What a Philosophical Fisherman and I Caught This Morning
Walking to destress and finding surprises along the path
Walking shoes tied, sunscreen on, hair up, phone in hand, Strava app on. The southern heat hits me like a wall as I leave the house. Someone is mowing their grass. I breathe in the smell of green. Dragonflies dance in my path.
My walks aren’t only for fitness. The movement helps me destress, zone out, process all that life is throwing at me. My brain needs a walk today.
My steps are rhythmic and I nod hello to those I pass.
My peripheral vision watches for bikes on this busy trail. I startle as a squirrel runs near me. Fifteen minutes pass and my knee doesn’t hurt. Cheers for my new orthotic inserts in my shoes! Straight? Or detour. Mindfulness guides me. I’m feeling stronger, even as the sweat runs in my eyes. I turn right and pass a tai chi group in the park. Their arms move like the branches above them. I should try this quiet practice sooner than later. I respect their silent synchronization. I smile and walk on toward the ocean.
Leaving the hard path, my footsteps sound like a marimba song on the wooden planks of my favorite long pier. Without the trail tree canopy, harsh sun beats down on my shoulders.
I see a fisherman at the end, red-shirted like a bobber.
A heron lifts off the railing, breaking the still water. I scan for dolphins, reach the end, and stop. I’m quiet, respectful of the fisherman.
“Some manatees were just here,” he calls to me as a greeting.
I turn, “I love them. I’m looking for dolphins too. I feel like I always see them out here.”
“There were just some,” he points using his knife, the other hand holding part of a worm.
I follow his gaze. “Huh. That sandbar.” I squint, “there. I’ve never noticed that.”
“I’d hate to take a boat through there.” He baits the hook and stops to watch the water. “It’s not even low tide.”
We’ve caught something on the horizon. “It’s moving,” I’m trying to decipher what I’m seeing.
“Wait.” He leans his pole on the rail. “That’s like a small tsunami.”
I hold up my phone and start videotaping. “But it’s not a wake. It’s even. From edge to edge.”
“Look over here!” He’s as excited as I am. “We need a meteorologist.”
I might have missed it.
I might not have turned right. I might not have bothered to question the “sandbar” I thought I saw. But we’re seeing something out of the ordinary.
He casts his line, “You know, that’s why they say kids see things that adults don’t notice, ghosts…other phenomenon. Because they don’t talk themselves out of it.” I’ve found a philosophical fisherman.
“I know what you mean. One night I was driving, and I saw this crazy bright, green meteor drop straight down, like something out of a movie. A friend of mine was in the car behind me and saw it too. We both jumped out of our cars, in wonder at what we witnessed. Without her, I would have questioned whether I saw it or not.”
A couple of teeth missing in his broad smile, “We saw this. Together.”
I nod. “We did.” I turn to leave, “Well, I hope you catch a lot of fish!”
“From your mouth to God’s ear!” He calls to my back.
I wave, “Have a great day!” I’m smiling as my feet beat the planks toward the shore.
I send the video to our family chat, wanting them to share my excitement, “Possibly a seismic wave.”
It was extraordinary, vast, and scientific.
I begin to question myself as I walk, my smile wavers and I catch myself. It doesn’t matter whether it was seismic or not. It was quiet and beautiful, and a dolphin even surfaced as we watched. Most importantly, it got me out of my head and out of the house. It was a perfect nature moment, a connection with another human, and I needed that today.
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