For the past three weeks, my paddleboard has been leaning against the back of the camper, inflated and ready to go. I could carry it to the water in a matter of minutes.
But I hesitate.
When I walk down to the water in the morning, I see an increasing number of jellyfish just beneath the surface. They’re tending to the business of survival, finding something to eat and trying not to be eaten themselves.
Of course, whenever the topic of swimming or paddling in the ocean comes up, a shark fin appears from out of nowhere. A couple of weeks ago, the small town of Crisfield even showed Jaws at an outdoor movie night on the waterfront. I never considered Jaws family entertainment, but I’m a bit behind the times when it comes to movie ratings.
I don’t like to give my mind any suggestions of things to think about when I get in the water, and sharks are one of them. But lately, an unassuming sea nettle, actually a lot of them, have kept me on dry ground.
I asked the ranger at the state park about them. He said there were two types commonly seen this time of year: a Moon Jelly, harmless because of its short tentacles, and a sea nettle, with an unmistakable sting. They roll in when the water warms up.
The name Sea Nettle should have been my first clue. In Tennessee, I used to forage the herb stinging nettle for tea, with gloves on, of course. It has wonderful healing properties.
A few days later, a fellow camper was sharing her day with me, and she told me her husband had been stung on the forearms by a jellyfish while pulling a crab pot into his kayak. I shared this with the ranger, and he said it got tangled in the rope and probably didn’t survive. He didn’t comment on the guy who got stung at all, just the bad fortune of the Sea Nettle.
So after observing them for several weeks, my curiosity finally got the best of me, and I paid a visit to the all-knowing Oz, who goes by AI these days. I wanted to know what gifts this creature brings to the world. I learned the moon jelly helps the oyster population by eating its tiny predator cousins. The nettles provide food for the sea turtles, and so the circle of life continues. That’s all I needed to know.
But was this knowledge enough to get me in the water? No. I don’t willingly subject myself to the possibility of being stung.
Even though I am quite confident on my paddle board and don’t plan on making any big splashes, I can’t say for certain. Although I doubt Jaws would be lurking in the shallow brackish waters of the marshes, there are a lot of other variables: dodging a greenhead fly, riding the wake of a passing boat, or a sudden gale. Plus, I don’t want to cause any injury to a sea nettle or a moon jelly with my paddle.
So I’ve been asking myself: Is it fear or wisdom? Earlier in the week I watched a three-year-old experience the beach, laughing as the waves knocked him off his feet. He wasn’t looking at what was under the surface. He was completely absorbed in the joy of the waves.
So maybe I will find a way to share the water with the jellies before we leave. Or maybe I’ll wait until they move on to different waters.
Fear can keep us from living fully, clouding our minds with endless what-ifs. But sometimes it’s simply asking us to pay attention. Not a contradiction, a gift.
Learning to read the tides of life.
While writing this morning, the song One Less Thing came to mind—a reminder that our minds are awfully good at inventing worst-case scenarios. If you’d like to hear it, it’s on Bandcamp.
This is wonderful! I think this is the first time I have ever heard you express fear. It is fear, but I like to say I have great respect for the ocean, it's power and it's creatures. When I was growing up, my grandparents lived in Delray Beach and we drove down from WV and spent Christmas with them several years in a row. One Christmas day I got stung twice on the face by a Man-O-War. It hurt terribly! I love your emails from the summer travels and always look forward to your Sunday Best and Full Moon emails. Big hug to Mickey. Love you, Trish.