“We carried the stories”

In the last couple of days, I had the joy of exploring more of the Islands with not only my parents, but also my long-time childhood best friend, Quincy. She and I go all the way back to 1st grade, and we essentially regard each other as sisters, living on opposite coastlines. We spent yesterday in Port Townsend exploring the shops and boat-building venues, one in particular in which a 17-year-old girl was building a wooden canoe on her own. It was wonderful to see a younger generation embracing life on the water, and a reminder to me that I have spent way too much time living in urban environments (no offense, Boston, I do love you).

Wooden canoes in Port Townsend, WA.

Another highlight for Jack’s marine education was sea kayaking today with my parents. We had a guided tour just north of Deception Pass and enjoyed more bull kelp, many coastal invertebrates at the low end of the tide, and a mother harbor seal and her pup on a rock. Jack expressed to me how much he loves “little sea animals”, especially “blobs” (anemones), which of course warmed my marine biologist heart to Poseidon and back. I towed the hydrophone with me in hopes of hearing any orca chatter, but alas, nada. This was the first time I had seen him this excited and engaged in the natural world, and I am so deeply grateful that he got to be part of this trip, especially alongside his grandparents.

Jack converseing with a Frilled Dogwinkle (Nucella lamellosa).

We took some time on the mainland to explore the Hibulb Cultural Center at the Tulalip Reservation, where I could get a closer look at some of the maritime customs of Coast Salish tribes pre and post-colonization. This museum was fantastic in how it presented the Snohomish people past and present, and truly brought to light the fact that the Tulalip is strictly a term for an artificial assemblage of tribes from all over the San Juan Islands and mainland who were corralled into the Tulalip Reservation following the signing of the Treaty of Point Elliott in 1855. This treaty required that over a dozen unique groups give up their land, language, and cultural practices in exchange for unlimited fishing, hunting, and foraging across all lands. Did this agreement work out hitherto in perpetuity? Of course not.

From the Hibulb Cultural Center, depicting the decades of issues between the U.S Government and the Coast Salish tribes on the topic of fishing rights.

Here is a big part of this that brings me back to something Rosemary said in our conversation on Monday. She spoke of the fact that pre-colonization, Coast Salish women were just as active fishermen as the men were. There was no gender discrimination when it came to such roles; babies were not given names until they were old enough to connect with their world, and so gender had no place in deciding a person’s rights or abilities. Such things were, as she said, a “white man thing”. So, when European-American settlers brought their notions of gender roles to the Pacific Coast and struck a treaty that guaranteed the cultural erasure of indigenous Americans in exchange for “unlimited fishing” (which we know it wasn’t anyway), here’s the rub: it always meant only half of the indigenous population anyway.

Indigenous women were expected to fit into Euro-American ideals of women’s gender roles, and thus were legally excluded from the practices (and businesses) that they had practiced for hundreds of generations. If indigenous women weren’t allowed to be fishermen - from a business or ownership standpoint - then the indigenous population as a whole was being stifled even twofold what we already knew it to be. Rosemary went on to reference the major salmon decline in the 1920s that resulted in fishing commissions by the Washington State Department of Fisheries, at which “we [women] carried the stories, but only the men were allowed to speak. So women whispered to the men what to say.”

A woman “greeter” at the Hibulb Cultural Center. Also, my dad.

Rosemary’s perspective was keen in my mind as I wandered into another exhibit, one that honored and brought solemn reference to Missing & Murdered Indigenous Women (and People, as it has been predominantly women who are victims of violence, but not exclusively). This movement brings awareness and action to the disproportionate amount of violence, death, and trafficking that indigenous women experience in the US as compared to their white peers. More in-depth information on that can be found here if you are interested. What a surreal and devastating juxtaposition.

The exhibit on Missing & Murdered Indigenous Women (& People)

I have so much more to process and research and say on this subject, especially as we continue to witness the rise of authoritarianism in our country, which coincides directly and noncoincidentally with the oppression and silencing of women. As Coast Salish women continue to rise and reclaim their rightful presence and voice in the waters of the Pacific Northwest, I will continue to listen and hope to learn from their example.

Tomorrow, I leave this part of the world and hop to the next…..

This mermaid is in my parents’ dining room, overlooking the Salish Sea. I’d envy her for the view, but methinks she never actually sees it.

