Alabama Coast Archives - Page 10 of 23 -

The Good Stuff Moves Closer

By Simone Lipscomb | July 7, 2013

The past three weeks have been incredibly difficult but I’m not whining. Simply stating a fact. The frustration has been centered around my work. Some days I have considered drawing a bullseye on the wall to give a target for head-banging.

Since I began documenting the BP Deepwater Horizon oil spill over three years ago, I have felt pressure to work hard to make a difference in the world. That’s always been my intention but since witnessing the devastating effects on wildlife and human life, I have been almost frantic to help raise awareness of what humans are doing to the planet.

This year I’ve been feeling the importance of documenting nature’s beauty as a way to increase passion and concern but with the same push–the panic thought that time is short, we are losing this beauty!

I’ve felt stuck lately…more than three weeks of stuck-ness. Months of it. I feel my work…the images and words….exist in a small circle of people. Appreciative and grateful people…but I’ve wondered if what I’m doing makes a difference. And the more I did, the more it felt as if I were treading ‘water’ in mud.

Two weeks ago I decided to let go and see what happened. This coincided with a question posed to me.

Each morning I light a candle, do a dedication and say a prayer. One day I specifically said, “Would you PLEASE show me what you want me to do?” Immediately and with a rush of force I heard, “What do YOU want to do?”

I stood astounded as my inner voice faded. Oh…so if I’m doing what I enjoy, it will be my best and most creative work and therefore fulfill my purpose. From that day on I have asked myself, “What do I want to do?” All through the day my work unfolds and when I focus on my website or do graphic design, or go on photography shoots it is effortless. It flows.

For the first time in many, many years I’m learning to relax and rest. When I work now it comes from my heart, not from a mental effort to push forward, to do, to make a difference, to work, work, work….because I have believed that it’s not okay to take up space unless I’m contributing. My mind loves to create things for me to do to justify my existence. But the fact is, that’s really not how it works. The more pressure I apply, the less I felt truly free to create my life’s work.

As I have stopped pushing and started breathing….living, the joy has returned. My work flows when I am in a creative mood and without the heavy hand I was using on myself, I feel lighter and more at peace than I have been since the oil spill occurred.

Joy, pleasure, happiness felt foreign to me since witnessing the spill and its effects. Slowly, I’m freeing myself from the self-imposed prison of my inner task master. As I do this the good stuff moves closer….I can FEEL it! My body vibrates with the goodness that has been waiting just out of reach. All it needed was a receptive spirit.

I am grateful.

Before the Dawn

By Simone Lipscomb | June 30, 2013

The Earth issues an invitation to commune with the light. Each Sunday morning I answer by rising before dawn and walking along the shore at the Gulf of Mexico. My purpose is to look for sea turtle tracks that indicate nesting activity but my intention is simply to listen and share with the salt water, the white-sand shores and the essence of light that, in my mind, is the creative force from which everything arises and to which it returns.

Dawn on the beach near Gulf Shores, Alabama

Being part of a dedicated team of individuals who love sea turtles and nature is rewarding. Its that affiliation that nudges me out of slumber and my list of excuses to make it to ‘church’ on time.

I started walking both ways in my section of beach to have more time in nature and to extend my time in communion with the nameless emanation of love…of light. I share aloud with the sea my grief at humanity’s sins against the planet and each other. I beam with excitement as the light changes prior to sunrise. The sight of a dolphin’s dorsal fin slicing through the surface ignites passion for and love of all creatures– the fish being chased and eaten by dolphins and sharks…and osprey; tiny coquina shells returning after being wiped out from the oil spill three years ago; ghost crabs….all life is sacred.

In the Sunday morning pilgrimage I look for sea turtle tracks and expand my heart energy walking east. After reaching the western most point in my section, I turn and walk back picking up trash left by humanity. Water bottles, cigarette butts, tampon applicators, boat bailing jugs, fishing lures, aluminum cans, rope, balloon bits and small bits of broken plastic. That was this morning’s haul. Later I’ll sort it into recycling and trash piles.

It is during this walk back where I especially feel grief as I gather in the sins of humanity into a garbage bag–the bits and pieces of cast-off junk thoughtlessly tossed or left to injure sea life, decompose over the next 500 years into toxic components. Oh, this is the challenging time in my conversation with light.

This morning, two things of notice happened. First, on my eastward trek I kept feeling a presence to my right. I looked out over the Gulf and saw a cloud, illuminated by dawn’s glory before the sun had peeked above the horizon. The magic of sunrise, the magic of light at work.

The Harry Potter nest this morning.... — The Harry Potter nest this morning….

The second little miracle was a sea turtle nest found by two of my patrol buddies on another section of ‘our’ beach. Life continues.

Sky from last year....the favorite photograph of light I've taken — Sky from last year…favorite photograph of light I’ve taken

And while answers haven’t been forthcoming so much lately, it could be true that it really is darkest just before the dawn. Let there be light!

Breakfast with the Ospreys

By Simone Lipscomb | June 29, 2013

I’ve been watching the Osprey family on Magnolia River raise their young. Two beautiful fledglings are the result of loving care provided by their amazing parents.

