Oil Between My Toes

On the cusp of a life altering event, I sit now in my living room, just outside, within view, lays the Gulf of Mexico. A family and pet friendly, much loved beach that we and many others have enjoyed without worry that it will be taken away from us. That is now about to change. With the oil fast approaching, there is nothing we can do but wait. Already seafood is all but gone. Crippling the job scene that overwhelms this area. A war zone deep down in that vast open water is now showing it's ugly face on our clean white beaches. A beach that has just now started to come back alive after being crippled by Katrina and it's aftermath. Life was just getting back to normal. Tourism coming back. Our beaches breathing life back into the small communities desolated by the hurricanes complete wipe out.

Yesterday, my father, going down to the beach to see if he could detect any first signs of oil in the water, was startled by the sight of a two foot by two foot sea turtle, dead and bloated, it's final resting place, our beach. A victim of the catastrophe at sea that is making it's way for us.


I'm not sure how to feel or what to do. All I'm sure of is that I feel, deep inside my soul, a sad black cloud coming toward us, suffocating our fresh sea air, killing in it's path all signs of life. This time a war zone taking the lives of helpless creatures, infinite numbers of dead and dying lives.

I'll definitely be writing more on this subject, for it's about to be at my front door and our new "normal".

Salmon on a Wednesday

Cheeze-it’s, hard lemonade, salty river,
Giggles and goats, chartreuse lures,
white cranes, sunny blue sky.
Big fisherman in little boats,
Grandpa holding tight even though he might fall,
peeing in a bucket that cuts into your thigh,
numbered buoys as we pass by.
Big nets, small flags,
cool wind on our faces as we accelerate.
Forest as far as we can see,
shades of yellow, orange and red as our summer
fades away, up the river on a Wednesday.
Smell of wood stoves
fishy perfume, trees and boat fumes.
A day spent without a watch.
Only family and memories in the making.
“A smell not many will experience,”
one of the last lumber mills around.
Smells like lumber, only not,
as a logging truck climbs the mountain.
Trolling motor vibrating in twelve feet of water.
Fishing for salmon, Chinook to be exact
yet, catching them won’t measure the worth of this day.