Constant & Never Exactly the Same
The Coastal Studies Center is my favorite part about Bowdoin College.
Today, the water is glassy, as it rarely is. Across Harpswell Sound to the west is High Head, reflected on the water’s surface. The sky is a perfectly smooth baby blue with a few small but fluffy clouds sitting low. They become white puffs on the water that are then turned into white smudges as ripples blur the reflection.
This place has held so many memories for me and my time at Bowdoin, and I hope that many people continue to enjoy the property.
Through the Bowdoin Marine Science Semester in the fall of 2016, I spent every day in the farmhouse and marine lab studying marine biology and ecology. More importantly, however, I jumped in the ever-colder ocean water from the dock every week. I was also fortunate enough to keep a kayak at Mussel Beach and go paddling during some of our lunch breaks. I was lucky enough to get to learn and live every day at one of the most beautiful spots I know.
I’ve had the view of Wyer Island and Harpswell Sound as a constant pillar of my years at Bowdoin. It is calming to have a view that’s always the same. The pier and two docks, the rocky shoreline, Wyer Island, and Harpswell Neck across the water. Walking down to the dock, I smell my favorite scent – pine needles warmed by the sun. If you do not know that smell, I highly recommend that you find yourself some pine needles and sunshine as soon as possible. The pleasant smell is accompanied by happily chirping birds high in the trees, deer stepping over layers of dead leaves, evergreen branches swaying ever-so-softly in the breeze, and dotted shadows of the sun reaching through towering trees.
But it is also exciting that the view is never exactly the same. The tide is always different, rising or falling, exposing seaweeds then flooding those shores again. The pier sometimes stands high above the water, but at a super high tide it is only a few feet above. The ramps to the docks go from treacherously steep to a gently slope. Sometimes Wyer Island is an island you can paddle around, but at low tide it is connected to land by an isthmus for walking on. The water is never exactly the same – still or choppy, frigid or pleasant, filled with lobster buoys or frozen over.
This spot, with its perfect hammock spots, intertidal zones for exploring, trails for wandering, and beautiful sunsets has been my happy place at Bowdoin.
The Coastal Studies Center is my favorite part about Bowdoin College.
Today, the water is glassy, as it rarely is. Across Harpswell Sound to the west is High Head, reflected on the water’s surface. The sky is a perfectly smooth baby blue with a few small but fluffy clouds sitting low. They become white puffs on the water that are then turned into white smudges as ripples blur the reflection.
This place has held so many memories for me and my time at Bowdoin, and I hope that many people continue to enjoy the property.
Through the Bowdoin Marine Science Semester in the fall of 2016, I spent every day in the farmhouse and marine lab studying marine biology and ecology. More importantly, however, I jumped in the ever-colder ocean water from the dock every week. I was also fortunate enough to keep a kayak at Mussel Beach and go paddling during some of our lunch breaks. I was lucky enough to get to learn and live every day at one of the most beautiful spots I know.
I’ve had the view of Wyer Island and Harpswell Sound as a constant pillar of my years at Bowdoin. It is calming to have a view that’s always the same. The pier and two docks, the rocky shoreline, Wyer Island, and Harpswell Neck across the water. Walking down to the dock, I smell my favorite scent – pine needles warmed by the sun. If you do not know that smell, I highly recommend that you find yourself some pine needles and sunshine as soon as possible. The pleasant smell is accompanied by happily chirping birds high in the trees, deer stepping over layers of dead leaves, evergreen branches swaying ever-so-softly in the breeze, and dotted shadows of the sun reaching through towering trees.
But it is also exciting that the view is never exactly the same. The tide is always different, rising or falling, exposing seaweeds then flooding those shores again. The pier sometimes stands high above the water, but at a super high tide it is only a few feet above. The ramps to the docks go from treacherously steep to a gently slope. Sometimes Wyer Island is an island you can paddle around, but at low tide it is connected to land by an isthmus for walking on. The water is never exactly the same – still or choppy, frigid or pleasant, filled with lobster buoys or frozen over.
This spot, with its perfect hammock spots, intertidal zones for exploring, trails for wandering, and beautiful sunsets has been my happy place at Bowdoin.
The Tide is High
At high tide, the world rises. Well, not the whole world, but the ocean world. If you think about the intertidal, at low tide, the land dominates, but by high tide, the water takes over. Organisms must be able to live underwater. There is less of a border between the trees and the water. That thick band of rock becomes just a thin line, trees’ roots nearly dipping into the saltiness. It feels good. Sitting on a pier, the water is closer. At low tide, the water falls far lower, making my mind wander to the concept of jumping off bridges as suicide. But at high tide, all I think of is jumping off to go swimming. Is that so appealing because there is a “No Jumping” sign? Or is there a “No Jumping” sign because it is inherently so appealing?
At high tide, the seaweed floats. At low tide, it lays motionless. Draping, defeated, hanging over rocks. But at high tide, the seaweed comes alive. It floats in the water, creating a pop-up forest. From the surface, seaweed might look like mold at the edge of a food gone bad, but it floats up supported by air bubbles, reaching to the sun for nutrition.
At high tide, water covers land. It makes land bridges disappear, creating more islands. It also makes some areas passable by boat.
Global sea rise in an impending doom. Well, it’s an impending doom for the millions of humans who live on the coast at low elevations, but does sea level rise mean more space for marine organisms?
At high tide, the world rises. Well, not the whole world, but the ocean world. If you think about the intertidal, at low tide, the land dominates, but by high tide, the water takes over. Organisms must be able to live underwater. There is less of a border between the trees and the water. That thick band of rock becomes just a thin line, trees’ roots nearly dipping into the saltiness. It feels good. Sitting on a pier, the water is closer. At low tide, the water falls far lower, making my mind wander to the concept of jumping off bridges as suicide. But at high tide, all I think of is jumping off to go swimming. Is that so appealing because there is a “No Jumping” sign? Or is there a “No Jumping” sign because it is inherently so appealing?
At high tide, the seaweed floats. At low tide, it lays motionless. Draping, defeated, hanging over rocks. But at high tide, the seaweed comes alive. It floats in the water, creating a pop-up forest. From the surface, seaweed might look like mold at the edge of a food gone bad, but it floats up supported by air bubbles, reaching to the sun for nutrition.
At high tide, water covers land. It makes land bridges disappear, creating more islands. It also makes some areas passable by boat.
Global sea rise in an impending doom. Well, it’s an impending doom for the millions of humans who live on the coast at low elevations, but does sea level rise mean more space for marine organisms?
Tall Trees, Dead Needles
The trees stand nearly thirty meters
Tall at the water’s edge.
They are tall, looming evergreens.
All but the top three meters
are bare. The branches are still there,
but the needles have fallen away.
Why? Because the needles below
have become useless.
As the trees grew taller,
the upper needles could catch the sunlight,
leaving nothing of meaning to filter through below.
Yet the branches remain as evidence of how
the tree grew up so tall.
The trees stand nearly thirty meters
Tall at the water’s edge.
They are tall, looming evergreens.
All but the top three meters
are bare. The branches are still there,
but the needles have fallen away.
Why? Because the needles below
have become useless.
As the trees grew taller,
the upper needles could catch the sunlight,
leaving nothing of meaning to filter through below.
Yet the branches remain as evidence of how
the tree grew up so tall.