Conversations with the Sea
By Spencer Kimble
Early October sun paints the sea with hues of orange and pink. The harmonious dance of reflecting light slows as the sun dips deeper on the horizon. Cool water, filled with salt and smelling of seaweed, welcomes me. I dive, holding my breath, and deliberately maneuver through carpets of eelgrass. Plucking scallops from where they nestle, I kick to the surface. My feet push seawater toward the sky, iridescent in the afternoon sun. I extract the adductor muscle from its shell and it hits my tongue with an explosive brine: both savory and sweet. I bask in these senses, alive in a beautiful moment in time.
The ocean will always wrap me in a familiar embrace. Regardless of the weather or the season, the senses I experience remain steady. It’s like driving home for the weekend to find my mom in her garden and the smell of dinner escaping through the open window. The sea water is an unwavering comfort. Diving into it, my cloak of anxieties is stripped away, leaving me naked in the moment. The past and future dissolve to reveal a full presence. My mind slows. I feel light in the buoyancy of the saline water. I float for a few long moments after I plunge, soaking in the sea. The ocean’s sounds and scents are different from those of the Green Mountains that I call home. Shorebirds flit along the sand, feeding on invertebrates that are left vulnerable as each wave recedes. The shoreline is chaos, yet I am overwhelmed by a sense of peace.
I think often about how I exist in relation to a place. How do I interact with the ocean? What ecosystems are present? How are nutrients cycling from terrestrial systems, through estuarine systems, mixing with marine systems, and finally returning to land? Who lives at these intersections, and how do I impact their lives?
I live at the intersection of many moving parts of a system: eight people living in one house, each immersed in their own studies and interests. We mix, like rivers entering the sea, to cook communal meals and support each other. We each bring different nutrients and provide unique qualities important to the functioning of the home. I have a deep sense of value for my home because of the way I analyze these cycles of give and take. I see the beauty in independence and the purpose of a larger community. Likewise, I value the ocean because of my place within it. It offers me food, knowledge, joy, peace. What do I offer? How do I show my gratitude? I offer my friendship; I listen with intent. My deep observations are more of an intimate conversation. I’m acquainting myself with the place and its inhabitants.
Back in Madaket Harbor, slurping scallops in the sunset, I analyze my relationship with its ecosystems. I’ve made numerous journeys to this coastal bay throughout college. Each comes with a new examination of its beings, bringing more knowledge from my courses that help me understand its ecosystems on a biological, physical, chemical, and emotional level. I weave through the marsh where saltmarsh sparrows (Ammodramus caudacutus) call for a mate. They guide me to the channels where photosynthetic slugs feed on algae and steal their chloroplasts. The channels feed into the harbor where bay scallops (Argopecten irradiens) filter water. At the bay’s edge, smooth cordgrass (Spartina alterniflora) grows in thick mats. Each day, their roots get fully submerged at high tide. They have evolved to live in the dynamic intersection between land and sea. Saltmeadow cordgrass (Spartina patens) grows further from the water’s edge, woven into the muck with sea lavender (Limonium latifolium) and salicornia. Everyone has their niche; I’m learning where I belong.
Studying science allows me to deepen my understanding of a place beyond my observations. I have begun to piece together ways I can continue to be in relation with ocean systems while finding purpose in a way that benefits marine biomes as well as human communities. Weaving together my interests in environmental science, food systems, marine ecology, and community engagement, one niche stands out for me: ocean farming.
Reading the book Eat Like a Fish, by Bren Smith, was an integral spark that ignited my interest in regenerative aquaculture. I have since grown oysters and taken an educational course in the science of kelp farming. Marine ecosystems can be restored through shellfish and seaweed farming. Cultivating oysters, mussels, scallops, and seaweeds in a three-dimensional multicultural model can provide habitat for fish and cleaner water, as the crops remove excess nitrogen and phosphorus. The majority of large agricultural operations in the U.S. contribute massive amounts of nutrient runoff into rivers, and eventually oceans. It’s important to examine the impact that food systems have on the planet as we sustain ourselves and the earth. Sea farming has the ability to cycle nutrients and carbon back into terrestrial systems via seaweed fertilizers, animal feed, and food. There is so much joy in growing good food that beneficially interacts with the place where it grows.
Choosing a suitable site for a farm is an art. Sea farm ers are in conversation with the sea. They know where the waters mix in just the right way to produce the sweet est mussels or the briniest oysters. It is a process of deep relation with place: analyzing where estuaries dump into the sea or where the tidal pattern provides the perfect amount of submersion and warmth. When oysters are grown in high-salinity environments, they develop a salty brine and a complex of amino acids that provide a strong umami flavor. Sea farmers pay attention to these factors to produce flavorful produce. They are intimate with these ecosystems while helping cycle nitrogen, phosphorus, and carbon back into terrestrial systems through food… good food.
A splash of wine and a knob of butter brings out the best in any shellfish: simple, easy, approachable, elegant. The flavors from the sea are complex. Layers of umami and sweetness that often can stand alone on a plate. While it’s very different from food grown on land, there is so much joy in the exploration of preparing seafood. Understanding the environmental services they provide might even enhance the ways we enjoy ocean foods.
In reflecting on the concept of place, I have developed a greater sense of purpose as a human in this world. I have learned that solutions to climate change can be beautiful–full of good food, community, and growth. It is easy to become overwhelmed by feelings of hopelessness and nihilism in the midst of our changing climate and unjust world. It’s strange to be a young person existing on the brink of a climate catastrophe in a world of people at war with themselves and at war with each other. Examining sense of place is a rebellion against hopelessness. It is a tool in becoming grounded and redirecting passion to make change. Being in conversation with the spaces around me guides me forward. “How do I fit in? How can I help? How can I be at peace?” Today, I am hopeful. H
Art by Spencer Kimble
