Nature can fool us. Or more likely, we fool ourselves. We can think that because the vista is stunning, the bay serene, because an eagle is perched close enough to see or even to capture in our digital hands that we have understood it with a panoramic sweep, or for some, with a box ticked. We have seen something, but we have not seen it all.
Allow stillness outside for even fifteen minutes and complete stories emerge. The eagle swoops to catch a fish; another responds with attempted robbery. Other birds and insects bear witness. A squirrel runs up a trunk with a bit of winter dinner while ravens watch.
Sit with the seashore for an hour at just the right time of day and it will transform right before your eyes; if you walk along that same shore at a brisk pace, you will miss its story. Five minutes are not enough to see what the planet is doing; what was water becomes rock and sand or what was sand and rock, becomes water.
A two-year-old can help us with this; walk with one of them on such a journey and you will think you are going nowhere but you will see everything along the way and will likely end up in a better place. I used to do story time for two-year-olds. The thing about them is that they rarely participate. The wheels on the bus spin without their aid. They look on in silence as the storyteller and the few others—mostly parents—make them roll. But those parents assure you next week that the minute they are in the car, the child begins to sing, to retell a story, to move the fingers that power that bus. They needed only time… a minute or two of stillness for what has been absorbed to emerge.
I am a two-year-old at Tutka Bay. I don’t know the names of everything here and when I’m asked to move my fingers, my response is delayed. I sit wide-eyed and listening to water and wind, to Mieke and to my companions, and to a quiet inner voice.
Friday, as we motored quickly toward the Bay, the spray and leap of a Humpback caught our eyes. Patient knowledge said, “We will quiet the engines. We will wait. We will see what happens next.” And so, we did. And we saw the spray again, nearer now, and the tail fanning up above the waves before descending.
Tutka Bay is about quieting my engines, holding the hand of a two-year-old, allowing for stillness in the midst of a smorgasbord of activity and new friends. I know that when I get into the car, I’ll sing.
After many years with writing simmering on a back burner, Kitty Berner is happy to have time now to pull it forward for a regular stir. Her piece, I Don’t Have an Alaska Story to Tell, was awarded the grand prize in the UAA/ADN Writing Contest for 2024. The Tutka Bay retreat sponsored by 49 Writers was a valuable, nourishing experience. There is more to come!
The Tutka Bay Writers Retreat is one of two annual retreats offered by 49 Writers, in addition to other programs such as classes, readings, community events, and more. To support programs like this one or take part in our mission, please consider donating or becoming a member.