The last few weeks the swell is running up in hordes. The waves keep building up when they reach the shallows and collide into the rocks with such a slam-dunk that, standing in front of the pub, 300 metres away and 30 higher, you can hear it as a freight train thundering by without end. But this morning Beaufort was dozing on a little and there was a huge bustle going with all those quiet lulls winding between the ripples.
Sometimes cartloads of seaweed are lying upon the rocks. The larger part is kelp and it does not need to be storming for it. You slither upon slithery and there is no staying upright. And when you fall, you don't fall on a soft bed of seaweed, but on rock-hard lime stone, not seldom with washed out thorns under it. From far and near farmers come with tractors to cart off the 'harvest', as it is very sought-after as fertilizer. On the Aran Islands where there is practically no topsoil, seaweed is mixed with sand to grow vegetables on.
Very sometimes a little bit of sand washes up. I had planned to, when this would occur again, to scoop up a few buckets for my own use. Initially I wanted to mix it with chopped-up seaweed and begin a serious garden on my kitchen roof this year. I imagine a variegated abundance of fragrance and hues, a celebration for nose and eyes, clearly articulated against the brine, a down upon an army of stone. But recently it has become even more of an art to get through the tough, soaking mud. I then buddyholly with Willem in mind: 'Slippin' and slidin'’ and wade the bus through the mud. Nothing carbon footprint.
This morning I first thought I was facing a mirage. There was a beach before the rocks some 100 metres wide and 30 metres towards the sea. The unexpected quality of Nature. This was my chance. I seized a bucket to diddle as much sand as possible from the ocean before the rising tide. I knew sand is unexpectedly heavy, but this also was soaking wet. More than a third of a bucket was not to be hauled in repetition. I could save nine.
It is not easy to walk up the rocks with such a bucket. Not only did I have to push myself and that bucket up three terraces, the art was mostly in keeping balance. Now I'm an old hand at that game and this can be turned into a nice challenge. Before I move a step up, I first swing the bucket forward and next pull myself up by the forward swing weight. In this you can become highly skilled.
Thus I have filled two sawn-open containers with sand. If the mud closes by itself I have enough for my roofgarden. The sea has surged over my kitchen a few times and has washed off the major part of the earth.
Therefore the underlying tarpaulin fell victim to the wind. Big, bulbous gusts threw even more soil off the roof. In a flying storm I have tossed all my timber on top.
It's no use getting angry with Nature. It won't help you one bit and you only hurt yourself. There's only one way to keep the peace with her.
Sod it!