Barracuda

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barracuda

Me and my "Irish Twin" couldn't wait for our big Mexican vacation in Cozumel, because we love the ocean. We'd spend every summer swimming in as many pools, ponds, lakes, rivers and oceans as we could possibly convince adults to do with us. We love the sea; the pounding surf, the oceans' salt spray, the sandy beaches, so much so that my bro is a Jersey resident. Me and my bro spent hours in the water growing up, and it didn't go unnoticed by the adults around us. We swam expertly like fish; first as toddlers, and then as kids earning Scouting swim badges. We loved it, even when it was rainy and cold during summer trips to Maine and Nova Scotia.

Like any Acadian, our father dared us to go into the cold oceans of his youth. No problem! We couldn't wait to cool off from the summer sun, wading into the frigid waters like we were born to it, and we are. We giggled and shivered as we splashed each other into goosebumps, egging each other on to go all the way in, which we did. It was a contest that proved our sea-worthiness to ourselves; a necessary rite of passage that any self-respecting Acadian should be able to do, like fishing and canoeing. We'd learned swamping out a canoe to breath the air trapped beneath well enough to earn colorful Scout badges that we sewed on ourselves to earn that badge, too.

Bernie and I avidly checked out snorkeling gear from the hotel our first day at the beach, running back and forth quickly, keen in our desire to hit the waves. So blue! Cozumel's water is some of the most gorgeous we have here on Earth: a crystal clear, bright turquoise blue that took our breath away. With those first tentative mask views done treading water near the shore, we were instantly hooked. We dove for angelfish and coral and anything else our pre-teen brains could soak up with the clarity of our deep abiding passion for life and the sea. We "pruned" our fingers every single day, just like our baby bath-times together, taking gradually deeper and deeper dives, like we did with all those public pool trips that astonished our parents with our steadfastly devout longevity in the water. So much fun!

We pool-hopped occasionally, but it was filled with ugly pale American tourists sitting on pool stools under a giant beach cabana. Blech! They're just the people we wanted to ditch! So boring, sitting around doing nothing but drink stupid fruity drinks and babbling on and on and on, just like they did at home. Yuck! Who cares? There's so much else to do! The last day we hit the beach hard was indeed memorable to us. We'd be going further and further into the ocean, and that day was no different. We wet our masks like we'd been taught, to create a seal around our eyes that was airtight. So far so good. 

Then, Bernie made his first mask check under the water to beat me to it (of course: boys!), with disastrously different results. He came up gasping and panicked: "I just saw something!" I took my mask to look, and one quick peek at two rows of razor sharp teeth inches from me was more than enough to send me packing, running for the sand quickly. Ahh! What the...?! What was that? We'd just seen our very first barracuda, and it is one scary looking fish. There'd been a whole school of them, too. We ran to our parents sitting on beach chairs under the palm trees, scared and shaken up. For the rest of the trip, we stuck to the pool. That ocean isn't just for us. It's for the predators who live there with every other life form in the sea. Understood, and very clearly so. We have our home, and they have theirs. It's nature.

Rainy Days

Getting my feet wet.

I've always loved rainy days for the air it brings in from the sea, with whiffs of seaweed and ocean brine that hang slightly in the air; in short, sharp notes that dissipate right after you breathe them in, bubbling up through grates gushing with the water that is such a bounty to us here in this area. What are you grateful for today?

Beach

One of the more pleasurable aspects about the Northeast is the vibrant, beautiful beach culture. I've written about it before—the history and ocean lifestyle, but somehow the mention of it still surprises people. Why? New York is surrounded by water, connected by bridges and tunnels that go over and under water, so why is it mysterious and surprising that we swim in the water around us?

We are part of the original colonies along the Eastern seaboard. I'm not sure how much clearer I can be about this fact, so let's try basic math. Here's the official Wiki entry: "The state constitution was enacted in 1777. New York became the 11th state to ratify the United States Constitution, on July 26, 1788." OK, so I did the numbers and that comes out to 224 years officially, with the actual European discovery coming in at 1604: "New York was inhabited by various tribes of Algonquian and Iroquoian speaking Native American tribes at the time Dutch settlers moved into the region in the early 17th century. In 1609, the region was first claimed by Henry Hudson for the Dutch." We know that Native Americans inhabited the land prior to European discovery for millennia. 

So. Why all this willful ignorance? It comes from a place outside of understanding, and that's called programming and bigotry. After all, if you get the facts down right, how can the mythic Californian Dream be sold to you? No more slow motion Baywatch Babes (homogenous and comforting with their dyed blonde hair, fake boobs, and spray tans), no Playboy Enterprise that sells those same women back to you again, this time without their bathing suits on, no running away to a place that supposed to make you forget who you are. All that stuff is advertising and marketing from billion dollar industries, so if I dismantle it with actual information, well, you can see how truly threatening that could be to those industries. And they will do everything to convince you otherwise.

Then there's the actual reality of the Atlantic Ocean itself: it's murky depths, rough currents, and harsh seasons. There's no prepackaged Club Med vacation here with servants, faux palm beach umbrellas, and frilly coconut drinks within a temperature-controlled climate that's permanently set to 85°, like the thermostat at home. It's a comforting and safe experience that's boring and devoid of any actual discoveries. Unlike a bland vacation, my ocean is real and unpredictable and it is the ocean, unrelenting. Must be scary to a population fed a steady diet of false realities. 

Our water is cold in the winter and warm in the summer and none of that has anything to do with you. Mother Nature is unpredictable to humans, and it always has been. I know mentally ill people who are addicted to The Weather Channel in some crazy and stressful show down with the earths' forces. They fear it, but they also enjoy the thrill of being scared: it's a build up and release of tension, something every fetishist and neurotic knows well. They are not in control. She is.

Once again, it becomes about who they are and their problems, rather than the simple pleasure of a swim in the briny sea. But, I have none of that static. I love the water, I love the beach, I love swimming, and I always will. I enjoy each landscape for what it brings to me, and I am grateful for it. A Montréal friend asked me about a status update I posted about the sea. I wrote about the smell of the ocean coming in off the blowzy breeze that advents a rain storm, a pleasurable experience for us here. 

He commented on this commonplace occurrence with disbelief. How could I smell the ocean when it was so "far away"? Far away?! I wrote back to him, after looking up the actual distance online, that it is 7 miles from my location to the ocean. SEVEN. MILES. And that was more than he could take in, because it doesn't fit in with his idea of Brooklyn as it is presented on t.v. and in movies. Sad, but also surreal, right? Wouldn't that make you feel discomfited and odd, like I do?

So. Here it is. My gift from me to you: the 25 minute subway ride to the beach at Coney Island, for a brief dip in the ocean with a little bit of body boarding thrown in for kicks. We can't wait to meet you, to see you enjoying our gifts, too. Welcome to the beaches of New York City. Welcome home. 
Welcome back. Welcome.