LOW TIDE

Decades ago now, a friend visiting with us became impatient with talk of high tide and low tide. “What does that even mean?” She was genuinely irritated, as if I’d made it up talk of tides to annoy her.

So I took her to a window and pointed at the Cape: “See where the waves are hitting the headland? Remember that.” And then I literally waited six hours before taking her back to the same window and pointing again at the Cape. “See how the surf is barely breaking on the seastack second out from the headland? What you saw before was high tide; this is low.”

The Cape and the first two seastacks during low tide, but not very low. There are at least two more revealed during a minus tide.
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NEXT?

Gary and I are working on our future. Eventually the upkeep and isolation of the Arch Cape house will be too much. Our sons do not seem attached to the coast—oh, they say they miss it, but they seldom come out to visit. Once a year, or twice. They lead busy lives. That means we’ll be on our own for day to day assistance with what we’ll need if we try to stay there forever. Shopping, repairs… No simple workaround in our unincorporated community and no fewer local political issues. In our 70s and in good health, we manage fine now. We did, after all get the new roof on and Gary spread compost. We drive to Costco once a month. I’d like to think we might become ninety-something-year-olds who manage on their own till death takes us. But as a compulsive planner, I’m not counting on that.

We are working up courage to let go.

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