under rocks, I think about how this moment was made possible by so much turbulence, both for the heron and for me. For the heron, turbulence in the sea brought nutrients to the surface that moved through the food web to provide its dinner. For me, the turbulence of a pandemic shook us out of a home and jobs in another state and dropped us back here, in the lap of family as we entered parenthood. Unemployment, isolation, and hardship came to the surface, but also family support, long walks in the woods, and time to be present to this new human joining our world. Gifts from the deep, I think, as I watch my son splash at the water with both hands, joyous in his experimenting.

Rebekah Boettcher is a certified Washington State Naturalist through WSU. She is also certified as a California State Naturalist and participated in Stream Stewards, Forest Stewards, and Beach Naturalists in Kitsap County this year. Her career has included a wide variety of work with children including many outdoor experiences. Most recently, she created a nature-based after school program in California that prioritized free play outdoors and fostered a meaningful connection between children and nature. Her hobbies include creative writing, hiking, collaging, reading and community building in her neighborhood. She grew up on a ranch near Mount Rainier and now lives with her husband and son in Port Orchard, walking distance from the Salish Sea.

Table of Contents, Issue #19, Spring 2023