"John Muir walked away into the mountains"

WARNING: This post contains reflections on Nature and the meaning of life!

Sunday, Gloria (the Resident Director) took us out for a walk; the weather was, at last, Scottish: wet and chilly. She took us to the John Muir Walk along the North Sea, and we played on the bottom of the sea near the lighthouse at Barns Ness.






Because the tide was out, we walked along and searched for fossils, shells, crabs, mussels and other things that live in the weird space that is sometimes dry and sometimes wet.









I could not help but reflect, walking among those water-worn stones, about the cycles of nature and the infinite variety of life in the smallest tidal pool. The rhythm of the North Sea goes on and on, with no thought of me, and it will continue long, long after I'm dust. This thought comforts me; there is something eternal (or as near to it as I can imagine), some referent point to rest my mind on, and no matter how our puny moment in history interferes with it, it will one day shrug us off and continue on its way. (Speaking of our puny moment in history, Dennis collected a bag of mussels and then had to discard them when our house chef told him that anything from that part of the North Sea was too contaminated with diesel fuel and sewage to eat).

I was exhiliarated by the experience of picking my way out along the rocks worn smooth as polished marble by the waves, and, closer to the shore, under our feet, we crunched millions and millions of the tiniest shells, each at one time home to a living thing. In spite of the constant motion of the water, there were shelves of rock sticking up that refused to be eroded (yet), and Gloria said it was here that Enlightenment scientists first began to resist the notion that the Earth was only 6,000 years old, after seeing these slanting shelves of rock that had to be much, much older.

Another thought I had was about how easy it would have been to miss this experience because the weather wasn't ideal; it was rainy, it was muddy, it was chilly, and we could easily have stayed in the house, but then we would have missed this adventure. I felt like a child, simply delighted by what I saw, and I could imagine John Muir growing up on this coast ("in an old overcoat, crust of bread in his pocket") and falling in love with nature.

I can see why the Scots are so impressed with Florida's beaches, if this is their connotation of beach, but I'll take the North Sea anyday. I look better in a raincoat than a bikini anyway.

Gin