I am reading a book that makes me think of my mother. It reminds me of summertime at Stonewall Place, where we grew up, when the chickens were put away for the night and the wind on the water had calmed, and my mom and my sister and I would walk to the end of the point to sit on a rock and look out at the ocean and think our own thoughts, together. I'll let Terry Tempest Williams say it better:
"Breaking waters. We are born from what is fluid, not fixed. Water is essential. A mother is essential. The ocean as mother is mesmerizing in her power, a creative force that can both comfort and destroy. My mother and I came to trust each other on the beach where we sat. Between the silences, we played together. We entertained ourselves. On the edge of the continent, looking west, we came to an understanding of the peace and violence around us. Power is the sea's thundering voice, the curling and crashing of waves. Water is nothing if not ingemination, an encore to the tenacity of life. And life held in the sea is surface and depth, what we see and what we imagine. We cast a line, we throw out a net, what emerges is religion in the form of fish."
This weekend we celebrate a day in honor of our mothers – in my case, the wisest and most steadfast woman in my life and I know I can say the same for my sister. Our mother is graceful and selfless and tough. She notices life's small treasures, she knows secret halibut holes, and she's our family's best bear protection. You can find her hiking on Aleutian hills with her shotgun, or scoring goals at the hockey rink. Happy Mother's Day Shelly, thank you for your wild goodness.
Photos by Evgenia Arbugaeva and Scott Dickerson