“It’s another fine day across Mud Bay/Livin’ by the moon and tide!”
—Burl Sheldon, Another Fine Day
Homestead life is very different from my former occupation. I pursued a broadcasting career for 16 years. That work required to-the-second timing. The ballet of synchronization became so ingrained that years after my last shift, I still dream about it.
Now, we’re attuned to natural rhythms, far more reliant on them than on clock time. My life runs on daylight and tide. I still wear a watch to help planning, to keep us on time for concerts, meetings, and daily radio programs, and to satisfy curiosity. But I’m far less reliant on it now than in my former life.
To leave our peninsular home we must cross Mud Bay. The bay is shallow, but a small creek running through it creates a low spot flooded by the tide.
The tidal range in our region can be more than 25 feet. We choose our tide and walk, or cross the bay by boat.
We can cross fairly directly in calf-high rubber boots up to a 13-foot tide. Anything higher requires hip boots, allowing another foot or so, or a hike around the head of the bay. Hiking around is a poor option. It takes longer. The tidal meadow is a favorite spot for bears and moose in summer. Winter cold make it miserable. Waves can build up in the bay, making it unsafe to cross by boat.
Tides aren’t consistent across the entire range, but it is predictable. We use tide tables and “the rule of twelfths” to pinpoint crossing parameters. The rule divides the difference between high and low tide into twelfths, then uses that value to predict the height at each hour within the range.
We also use tide-plotting software that shows the curve of the tide, over which we can lay a marker at any desired height. Laying the marker at 13 feet shows us the times we can cross in the tidal range.
These methods provide a general time frame. Actual water levels vary within the plotted range depending on conditions. Southerly wind raises the level of the flow, or slows the ebb. Rain swells the creek above predicted levels. We keep a weather eye out, and adjust our crossings accordingly. We also rely on our knowledge of the terrain, crossing at points that offer different advantages depending on tide and current. Mistakes can mean boots full of ice-cold water, and soaked “town” pants.
The transition has been wonderful from timed-to-the-second work to “livin’ by the moon and tide,” as my neighbor, Burl Sheldon sings. Our current conditions are certainly harsher, more exacting, with potentially deadly consequences, but I wouldn’t trade them for any other lifestyle in the world.
You will find a version of the essay above, as well as writing on similar and related topics in the ebook, Sacred Coffee: A “Homesteader’s” Paradigm by Mark A. Zeiger. The ebook version will likely be expanded, clarified, or updated from what you have just read.