Bolsa Chica Wetlands
I am the wetlands of Bolsa Chica—
low-lying
coastal estuary,
rare remaining
saltwater marsh,
over two square miles
of drastic highs
and low tides,
open waters,
mudflats,
nesting islands,
an urban playground
for coyotes,
gophers,
reptiles and rabbits
on the outskirts
of Surf City, USA.
I wind my way in rivulets
across a shallow bay,
tucked in between
PCH
and suburban houses
in the Warner tract.
I feel you walking
across my silty skin,
tiny, fine hairs
of shallow roots
easily disturbed
by tennis shoes
and boots.
Children point
and shout wow!
marching in a line
of backpacks
and lunchboxes
around my swampy palace
to touch what little nature is near.
Across the street
from weekend bonfires,
I am the resting place
for 300 species
of shorebirds
along the Pacific Flyway—
ducks and loons,
elegant terns,
double-crested cormorants
with wings spread
wide wide wide
to the wind,
snowy egrets,
great herons,
and all sorts of hawks and falcons
find my muddy mounds
and stop
to drink,
eat,
sleep,
mate.
I remind you
of a distant wild
you might have known
if your ancestors
fished on my banks
9,000 years ago,
the way you know
the salty spray
of waves,
boogie boards,
and smears of sunscreen.
I was here
long before the strip malls
and coffee shops.
I cry for all my limbs
that have been lost
to the steady roll
of development
and endless
unquenchable
thirst for liquid gold
swishing in my belly.
I hold a wealth of memory,
eons that cannot be extracted.
I am the Bolsa Chica wetlands,
where interpretive signs,
bridges,
fences,
and railings
box in what once
was open,
and protect me
from disappearing
anymore.
I want you
to walk upon me,
hike,
play,
romp,
look and see
the beauty that’s left of me.
At first glance, I may not look like much—
sandy swaths
of beige
and damp muted greens,
dry prickly shrubs
and murky pools of brown,
all so unimposing
you might miss
what’s underneath the surface.
I am your protection
against floods,
local carbon sink,
and home
to the wild eyes
that feast,
swim
and scurry
underneath
and around you.
I am your natural sponge,
trapping surface water
for the dry season.
I am a biological supermarket,
offering up my detritus
to the food chain
of insects and fish.
I host the wedding chapel
where freshwater
and seawater meet
in ecological matrimony,
beaming back
in brackish
harmony.
I clean out
your polluted
soil.
I give fisherman
a silver catch
and help cool
the fever
of a sweltering
planet.
I want you to know me,
care about me,
and cherish me
as life itself.
I am more
than just a flat, dirty line
of sepia sludge
in between Trader Joe’s
and state lifeguard towers.
I am the wetlands of Bolsa Chica—
hotbed of diversity
teeming with life
at the top of Orange County.
Not an eyesore
for passing cars
whizzing by,
but a whisper
of times before.
A world
within your world
and more,
small parking lot
off the highway
leading to a maze
of unpaved,
winding trails
ready for you
to come find me,
discover my secrets,
; and love me
enough
to tread lightly.
***
(Featured image by Flickr user C Stout)