The Smell of the Marsh is Heaven To Me

This morning as I made a quick trip to the end of the causeway, I opened my car windows to breathe in the smell of the marsh. In his book Chasing Fireflies, Charles Martin writes of sniffing "the salty air blowing in over St. Simons, across the marsh, and bringing with it the ripe smell of curdling salt and mud." He describes visitors who stroll the sidewalks during tourist season who "sniff the same air, and wrinkle their noses. 'Something die?'" I remember his description of the marsh because it struck a deep echoing chord in my heart:

     To us--those who seek the solace of the marsh--it is a stage where God paints--yellow in the morning, green toward noon, brownish in the afternoon, and blood red toward evening. It is the sentinel that stands guard at the ocean's edge, protecting the sea from the runoff that would kill it. It is a selfless and sacrificial place. And when I close my eyes, it is also the smell of home.

I grew up on the East Coast, with summer trips to Cape Cod and the Jersey Shore (though I hate to call it that now because of the connotations that has today). My family moved to the Midwest when I was a teenager and I lived there well into adulthood. Visits to the East Coast were few and far between and rarely included trips to the beach. I missed my family there and I had fond memories of the small town life we enjoyed, but I never really gave it much thought.

A few years after I got married, one of my cousins in New Jersey invited us out to her wedding at the shore. As we neared the ocean, I remember rolling down the windows and smelling that unique and marvelous salt air. With it came a sense of peace and coming home that took my breath away. Until that moment I never even realized I missed it.

I turned to my husband and said with delight, " Oh, do you smell that?" His reply was much like that of the tourists that Martin described, "Ugh. It smells like dead fish." He was born and bred in Michigan and did not feel that mysterious pull of the ocean. When we pulled into the hotel to check in, I told him to go ahead and get our room key then to meet me back outside. I absolutely could not keep from taking my shoes off and walking in the sand and the tide. The ocean was like a magnet. The feel of the sand between my toes, the waves lapping at my ankles and that briny breeze were pure heaven to me.

I never forgot that feeling. The vagaries of life later planted me near that very beach, only to sweep me off again to this beloved island I am now so happy to call home. So you will frequently catch me smiling wide as I drive over the marsh with the windows open. And if I happen to be making that drive at the same time that the sun is rising or setting over the marsh, you will also hear me whisper in awe, "God, I love living here. It is so beautiful. Thank you."