I received some unwanted, but necessary, news about the property at my lake house. Seems the sea wall is being undermined. I called the company that installed the sea wall twelve years ago when a flagstone on top of the wall sank into a hole. The contractor who came out remembers the project, and his crews still talk about the massive undertaking that it was. Evidently, because of the steep grade of the land, accessibility to the sea wall is nearly non-existent. He told me that everything—every bucket of gravel, every large stone—had to be transported by hand. They installed new stone stairs to improve accessibility, and even increased lawn space for better staging. This was all news to me. In fact, the main reason I fell in love with the property was the isolation afforded by the steep embankment and the multi-layered stone walls. It was an artful job.
However, because the crew from twelve years ago was unable to transport the preferred massive sized boulders to create the sea wall, they used smaller rocks, then back filled it with gravel and dirt, and used cement to seal the areas between the rocks. Now, because of boat wake waves lapping onto the wall, that back fill is being sucked out and washed away.
Water is powerfully destructive. Ask any victim of flooding. Or someone who has been caught in a riptide. Or involved in a surfing or boating accident. Even a belly-flop into a placid pool can hurt like hell.
But I have seen the result of beautiful destruction, when flowing water creates canyons of all sizes over eons of years.
The Grand Canyon is one majestic example, but smaller canyons offer a different perspective.
On my alpine trek last summer, I witnessed how precisely water carves stone. Just thirty minutes into our first walk, we entered the Aare Gorge in Switzerland. Following a trail of cantilevered paths alongside one of two opposing towering cliffs, the power of water was immediately evident. Below was the turquoise-colored rushing river of glacial melt, and on either side, the walls of the canyon twisted, worn smooth into sinuous curves.
The last day of our trek led us through another gorge, Orridi di Uriezzo, in Italy. This one was narrower and had no water running through it. Walking through this narrow chasm of rock walls, worn into voluptuous curves, was another reminder of the power of moving water.
And like the sensuous curves in the two gorges, I too, can sometimes experience a beautiful destructive power. I am strong like stone, but weak enough to be worn into something beautiful. Life’s trials have polished some of my rough edges, removing layers of my ego-armor, and creating something new and more alive in its smoother surface. I don’t curse the power of water or the power of life’s challenges. They make me who I am. Changed. Softened. New.