Amy in the Garden

I’m not talking seasons, and I’m certainly not talking about grace. I’m talking about falling down.

I’m talking about the pain to both pride and backside.

The day started out in such a lovely way. It was early. I was taking both dogs for a long walk along the Damariscotta River. We were walking upstream, and it was low tide. The morning was cool, with a bright blue sky, and I was so pleased to be in Maine, on that river, with those dogs. I kept thinking, “It is a beautiful morning!”

We walked farther than we ever had on that path. We went deep into the woods and encountered an enormous tree across the path. Rather than turn back, I chose to walk around it and keep going. Nothing was going to end this beautiful morning.

We emerged from that thicket onto the riverbank. I realized we were across the river from the Whaleback Shell Middens State Historical Park – a site I’d taken the dogs many times before. It is an historic site because of the heaps of oyster shells left by Native Americans hundreds of years ago. On the eastern bank, the site has placards and paths, and the shells are scattered amongst the overgrown forest. On the western side, where I was now, the heap was larger, whiter, and more visible from the opposite shore.

Right now, it was behind me, and I was gazing out across the water:

And the same view looking down-river towards town:

And again, up-river:

Beautiful morning, yes? The low tide left swirls of grass. Lovely to see and easy to walk over. I went closer to the edge of the river, and saw the sandy shore sparkling with shells:

And closer still:

How beautiful! How sparkly! How…….Where did all that blue sky come from?

I was flat on my back, with the river water seeping into my coat, jeans, and sneakers. Those sparkling shells were resting on slick mud, and it’s been a long time since I’ve fallen that hard and that dramatically. I think I made a noise on the way down. I know my backside looked pretty funny – wet, muddy, and sparkling with thousands of bits of snickering oyster shells.

I sent up a silent prayer that no one was within video-distance.

I walked back to the car with a lot more dignity than I felt. I tried to recapture the magic of the morning, Before the Fall. No good. Advil and the photographs will have to suffice, at least until my pride heals. And that will take longer than…the other part that’s healing.

WORDS FROM OTHERS

“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die.”

— Mel Brooks