When I paddle my SUP board I always give them plenty of distance. Now that the chicks are flight-ready the parents create a wider buffer between potential harm and their young by keen observation and threatening fly-bys if there are curious visits that get too close.

Mostly the adults sit in a near-by tree instead of on the nesting platform but the other morning one of the adults was overseeing breakfast of fresh fish as both juveniles devoured the tasty sushi. It made for a nest full of large birds of prey.

Mom or dad sit in the nearby pine tree and the kids watch with wonder at every passing thing from their nest, high on top of a pole…birds flying by, mullet splashing and of course a strange woman on a large, flat board with a long stick in her hand…that deserves a cry from the older babe who is reassured by a loud response from the parental unit. I interpret it to mean….’She’s okay. Just don’t share your breakfast with her.”

On days when the planetary problems seem too much to bear, I think of breakfast with the Ospreys. My heart lightens and I breathe deeply into the beauty.

Letting Go Versus Giving Up

By Simone Lipscomb | June 22, 2013

The past two mornings on the river paddling my SUP board brought unexpected encounters. Two days ago I was squatting down on my board as it glided under an overhanging oak tree limb. An owl hooted directly above my head. And later the same (I suppose) owl flew across the river in front of me. A messenger perhaps.

That same day I officially met the osprey chicks, one of whom is now adult-sized and almost fledged with adult feathers. I also met her sibling, a week or so behind in development. Both perched with their parent on the nest as I paddled by them.

Today I heard a splash as I paddled by a pier and glanced over to see a rather large, brown triangular head swimming for shore. I felt a little shudder as I quickly moved past, thinking it was a water moccasin, but I decided to turn around and peek. I saw a squirrel, sopping wet, sitting on the dock shaking water from his fur. My laugh echoed from the banks of the river. It was a good, belly laugh.

And later, as I was headed upriver and nearing home, I heard a most raucous noise. I stopped paddling and looked high up in a pine tree from where the noise originated. The source of the noise was three great blue herons in a brawl. Evidently the nearly adult-sized baby was throwing a hissy-fit and was hysterical…another encounter that made me laugh.

This has been a difficult week of frustration, grief….sadness over the course humanity has set regarding the health of our planet. No matter what those of us working for change do, it never seems to be enough to create positive change that will truly make a difference. I see apathy and greed growing while suffering increases in humans, wildlife, and wild places.

At one point this week I realized it was time to let go. Not give up, but let go. This came after working on a design for a new business card. In the process I realized I really didn’t know what to call the work I do and this led me to go deeper within myself. It seemed as if the pent up frustration and grief needed space to simply be.

The Unknown can be a scary place. Several of my friends commented that they too are struggling with direction and a feeling of treading water, not knowing what to do next. Maybe it’s time to let go, not in an attempt to give up but simply as a way to listen and let the space bring answers and guidance.

My time in nature nurtured me so deeply as I dealt with big emotions and important questions. The soggy squirrel, the fussy teenage heron and the ospreys and owl gifted me with laughter and beauty. The experiences gave me hope that all is not lost on our water planet…not yet.

The message of the owl? Owls see in the dark so perhaps it’s time to look into the darkness happening on our beautiful planet and know that there is a way through. Even though we cannot always see, we will find our way as we open our hearts and minds to nature and reconnect with it. Perhaps nature itself will guide us if we listen, observe and then take action.

Traveling Back in Time

By Simone Lipscomb | June 19, 2013

After a sweaty SUP board paddle on the Magnolia River I headed to Hillcrest Farm to pick blueberries. While fresh, healthy fruit was part of my reason for going, the other reason is that this farm was home to my great grandparents many years ago.

I never met my great grandfather Hermecz. Actually I never met Grandma Hermecz either but I feel like I know her. She died a week before I was born. Maybe we passed in the going and coming. My admiration for them has always been strong.

The farm when my great grandparents owned it

These two brave souls immigrated from Hungary, with my great grandfather James (Jim) coming first with his brothers, who settled in Ohio. Then his wife, Ethel and their first daughter, my grandmother Ethel, immigrated when my grandmother was a year old. Great grandmother Ethel was pregnant at the time with another child. They moved to Baldwin County and built a small home and later a bigger one.

As I walked the long rows of blueberry bushes I felt the beautiful spirits of my great grandparents and my grandmother and her brothers and sisters embedded in the land they farmed and loved. The blueberries were sweet and warm from the sun which made connecting with this sacred land even sweeter.

There were many people there picking and I fled further and further away from cellphone conversations and people complaining about email spam and children whining about being outside. Peace enveloped me when I found the only other beings around were brown thrashers and mockingbirds dining on the delicious, ripe berries.

As I stood in the shade of the large bushes with the warm, moist berry juice filling my mouth I felt gratitude for such strong ancestors who worked with the land and made a home there. I knew how happy they would be that their farm is still nourishing people…many people. I bet they would be fascinated by the kid who freaked out when rain drops gently splattered on his bare skin. And perhaps they would embrace me and Grandma Hermecz would tell one of her fabulous stories.

I finished picking my 5.5 pounds of berries at noon. In addition to the berries I purchased honey and blueberry preserves and a serving of homemade coconut ice-cream to help me cool off after spending precious hours traveling back in time.