The Harbor's Role in my Life and Art

I live in a small town surrounded by semi-wild landscapes, and there are many natural areas I enjoy spending time in. There are hiking trails in the nearby mountains, beaches at the seaside, and several nature preservation lands just beyond the edge of town. Within the city proper, there are many public parks, including a former estate garden, and a diverse botanical garden in the foothills. Beyond the coastal mountain range, there lies a seasonal river that flows into a large lake. Although I have explored all of these places to varying degrees, I tend to take them for granted since I grew up with all this nature right outside my [literal and proverbial] backyard. In fact, my favorite local place to visit is not a purely natural one, but rather an intersection of the natural and artificial worlds: the harbor. A refuge for wayward vessels, gateway to the ocean deep, and portal to the abundant fisheries of the Santa Barbara Channel, the harbor represents one of the most complex and interdependent relationships between nature and humankind. We depend on its rugged seawall to keep our boats safe from the relentless pounding of the waves, and as a result of this protection, many animals have taken to calling it their home. Seals and sea lions can often be seen resting on vacant docks, crabs traverse the harbor floor in search of food, and the ever-patient Great Blue Heron stands still at the water's edge as she waits for a fish to come within reach.

 

In addition to being a gathering place for both seafarers and sea creatures, the harbor serves as a microcosm of the eternal power struggle between humanity's effort to build bigger and higher, and nature's effort to destroy our unnatural constructs and restore equilibrium. We created a wall to stop the waves, and yet on some days, they manage to literally overcome it and splash whoever happens to be standing on the other side; we dug out lots of sand to make the harbor deeper in order to accommodate larger ships, but the strength of the tides and ocean current will always push more sediment back in, consistently defeating our futile effort. Every time humankind dares to oppose nature's rule, our creations are promptly demolished once we cease to actively maintain them. It's almost as though we are being challenged to continually better ourselves and our ways, if only to attain a temporary feeling of victory over the wild and ancient forces that truly govern our planet.

 

However, these are not the only reasons for my fascination with the harbor. It has earned a permanent place in my memory for a far more mundane, but no less complex role it serves in my life: a calm area to escape to when the turmoil of the world overwhelms me. Whether I was overburdened with high school homework, frustrated by my nation's political drama, confused and disappointed by a broken friendship, regretting an impulsive decision, or grieving the loss of my grandfather, I knew I could always go to the harbor. I'd ride there on my bike, find my favorite rock to sit on by the shoreline, and let all my troubles be forgotten as I observed the waterfront scenery. From the contrast of grey stone, white sand, and blue ocean, to the still and silent forest of sailboats' masts, to the bright and hopeful light of the navigational beacons, these sights never failed to soothe my worried mind. Underscored by the gentle yet forceful rhythm of crashing waves, the strident calls of egrets and gulls, and the carefree ringing of a bell buoy, the scenes and sounds of the harbor became synonymous with peace and order to me.

Between its philosophical intrigue and personal significance in my life, Santa Barbara Harbor has naturally become one of the most frequently recurring locations in my poetry. Since I write so much about this one place, it's been interesting to see how many different ways I can describe and interpret the things I see and hear there. Most of my harbor-themed poems take place during sunset or nighttime, as that was when I most often went there, so one day I decided to try something slightly different: I visited the harbor just after high noon, when the area was bustling with life and activity. This was in stark contrast to the tranquil emptiness of the seashore after dark. The result of this experience was The Harbor by Day, which served as a fitting conclusion to my upcoming poetry album, The Pedaling Poet: Rolling for Rhymes.