REACTION TO SEPTEMBER 11, 2001
Related pages
List of stories about local reaction to the Sept. 11 terrorist attack
posted 10/13/01
Dear San Juan Islander:
My husband and I were in Minneapolis on our way back to Oregon from a summer tour of the East Coast. We were so saddened by the September 11 tragedy. We continued to look back in the rear view mirror, as though to defy the radio images, and see again those places we had just left behind, just as we had left them, beautiful and whole. In light of this tragedy, as many Americans began to do, I started to take an inventory of my life's story. From that story this personal narrative was born. I am sending it to you, as your communities may find inspiration in its messages. It seems an appropriate time to band together as a nation and seek opportunities for inspiration.
May each day bring us that much closer to peace.
I Am. In This Landscape.
This landscape is my home. I was not born here; I have never lived here. Yet it will remain to my dying day, the place that I call home.
As I board the ferry in Anacortes Washington, it seems just another journey on just another day in my very busy life. I park the car, and climb the few stairs to the top of the ferry so that I can see out around me. The stairs are steel and unforgiving. The seats are cold and stark. I begin a quest for the perfect seat with a stale muffin and cup of coffee. As I look around, I am surrounded by an ocean of faces, all different, and yet very much the same. Like me, everyone has somewhere to be, and is anxious to be on his or her way.
The foghorn sounds off and we are on our way. The pull of the ocean below my feet, below the sea of feet similar to my own, below the cars, and below the steel that keeps us all afloat, is sluggish and unwilling. The fervent purr of the ferry engines drowns the sea of voices that surround me. I begin to encounter a struggle between watching what is now behind me, and looking forward to that, which lies in front of me. It is the unending struggle of my life.
I move forward to look out through the front windows, and the view of ocean water engulfs me. It is so gray-blue, portraying its nature as strong but at the same time melancholy. As the ferry pulls through the open waters, the whitecaps swish by in such a hurry, visiting only momentarily before disappearing behind me. My struggle engages and I run to watch out the windows of the ferry rear. There is a sea of cars, glistening in a vibrant display of color by the overhead sun, just waiting for the sea of people to return from their individual journeys on just another ordinary day. I am reminded where I have been. The ferry landing stands erect and confident, not easily distracted by the continuous chaos of people, cars and ferries that are its charge. I reach out, admiring its mighty demeanor as it diminishes from sight. I am reminded again that I am missing that which is coming by peering back at that which has gone. I quickly return to the front of the ferry.
After some time of staring across open waters, I begin to see a horizon line that is not simply comprised of water. It is intriguing, the islands so brilliant blue against the gray-blue waters beneath this vessel. From afar, the land looks both vibrant, filled with energy and essence, and dark, luring me into its mystery. Where I began is no longer visible off the rear of the ferry, and where I am going becomes so valuable. It is this unknown in my journey that makes me uncomfortable. It increases my anticipation and my heart begins to race. The mystery that awaits me is increased by the nature of ferry travel. In my ordinary world, I don't travel by ferry. It is so removed from that which it visits, stopping only long enough to unload one sea of faces and re-load another. As I am a scuba diver, I instinctively look deep beneath the surface of the ocean, wanting to lose myself in the underwater world that always relaxes me. The whitecaps block my vision, and I remain in the unknown. There is no relaxation in the unknown.
When my eyes reach up again my heart jumps and I am breathless. I have been in many beautiful places, but this is different. This is truly remote, yet without fear and loneliness. I long to be where the trees are, where the sand lies, where the water dances along the sand's edge. I long to swim to shore, just to share in the performance of this place. Instead, I feel my legs moving beneath me, and I am pushing through the doors onto the uncovered overlook. The sky is deep azure blue. The islands reach to the sky, and fall to the ocean. The water laps onto the beach as though to stroke that which it loves the most: the land. The trees are swaying softly to the music of the wind. I feel the music, not in my mind, but in my heart, and I begin to sway softly in unison. The wildflowers peer at me from underneath the display of grasses and shrubbery. They make their pinks and blues available for me to enjoy, and still I am struck by their bashful nature. I slowly inhale the colors and the textures through all of my senses. The salt air which once was pungent, is now captivating. I am struck. If God lives anywhere, I know that God lives here. I can't see him, but I feel such peace that I know he is certainly nearby. All of the strengths and all of the vulnerabilities that are, are here.
I see a deer with her fawn watching me as the mass of this steel structure so obtrusively moves by. I read her contentment, as she knows there are hundreds of feet of fiercely protective waters between her fawn and this vessel. I am so intrigued by her contentment, that I grab the rail fiercely and start pulling myself toward the back of the ferry, not wanting to lose eye contact. This is unavoidable, as her attention moves away from the ferry and she moves off to the next patch of berries, her fawn in tow. I am envious of her peace; envious that she has something I never have.
Even after she is gone, my eyes continue their longing search for another glimpse into another satiated soul. Instead, I see a dock just ahead. It stands boastful, sharing its wistful memories with the waters that move beneath it. It reaches into the ocean, as though with great anticipation. No one is approaching, but yet the dock continues to wait. I feel the knowing that days will pass and those tattered rails and creaky floorboards will continue to wait. The dock is broken and tattered, and yet beautiful in its determination to overcome it's diminishing sovereignty.
Just beyond the dock I can just glimpse the tiniest log structure. Smoke is radiating out from the chimney, embracing the Firs and Madrones. It is at that very moment, that the wind shares with me the story of the cabin. I shutter. I can see the fire dancing to a rhythm of its own choosing, within the confines of the stone fireplace. The floors are cold and bare, but the fire easily warms the furniture. Inside the lovers are looking upon one another fondly, sharing their dreams. I lose myself for a moment in their story. I smile to myself, and it is just at this moment I see them: three shiny black dorsal fins moving through the water.
At the sight of them, my breath leaves me. They are moving with such sleek movement, playful and yet concise, as though in search of a dear friend. The Orca Whales are stunning, clad in silky black velvet. They are moving through the water in unison, swift and graceful. It is as though their dorsal fins are deep in conversation, one unto the other. I long to be a part of that conversation. It is clearly private and thus I have only to follow the whales with my eyes until they disappear. Even then, I close my eyes and seek to follow them again and again.
It is the music of the trees that I return to when I open my eyes. They are still swaying ever so gently with the wind, and I realize quickly that I too am still swaying. And it is at this moment that I realize I am home. I have not understood my journey until just this day. It is not the landscape where I have been or where I am going that matter. It is this landscape in between, the journey that is this ferry, in this place, that matters. I have been nowhere that matters. I am going nowhere that matters. It is only this moment, in this landscape, that I am.
Margaret Wroth
October 4, 2001
Sharon Kivisto
and
Matt Pranger
can be reached:
phone:
360.378.3748
fax:
360.378.9748
by e-mail:
news@sanjuanislander.com
by mail:
San Juan Islander
PO Box 1118
Friday Harbor, WA 98250 USA