Where the river collides with the sea
a.k.a. Trump 2.0
Here in Lingit Aani, Land of Tides, we have the third most extreme tide in the world. Born and raised in a cabin on the beach, I often dreamt of it swallowing me.
It was here, by the tide, where freshwater river meets the salty ocean, where I married my Alaskan fourth-generation fisherman husband. He’s a geode — hard & bumpy on the outside, a gem deep down.
We disagree on politics, but Obama was president at the time. Also, I knew that the most diverse estuaries are the most resilient. (My grandfather always said, “Surround yourself with people who aren’t like you.”)
See how the eagles come to the river’s mouth to perch on driftwood lodged in the muddy river bottom? How a lone seal swims upstream fishing for salmon, lets the current carry him back down to the tidewater, and repeats?
The salty river provides.
While it appears calm at the river’s mouth, under the surface, it’s anything but. The merging of fresh and salt water roils with turbulent eddies.
The waters divide. Salty sea sinks to the bottom; glacial-fed river rises to the top. The swirling, murky water disorients homeward-bound salmon. Contention froths the edges like beer foam.
And yet the diversity and energy of these ecosystems make them remarkably resilient.
See, I didn’t marry him for his shopping cart + sprinkler + backing-up-the-truck dance moves (although I do love those). Or because he wears steel toed Xtratufs in summer. Or that his idea of dinner is a slab of venison backstrap on a fork, just add beer.
I needed someone who could plow my driveway and cut me up fish in twenty degree weather and fix my heating when it goes out. I need someone who buys me an Icelandic wool sweater and insulated gloves, and when I say, “Do I look silly?” under four thousand layers, he says, “You look smart.”
If I were in charge, the greenies and gearheads would live together. Hence, we promised to brave the roiling eddies. And… it’s been hard… like democracy.
But this love story is not about me.
At the river mouth, where the ocean muddles river, river addles ocean, the sweet river and salty sea try to make peace.
. . .
When Trump won the election, I became slacktide — the calm between tides. Walking by the river, footsteps silenced in dewy air, negative ions erased all sound.
Shhhhhhhhhhh, the river said.
Which is to say, I put on my blinders, fingers in ears, smiled, and lived in a bubble. It felt calm and peaceful, like on drugs. Sort of like Melania and her fuck-all-the-way-off hat.
Then yesterday, reality hit home with this inauguration shitfuckery and the billionaire media moguls sitting behind the new King.
(P.S. If we’re going to have a monarchy, can we throw in harems? There could be worse things than living communally with a bunch of women.)
Friend, I am tired. Our bodies are processing a lot.
It’s okay to pause. Feel into it. Rest if you can. Seek community. If like-minds don’t live in your home, ping me. You — WE — are not alone.
Now more than ever, we need to double down on community, to be in this with others. To support and uplift one another.
This is a space to validate each other’s feelings.
My therapist says that validating feelings generates emotional safety, and emotional safety is a prerequisite for building bridges and connection.
So let’s validate one another. Build bridges and boats.
This is NOT a space for arguing or back-and-forthing about politics. There are other places for that.
Okay, rules:
Validate one another. Feelings are always valid.
Don’t try to argue people out of their feelings or beliefs. See Rule #1.
Arguing, yapping, or anything less than kindness will get you shamed and muted. Disrespectful jabber will get you blocked and reported.
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If all else fails, the Golden Rule: If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything.
Thank you for keeping this a welcoming and supportive place for me and everyone else.
Love you,
Summer
P.P.S. When the wind starts to blow, that’s the first sign that the tide is turning.
I think the answers are at the mouth of that river. I don't mean retreat there, I mean in the apparent chaos there. That brackish mixture is always churning, appears destructive, IS destructive to some, whatever fleeting images of beauty or comfort that appear also just as surely fade, but
We aren't sad when the sun goes down. We prepare for the night and know that the hardships of darkness and cold will be relieved at dawn, and there will be a new world then, maybe not solving all of our problems, but there will be light and warmth again someday, the world is cyclical, it oscillates, right down to the very elemental particles of existence. Love is a field that envelopes us all until we try to find it, then it collapses down into a single point that has to be located, until we release that search.
I haven't got any idea what's going to happen. I know people are going to be hurt just as surely as errant salt-water creatures are harmed by fresh waters (and vice versa) when they take a wrong turn up the river. Some fish is going to find itself on your husband's hook, but someone else is going to eat. That's the world I see around me.
I am not surprised by any of this, but I am shocked. It is important to know that difference. Surprise is something happening one didn't expect. Shock is a physiological reaction to a threat. One can be shocked by something that was no surprise.
You are the good in the world, so am I, and so is your husband as he pulled that lever in that booth. We won't know if the shed held up through the storm until the morning, but we do know that will be able to see a little better then. Stay warm, those sweaters are sexy.
"In the attitude of silence, the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves into crystal clearness." - Gandhi.
Silence isn't the absence of noise - it's a presence!
Hugs! 🤗