East on Shinnecock Bay

     It's a hot, breezy day on Long Island. Partly cloudy, but  brilliantly blue skies and a challenging chop on the water made for a good workout. It's the first time this summer I've spent any time in my own boat, and it felt really good. My form is a little off, and my old instructor would have faulted me on posture and stroke, but I got into rhythm several times and hit a sweet spot a few times where everything just flowed. The Olympic athletes inspired me enough to get out and push it a little, and I'm grateful for the inspiration.

     My route today is probably my favorite paddle -- along the shore of the Shinnecock reservation. If I ignore the big mansions along one side of the bay, it's easy to imagine myself back several centuries because only a few homes on the rez show through the gorgeous shoreline of woods, marsh grasses and a waterside habitat for birds that is remarkable. I watched a pair of osprey hunt the waters of the bay to find fish for their young. I saw majestic and elegant snowy egrets wade the grasses. I disturbed a convention of 25 cormorants bobbing on the water, and they let me know their displeasure as they took off together to avoid my kayak passing nearby.

     Yesterday I visited the Shinnecock Cultural Museum, getting a guided tour of the main exhibits by a board member, Elizabeth "Princess Chee Chee" Haille. Chee Chee proudly and easily talked of the 10,000 year history of her ancestors, especially how complex and adaptive was the way of life developed by the Shinnecock, "people of the shore." It  was her ancestors who taught the Europeans such important things as the technologies needed to become whalers. David Martine, director of the museum, reminded us that the taking of whales so important to Shinnecock and later, English and American peoples was a spiritual act -- part of a vision of life wherein the creatures used by men and women were gratefully received as gifts. All the sustaining gifts of nature, meat, fish and plants, were understood to be of God and meant to be used well and thoughtfully. (Cf.www.shinnecockmuseum.com)

     I sampled some of the delicious oysters cultivated by a current Shinnecock resident, and some of the beans and corn staple, "samp" that sustained people through many hard times. The current members of the tribe are proud of their history and culture. Of special pride to Chee Chee and other leaders is a corps of young tribal members being trained in some of the ancient crafts and skills like wigwam and canoe construction, all in preparation for a demonstration Shinnecock village set to open next year. A friend,  Metauqus Tarrant, is among the teachers of these ancient skills to young people and showed me a throwing stick he crafted, used in hunting, along with some of the long arrows formerly used to bring down game to feed the people.

     All in all, it was a rich and full weekend. My body is pleasantly tired out. My mind is full of powerful and moving moments of connection with some really good people. My heart is grateful.

    

Finding Real at the Olympics

     Like a lot of people, I get Olympics fever the first several days of the sports spectacle. The wonderful mix of noble and silly, grand and petty provides me hours of watchable television that eventually will grab me less and less -- but these first few days are addicting!

     NBC has been criticized roundly for packaging the games -- they are, after all, a lucrative platform for  pricey commercials. But I have to admit, the package is compelling: athletes, mostly young, all earnest and in great shape, putting their best efforts on the line in some engaging and exciting ways -- what's not to like?

      I find myself cheering hard and exhorting this or that man or woman to stick it or dig or push just a little harder,  even though I know the event I'm getting excited about may have already finished and the arena is now actually dark! I sometimes cheat the TV illusion of live competition by going online for the scores --but I can still get caught up in the emotions of the moment whether I know the results or not. Sports can do that to us, getting us jazzed up and caring about the outcomes.

     What I care most about, I find, are the human moments. The cliches don't lose their power, like grace under pressure, courage in the dark moments, and composure in defeat. A great set of examples came in the womens' gymnastics. The "Fabulous Five" U.S. team were amazing in victory in the team competition -- but this happened after some disappointing performances a few days ago in the all-around competition. What touched me even more than the girls' comeback was the response of their Russian counterparts who had collapsed in their efforts -- wining a medal, but faltering badly doing it. The Russian girls' faces were warm and respectful, downright gracious, as they shook the hands of the American girls -- a class act. They cared about winning as much as anyone, I'm sure -- but in the end, human being to human being, warrior to warrior if you will, there's warm respect and even affection for strong, successful opponents who called out the best in them.

     I think we play and watch sports because they afford us an experience in which life gets cranked up a notch and we get to care about something as fleeting as whether a ball or a foot is inside or outside a line. The amazing shape these athletes embody remind us of the great gifts like strength, agility, speed and balance available to us as human animals. The shared experience of caring about a game's outcome or whether or not someone got a medal connects us with thousands, indeed millions of fellow human beings in something fun and decent.

     We could be doing much worse than caring about how our young Olympians are doing. Our lives get enlarged by theirs -- their sterling efforts can inspire us and hearten us. They remind us that the human family is wondrous and full of life. In the midst of how venal and violent we can be with one another, these are some good moments. And that's something.