The water she calls home

The pace of the last couple of days has been a bit more relaxed as I’ve had time to explore the coastal areas with Jack, visit the museum in Coupeville, and have an incredible conversation with a Coast Salish artist and writer who is seeking to enliven the voices of other First Nations women in reclaiming their role in all things water.

We have been lucky to spend a lot of time at the beach at low tide. Jack is particularly intrigued by sea anemones and how they recoil to his touch; he hypothesized that those still partially submerged would be faster to react than those entirely exposed to the air, and proceeded to test this on a sample of approximately 25-30 unconsenting study volunteers along the shoreline of Whidbey Island. Analysis of this data has yet to be conducted.

Jack connecting with green sea anemones (Anthopleura elegantissima)

We went on a hike around Ebey’s Landing, a historical preserve with some buildings and structures dating back to the Ebey family’s establishment in the 1850s as the first white residents of Whidbey Island. Preservation of the land for the sake of public use is certainly a good thing, and the scenery is beyond idyllic. Though I can’t help but detest the preservation of the buildings, considering that their origin came at the direct expense and anguish of the indigenous tribes of the island. To the credit of the National Historic Reserve, they make this fact widely known and pay reverence to the native communities of the islands, past and present. Be that as it may (I just love that phrase), I can’t help but view the wooden homestead with a singular disdain. They stand because of a treaty that forced Skagit, Samish, Swinomish, and Kikiallus people off of their lands of 10,000 years. But sure, let’s keep these 175-year-old colonization pods intact.

Homestead buildings on the Ebey’s Landing Preservation site. Basic.

Speaking of the original residents of these islands, I had the absolute joy and pleasure of speaking with a Coast Salish woman who is seeking to reinvigorate the voices of her fishing and tidelands peers through writing and art. Rosemary Georgeson, a resident of Galiano Island (British Columbia), agreed to be interviewed for my project. I reached out after reading about her symposium: The Water We Call Home: Re-presencing Indigenous women’s connections to fish, water, and family around the Salish Sea. She shared with me some of her family history, growing up fishing in the San Juan Islands, and the depth to which her personal, cultural, and familial identity is tied to being on the water. She spoke of how First Nations women, specifically, were pivotal in fishing and securing food resources in tidelands for thousands of years before colonization, yet were not allowed to speak when fishing commissions came in the 1920s (men had to ask women what to say at the meetings). There have been very few pathways for female indigenous voices to be amplified since, especially considering that when Rosemary was growing up, the only college degree program offered by the Canadian government for indigenous women was nursing. She got into creative writing in the early 2000s as an “aboriginal community liaison” in storytelling and began to write about her experiences in fishing, leading to her writing and directing a show called Women in Fish: A way of life lost, and the women who were a part of it.

A Swinomish canoe at the Island County Historical Museum, Coupeville WA.

Now, Rosemary is building up as many women as she can who have also come from lives on the water - fishing, canoeing, oyster or clam farming - and seeks to bring meaning and power to their voices. With both the effects of environmental damage and industry-wide changes in policy and technology, smaller fishing operations that have sustained themselves for generations are no longer able to meet catch minimums required to hold their licensing and have been driven out of fishing, at least in the methods they know. Rosemary reflected to me: “What the hell do I do with all that knowledge? Weather, sound, smell…it’s all your senses. You have to have all seven senses going. I had to know what was above me, below me, and what was in my heart. Now what do I do with all that wasted knowledge?” She finds purpose in connecting with other indigenous women and using art to feel a life lived that doesn’t exist anymore. Some of her upcoming work will focus on climate change through indigenous eyes, as well as expanding the circle of Coast Salish women, continuing work on The Water We Call Home. I absolutely cannot wait to hear and see more about her work.

My mom, Jack, and I visited the Island County Historical Museum in Coupeville, and I came across this beautiful mermaid figure and a story about her, the Maiden of Deception Pass, Ko-Kwal-alwoot. We will be going kayaking at Deception Pass on Friday, and I will be thinking of her and of Rosemary throughout.

The Maiden of Deception Pass at the Island County Historical Museum, Coupeville WA.

