The Great Wander

Not My Yard

Anchored just off No Name Harbor, I’m sitting on the sugar scoop with a cup of coffee when I notice a disruption in the current about ten yards off the stern. A gray tail flips at the surface. Soon after, a manatee lifts its head and snorts.

Forgetting the coffee in my hand, my wife and I sit mesmerized as the creature rolls in the water right in front of us.

It dives down and resurfaces again, playful in its own way — not graceful, not clumsy either. Sitting there, I think how lucky I am to have this animal in my backyard, even if it is only a temporary backyard.

Minutes pass, and the manatee moves along. I return to my routine: drinking coffee, watching fish drift beneath the boat.

Morning comes again.

My routine is the same.

As I sit and watch the water flow around the hull of One Life, light twirls in the current. Then the snort catches me off guard.

I look up and see the visitor again —rolling, surfacing for air, submerging once more. The tail flops occasionally, not the spectacular crash of a whale, but something quieter, like a child trying to find momentum in the water.

Mesmerized again, I realize I’m not the one being visited.

This isn’t my backyard.

This is its home.

I’m just passing through.