Into the Blue

     One can not say they love a place until they have spent time there. I can not say I would love to live in England, because I can only imagine what it might be like. I can not say I would love to live in Australia or Italy, for I have never experienced life inside their borders. But I can say that I love Franklin County, Florida. It is not my home, but I left my heart inside of its limits the summer of 2011 to explore the wild world of marine biology.
     Apalachicola Bay sits in the heart of the Florida's panhandle under the blazing southern sun. It's a small town full of fishermen and scientists, park rangers and wildlife. The estuary is teaming with life, the rivers with manatees. Everything is beautiful in its own special, somewhat unconventional way. It takes a certain type of person to fully appreciate it.
     From the first dip in the waters, my snorkeling fins bobbing in the waves, I was hopelessly in love. Swimming over the sea grass beds in the quiet of water filled ears was other worldly. I was entranced in the complexity of it all, yet somehow hypnotized by its simplicity at the same time. Nothing mattered in the water, only my subtle breathing was audible and the steady beating of my heart as I swam.
     Tiny fish came up to greet me, so close and real. Sea grass brushed my arms and legs, a gentle endless wave of motion. I tried to take it all in, freeze the moment in a memory and store it in the safest place. Days were spent this way, snorkeling in the beds of oceanic greenery and pristine, sugary sand bars. It was magic on Earth.

     At night, when the tides were low, we'd venture out at midnight, below the moon and strikes of purple lightning, to collect our specimens which so happened to be blue crabs. Blue crabs are terribly violent and extremely difficult to deal with. Collecting them was a challenge, but we somehow managed to catch a whopping forty-two. Below our feet, they'd nip at our tennis shoes and we would stalk across the dagger sharp oyster bars in search of our prey. 
     One night, as we set out to collect, we heard a funny call not unlike a seagull. It happened to be a baby alligator following us on our trek in the estuary. Afraid of its mother coming for us, we hurriedly turned back and marched to the shore through the water, too afraid to step in the grassy banks for the copperheads. Never does the fun end.

     After two weeks, we left this place, venturing down to Crystal River to dive into its icy waters with the manatees. In the murky water filled with hydrilla, we awaited the sea cows patiently. Suddenly I felt something slick and wet beneath my legs and began to rise out of the water. Fear shot through my mind at first, but not for long. Laughter burst from my mouth as I realized I was being picked up by a manatee. 
     I often think of Florida. Those memories I shall cherish forever and never will forget. As I write this, I know I will be on my way there again tomorrow, for another trip to the Florida State Marine Lab to make more memories and have new experiences. The snails I am to experiment on await me anxiously, as I await Florida with inexplicable excitement.