It all started with orcas

Day one of the trip, and I got to see them. Four of them. A mother, “Chunky,” and her three sons. Briggs transient orcas (meaning of the mammal-eating variety of orca ecotype that frequent the Salish Sea). Best of all, I got to see them with my son and my parents. My parents, who, for all of the mind-blowing adventures they have experienced in their lives (that’s for another blog), for having spent most of their lives living along the waters of the Pacific Northwest and Alaska, had never been whale watching. And the importance of orcas to me in this adventure cannot be overstated. I’ll get to that later and sporadically in my blogging, but not all at once.

Briggs transient orcas near the San Juan Islands.

Today was beautiful for many other reasons as well. I woke to a view that will take my breath away every morning that I wake to it, no matter how many times that I do: the view from my parents’ home. This was the first time I had visited their home since they moved into this house. Although I was born in Seattle, we had since moved around the Northwest, Southwest, and Alaska, and in my adulthood, I had wound up on all corners of this diverse country. I suppose that the most realistic answer to “where are you from?” for me must be, still, Seattle.

The view from my parents’ home on Whidbey Island, overlooking the Salish Sea.

The beauty of the Pacific Northwest was never lost on me, but prior to this trip, I had not spent time on Whidbey Island. Finding myself here now, back on the Salish Sea, I still feel a strange kind of homecoming. My earliest memory involves being on a nature trail with my mother while attending a family reunion in Vancouver, BC, when I was a toddler (okay, there is a slight discrepancy here about my age at the time to be addressed later, but for now lets just say that sometimes the magnitude of the memory distorts the timeline, doesn’t it, Dali?). We came to a cliff overlooking a cove, in which we saw…you guessed it…orcas. They were surfacing, but also turning sideways in the shallow water and rubbing their sides against the pebbles on the beach, a behavior that Southern Residents have been known to engage in to exfoliate their skin. This memory is so powerfully seared into my senses that I can visualize every detail, and it may be part of why I became absolutely obsessed with orcas thereafter as a kid.

Am I talking about orcas again?

Here’s the thing. I am on this journey to study the powerful connection between women and the sea. Orcas are the embodiment of oceanic feminisim. They are matriarchal societies led by grandmothers; they are one of only four other species of animal on earth besides humans that experience menopause to facilitate the role of grandmothers in leadership (the other three are also cetaceans). They normalize single motherhood; they mate in passing, and offspring stay with their mothers their entire lives. And don’t even get me started on how they are leading the revolution against the oligarchy with the yacht shenanigans off of Spain.

Me, my son Jack, and my mom at Deception Pass, Washington.

I digress.

The rest of the day continued to be lovely. Between visiting downtown Coupeville and driving over the Deception Pass Bridge, I got to feel how the flora and fauna of the Pacific differ from the Atlantic coasts. The massive green ferns. The softness of the lighter green moss. The abundance of sea stars at low tide, which Jack delighted in observing on the pilings. The smell of the kelp, a slightly different species of brown algae from the sugar kelp I had just encountered a few weeks before in Maine.

Biodiversity is splendid and intricate and so powerfully precise.

Jack on the wharf in Coupeville, WA.

In downtown Coupeville on Penn Cove.

The Island

The Hurricane Island Center for Science and Leadership on Penobscot Bay, Maine.

My ocean-themed summer travels had an incredible “false start” of sorts. Every year, the Marine Biology class I teach at CSW spends about 10 days on Hurricane Island in Penobscot Bay, Maine. It is a spectacular, unique little gem of a site for science, outdoor leadership, environmentalism, tranquility, and connection to our natural megacosm.

We arrive with 9-10 high school juniors and seniors, take away their phones and other distraction-inducing devices, and let them get to know “the great outdoors,” each other, and themselves, such that most of them had never done before. They learn about marine invertebrates of the rocky intertidal zone and conduct a multi-day data collection. They engage in rock climbing and outdoor leadership exercises. They participate in gardening, composting, daily chores, and sustainability practices that quite literally support the entire island community. And they still have plenty of time to explore this idyllic little island with its own history and mysteries. By the end of the trip, most of the students had all but formed their own sovereignty, declared the island theirs, and had to be dragged in vehement protest back to Boston.

