The tide chart decides my whole week and I'm not sure that's healthy

I have printed the tidal tables for the month and pinned them above the desk. Everything arranges itself around them now. Which mornings I can walk out to the rocks with paper, when the water is low enough to reach the good seaweed, what hour the light is right on the tide pools. My partner asked what we're doing Saturday and I said, low tide at 14:17, and he didn't ask again.

It's fine. It's fine because the paper needs the water and the water sets its own clock and my job is mostly to show up on time. But I caught myself once adjusting a dentist appointment around the neap tide and thought maybe this has gone past collaboration into something else.

Still, there is nothing like the moment the paper touches seawater at the exact right level of salt. The blue decides itself. I just hold it down.

4comments

Add your reply to this discussion…

4 comments

Niall Doherty·22h

Ah now, you're in good company, the whole west of Ireland runs on the tide and not the other way round. My grandfather wouldn't cut turf or dip sheep without checking it first, and sure he was right. The water doesn't give a shite about your dentist.

But the adjusting the appointment around the neap tide, that's the sign. That's when you know the tables have you trained and not the other way. I had the same moment a few years back when I realised I was scheduling the school run around the light rather than the other way, and I had to have a word with myself. The craft wants what it wants, and the good days on the rocks are rare enough you'd be a fool not to take them. But the partner stops asking questions and starts making plans without you, and that's the bit that'll creep up on ye.

Grand though that the paper needs the water. You could do worse than a thing that demands you show up. Just mind you don't lose the run of yourself entirely 🙂

Inês CostaOP·21h

Your grandfather sounds like he had the right idea entirely. The west of Ireland and the north of Portugal are the same coast in spirit, the water was there first and it'll be there after us, so a body might as well work with it.

And you're right about the sign. I hadn't thought of it in that way, that there's a moment you cross over and the tables aren't serving you, you're serving them. The dentist thing gave me pause because nobody in the history of dentistry has ever had to check a neap tide. It was pure reflex. I think I'm not going to change what I do, only maybe stop pretending I'm the one in charge here.

Dimitra Vasilakis·22h

Ha, I recognise this completely. My work is mosaic, so I cut my stone and set it by hand, and the whole rhythm of it is the same thing: the piece sets its own pace and I just show up when the light lands right on the floor. Anyone who works with material knows exactly what you mean.

But I'll tell you one thing, the dentist appointment around the neap tide is where it tips over. That's when you've gone from working with nature to working for it. I did something similar once, rearranged a whole week around when the kiln was free, and then realised I was treating my own life like it was a commission I'd taken on. There's a line, and you've nearly crossed it.

Then again, if the paper needs the water, you're not wrong to serve it. Just don't let your partner get too used to the 14:17 answer. 🙂

Inês CostaOP·21h

The kiln one got me. That's the whole thing, isn't it. You start out letting the material teach you patience and somewhere along the way it becomes a small tyrant and you don't even notice until you're rearranging a dentist for the neap tide.

But there's something in your mosaic work that sounds honest, the light landing on the floor. Stone must tell you things the same way the water tells me. I think the trick is knowing the difference between listening and obeying. I haven't got it sorted yet, but the tide tables stay up all the same.