Two Roads - 3/3/22

Last Sunday we spent a rainy day on Dauphine Island - a barrier island just west of the mouth of Mobile Bay.

We set out in the morning under dark skies dripping with heavy rain. It appeared the the day would be better spent indoors - we did after all, have a new puzzle started - but we were not discouraged. Twenty plus years in the Pacific Northwest teaches you about rain. Either you go out in the rain or you stay trapped indoors twelve months out of the year. Being the adventurous type we always choose to get drenched.

We first ventured out to walk the beach at the west end of the island. It was blowing a gale by the time we got there and rain was coming down in buckets. Nonetheless we set out. The beach was littered with the biggest shells we have ever seen washed up on a beach. We were not sure if maybe they had come from fishing vessels out in the bay or if they had actually washed up on the shore. It had been a stormy night so it seemed possible. One intrepid walker before us had taken the time to collect many of them and arrange them artistically on the beach.

We stopped to admire them and then noticed that despite our rain gear, we were both drenched where it was not covering our clothes. We made a hasty retreat to the car, turned up the heat, and decided to spend the next hour at the aquarium located on the island.

The Alabama Aquarium at Dauphine Island is not the most sophisticated of aquariums we have visited, but it was warm and dry, and gave us a chance to learn more about the delta that flows into the Gulf through the bay, and see some critters we had not met before. We spent a good deal of time watching the white underbelly of the Gulf Spiny Softshell Turtle doing circles and dives in its tank. Not only is it almost completely white in places, it has a soft pink shell covered in light green spots that is very elegant. Add in the super long nose that looks like a hose and you get the idea. Mesmerizing.

Our attention was also drawn to the Alligator Snapping Turtle that has a pink lure in its mouth that it uses to catch prey. It stays completely still with its mouth open in the water and the little lure jumps about like bait on the end of a fishing line. The turtle itself looks like a piece of tree submerged underwater or a large rock. I can see how easily it’s prey would be tricked by its disguise. It looks completely prehistoric but you could not imagine a more sophisticated evolutionary idea - to have your own fishing line bouncing about in your open mouth. Spectacular.

After about an hour of watching and wandering we were dry enough to head out and delighted to discover that the rain - although not completely gone - was lighter, and the wind had died down to a light breeze. We decided to take a chance at another outdoor romp and headed to the walking trails of the Audubon Bird Sanctuary.

As we wandered the soft paths of the sanctuary we were enveloped in silence. Not even the birds were out on this wet day let alone other people. And it had been a long time since we had been free enough to tramp through the woods with no agenda. We soaked it all in. Greeting the trees like they were old friends.

About halfway through the winding path we came to a spot where the path led off in two different directions. No map provided. As we debated which way to go I could not help thinking of the Robert Frost poem, The Road Not Taken.

One of my favorite lines from the poem has always been:

“Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.”

I had been doing a lot of thinking lately about this idea of way leading on to way. About how we often think that we will circle back to a place. That we will see the things we missed next time. That we will take more time for that activity on another day. That we will get a second chance.

But my reality has taught me that this rarely happens. As Frost puts it so well, “way leads on to way” and we often find ourselves in another place, another time, another situation.

Our world is careening into unchartered territories. I worry about my son sitting on the borders of the conflict that is happening in Ukraine. I think of the suffering and the unnecessary loss of life and property taking place all over the world where war rages. I lay awake at night worrying about nuclear war unleashed. About the rising inflation, the divide in our country, the loss of civility, the pictures I see in my news feed. There is so much that seems wrong and broken and teetering on destruction.

So what can a little walk in the woods on a rainy day and few lines of poetry offer?

Perhaps it offers me a way to live now. A reminder to be present. To the little things. To the what is. A way to come home to myself when all that is outside of me is spinning out of control.

I am grateful for the trees and the paths and creatures that greeted us on Sunday. I am grateful for the old friend of poetry and all the poets that put pen to paper. I am grateful for the many ways that they reminded me of how glorious the created world can be.

But what about the path you ask? We took the path to the right. It lead us to the beach and the nest of an Osprey that we watched for some time. And a beautiful archway of live oaks.

On the way back the rain began again in earnest and we were soaked by the time we got to the car. But our cheeks were flushed, our hearts were full, and our spirits were infused with hope.

And that is what trees and poetry and walks in the rain can do. They infuse you with hope - and most often in times of utter hopelessness.