Me on the deck
One summer day, around 2008, I had a friend visit. Though she has Parkinson’s, I insisted that I could get her out in the canoe on Lucas Creek, and home safely. She is a small [but mighty] woman. I launched flawlessly, and we had a lovely voyage, with sightings of thousands of fiddler crabs, swallows, kingfisher, great blue heron, egrets and a single very bold night-heron. He played with us by going around each bend in the creek, then peering back to see if we were coming along.
The slapstick began when we came to shore at my house. She was not capable of climbing the ladder to my dock, nor climbing out of the canoe and scrambling ashore. I got out and began to haul the canoe up the bank, with her in it. I was walking on logs and debris I had put along the muddy banks for this purpose [and to halt erosion], gamely inching the boat ashore [alleluia, Michael], when my feet slipped off the log and into the mud. I am a heavy person and continued to sink to knee depth. I felt very foolish.
The muck had hold of my beautiful Crocs and would not let go. I slipped my feet out and tried to pull the Crocs out by the strap; I broke the strap. Trying to look like a competent person, I left the shoes and hauled the canoe out, got my friend out and we went inside to rest.
Over the years, the Crocs would occasionally rise to the surface of the mud, just enough that I could see them, and mourn all over again, but never enough to grab them. Finally, this year, I was down in the creek arranging some logs for the above purposes, when I realized that I could actually grab one Croc with a stick and bring it to shore.
Hosed down, the Croc resumed its whiteness.
I suppose I will watch for the other Croc to rise. I would not hesitate to wear them again, though I had long replaced them with black ones.
Scientifically, it would be fascinating to study how and why there is a convection, or tidal current in the mud of the creek. Anyone ready to do the research, I’ll be glad to take you out in the canoe.