It's said that you don't realise how much things mean to you until they are gone. I found that not entirely true. I grew up by the seaside. And, even though I didn't go very often, the smell and the sound of the seagulls and when I was close enough, the sound of the sea were sounds I was more than used to. Then I moved up north to the middle of the country. The smell was wrong, although at first I was too excited to finally be at uni to pay that much heed, and there are no seagulls. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not a massive fan of the seagull. They've stolen my fish and chips before now, and the birds up here don't half make a racket, but it's not the same.
Anyway, last Thursday I went to the beach. We parked in a car park right on the coast, overlooking the sea, and walked up the sand towards the town. Only when I was there and the smell and the sounds and the wind- not even the wind is the same inland, and as for being able to read the weather? I wish.- It just took me right back home and right back to my childhood. People say that smell is the most vivid aide-memoir to the memory, and it made me relax truly and completely for the first time in a long while. I guess, once a child of the coast, always a child of the coast. It's like a child brought up in a city, they will never be truly at ease in the quiet of the countryside where nothing is really going on. I hadn't realised before now just how much of a sea person I am.
And this begs the question: Can I really settle here in Huddersfield, in the middle of the country? Or will I eventually have to move to the coast? It's funny really. Out of all the universities I looked at, Huddersfield was the only one not on the coast, and I chose this one in the end by closing my eyes and stabbing a finger at the screen. And yet, I've been so very happy here, except, I now realize, for the lack of the sea.
The sea is an amazing creature. It has moods and feelings, and the sheer variety of life it holds in all of its waters from the hottest to the coldest is simply amazing. If you go to the seaside in the middle of summer when the wind is barely stirring, then it can seem like it is sleeping, waiting. In a light wind, enough to make the water a little choppy, on a sunny day, if you stand on a pier and look down into it, it can seem like there is light trapped just below the surface, like a school of fish, and if only you can get down there, you can capture that light and save in a bottle. And in a storm...
I was taken to Newhaven marina one time during a big thunderstorm, and we sat there in the car and watched as the waters came crashing over the arm of the marina, grey and sullen with so much energy it was almost breathtaking. I went back the next day, and the waters had calmed down again, but there was still a fair chop, moderate rather than good and the white horses were out in force.
When you get the crest of a wave and it breaks, and the white foam moves outwards from the point of the break and spreads along the rest of the wave, people see horses. I see one. Just one for every broken crest. And then I see a heard of them galloping towards the beach. And sometimes, it's not horses at all. Sometimes, it's wolves. When the wind picks up that little bit more, the horses take on a meaner edge, race a little bit faster, and to my mind, take on a little bit of that pack mentality of the wolves.
There is always something new about the sea. every time you go, it is different, a different face, a different piece of water is there. And as you watch that water bows out and lets the next principle take it's place on the surf.
I spoke of the shipping forecast earlier. One of these days I will go into greater depth about it, because I like the shipping forecast. It is like poetry as much as the sea is.
Anyway, last Thursday I went to the beach. We parked in a car park right on the coast, overlooking the sea, and walked up the sand towards the town. Only when I was there and the smell and the sounds and the wind- not even the wind is the same inland, and as for being able to read the weather? I wish.- It just took me right back home and right back to my childhood. People say that smell is the most vivid aide-memoir to the memory, and it made me relax truly and completely for the first time in a long while. I guess, once a child of the coast, always a child of the coast. It's like a child brought up in a city, they will never be truly at ease in the quiet of the countryside where nothing is really going on. I hadn't realised before now just how much of a sea person I am.
And this begs the question: Can I really settle here in Huddersfield, in the middle of the country? Or will I eventually have to move to the coast? It's funny really. Out of all the universities I looked at, Huddersfield was the only one not on the coast, and I chose this one in the end by closing my eyes and stabbing a finger at the screen. And yet, I've been so very happy here, except, I now realize, for the lack of the sea.
The sea is an amazing creature. It has moods and feelings, and the sheer variety of life it holds in all of its waters from the hottest to the coldest is simply amazing. If you go to the seaside in the middle of summer when the wind is barely stirring, then it can seem like it is sleeping, waiting. In a light wind, enough to make the water a little choppy, on a sunny day, if you stand on a pier and look down into it, it can seem like there is light trapped just below the surface, like a school of fish, and if only you can get down there, you can capture that light and save in a bottle. And in a storm...
I was taken to Newhaven marina one time during a big thunderstorm, and we sat there in the car and watched as the waters came crashing over the arm of the marina, grey and sullen with so much energy it was almost breathtaking. I went back the next day, and the waters had calmed down again, but there was still a fair chop, moderate rather than good and the white horses were out in force.
When you get the crest of a wave and it breaks, and the white foam moves outwards from the point of the break and spreads along the rest of the wave, people see horses. I see one. Just one for every broken crest. And then I see a heard of them galloping towards the beach. And sometimes, it's not horses at all. Sometimes, it's wolves. When the wind picks up that little bit more, the horses take on a meaner edge, race a little bit faster, and to my mind, take on a little bit of that pack mentality of the wolves.
There is always something new about the sea. every time you go, it is different, a different face, a different piece of water is there. And as you watch that water bows out and lets the next principle take it's place on the surf.
I spoke of the shipping forecast earlier. One of these days I will go into greater depth about it, because I like the shipping forecast. It is like poetry as much as the sea is.