The joy I feel both on the island and witnessing the students in the aftermath is difficult to describe. Though I provide intellectual prompts, safety, and opportunity, the island’s incredible program, combined with the lack of electronic devices, comprises the real magic. I’m not being a trite Luddite here. Take away social media, texting, emails, and other devices that disconnect you from those around you and...you connect with those around you. This was not a group of students who started out as friends or who came from the same social circles at the school, but by the end of 10 days, thick as thieves. Nor am I suggesting that everyone should ditch their phones at all times, but maybe some of the time. Not a groundbreaking notion here.

What I tend to further reflect on while on Hurricane Island is just how simple my needs truly are. When you rely on a very finite amount of solar power and have to choose between charging your headlamp and using hot water, when you’re responsible for hauling your own trash off the island, when your schedule is dictated primarily by the sunrise and sunset, you think more deeply about what constitutes “need”. Going back to my “normal” life, I see so many redundancies, inefficiencies, and ways in which I am thoughtlessly wasteful. A new goal of mine is to be more mindful about my day-to-day “needs” and pare them down.

On my upcoming trip, I am eager to see how “needs” appear in the daily lives of the women I meet and learn from in the Salish Sea, Jeju, and Zanzibar. How do they get up each day and go to sleep each night? What resources do they think about the most throughout their day? What are they least concerned about using? Which needs weigh most on their minds?

I depart on June 21st for Seattle, and I feel that my 10 days with my intrepid students on Hurricane Island have already put wind in my sails and a spark in my mind. It doesn’t take long after returning from the Island each year for me to find myself talking like Jack from LOST….

Activation Energy

Not many of us are fortunate enough to love what we do for work. Truly love it. Wake up excited to do it (ok not every single day, I’m still just a human, but most days). And every day, wake up grateful for it.

And to work for an organization that believes in you and is willing to provide you with the boost you need to achieve a dream: exceptionally priceless.

I am incredibly lucky to work (and live) at just such a place. The Cambridge School of Weston awards its annual Alorie Parkhill Faculty Travel Grant to two faculty each year, and it brings me great joy and gratitude to be such a recipient this year.

CSW is largely to credit for my inspiration, drive, and bandwidth that resulted in my project, The Sea & She, and for which I’ve received the grant. I have the privilege of teaching some of the brightest, most empathetic, and promising teenagers I’ve known, and work among brilliant, compassionate, and talented colleagues. Where students and teachers learn together, side-by-side, and students have significant agency in their academic process. Where the personal passions of faculty are not just valued but routinely tapped into as necessary and desired components of the curriculum.

We live in absolutely wild times these days, especially in education and especially as a community that deeply values Diversity Equity Inclusion and Belonging. Leaning into what makes us grow and thrive is crucial for surviving the daily onslaught of horrifying destruction of the fabric of our country, and the Parkhill Grant is giving me a profound boon to do just that. As a singular little piece of this unique and important community, it is my greatest hope that I can bring back something joy-inducing and awe-inspiring to CSW.

Not just for CSW, either. This is where things get even more exciting. I have wanted to expand my writing life for years, and have done so in very small incremental measurements (less so since working on my doctorate), and have really needed just a little bit of “activation energy” as it were. The Sea & She will not be a magnum opus, but rather just the beginning of the writing I hope to continue to pursue linking science, feminism, environmentalism, and hope.

Thank you, CSW, for this opportunity of a lifetime.

Welcome to my little writing world!

Here it is: a new website, new writing projects on the horizon, and a new blog. I have to confess, that staying consistent with blogging or journaling is not a strength of mine. That said, I am always inclined to write when inspired, so you’ll get quality over quantity. I hope that this will not only be space for updates on my work but also a collection of prompts and inspiration for future work.

For those of you who don’t know me or my work, my first published stories were two sci-fi short stories, The Companion and Nomadic, but they came years after I first started writing a sci-fi novel that I’m embarrassed to say, STILL unfinished. In the interim, I wrote Faster After Baby during my first postpartum year and my sequel to The Companion during the COVID lockdown, The Illuminated.

Though I have done some work on the unfinished sci-fi novel in the last couple of years, I have also been preoccupied with work on my doctorate. This will lead to some nonfiction (and perhaps fiction!) writing in the future on the subject of boarding schools. So, my range of genres becomes more disparate, to say the least.

In the meantime, feel free to explore my past and upcoming nonfiction work as well as my sci-fi.

Stay curious,

Meredith