There’s No Place Like Home

“Just swim towards my voice,” my ex-Air Force friend Nan said as she swam confidently in front of me. I flipped over on my back and stared at the crystal blue Mexico sky. “Go to your happy place,” she yelled.

“Shouldn’t a warm sandy beach in Mexico be a happy place?” I thought. I decided to picture myself back in my desert home floating in my swimming pool on my squishy blue raft. I knew if I kept my thoughts on home and focused on my friend’s assuring words, I would be ok. I hoped I would be ok. I began to recite my favorite psalm over and over in my head.

It had started as an end of the school year vacation to Puerto Peñasco, Mexico. My daughter, husband, and I were asked to join two other families for four days of sun and relaxation at a beautiful villa facing the Gulf of Mexico. We had all traveled to this region before, but had never seen the beach, or the town for that matter. Every year, over President’s Day weekend, we would travel to Rocky Point on a house building trip with a large group. There, we would tent camp in the sand and work from dawn to dusk to build a home for a local family. At the end of three days, almost miraculously and without power tools, there would stand a modest stucco home. The family, who worked alongside us, would receive their keys and a blessing on the last day in an emotional exchange. These trips were always so rewarding, but there was no time to relax, no showers, no margaritas. This trip would be different.

We loaded our stuff and kids into three cars and made the easy five hour drive from Mesa, stopping once after crossing the border for a rest stop and local beer. Then our little caravan turned east and drove along the gentle curve of the Gulf of Mexico. There were no views really except flat land and sand; I was looking forward to seeing the water. As we entered the residential “resort” It became apparent to me that shifting sand must be an ongoing battle for locals. There is simply nothing for it to grab onto. Very little vegetation, or landscape. We parked and looked around at the amenities. There was a tennis court in decent shape, and since we all played, we agreed we would give that a go in the morning. There was a club house with a pool that our kids were eager to see, but during a recent storm, the pool had filled with sand, and there was a crew working to empty the contents. There would be no pool time on this trip. But who needs a pool when you have the Gulf of Mexico steps from your villa?

After some exploring, we made our way to our villa. It had a walled entrance, a courtyard, a casita and a main house with several bedrooms and a kitchen. This was definitely an upgrade from the pit toilets and hard, cold ground of the house building trips. The living area opened up into a large raised patio with an outdoor fireplace. The kids were running through the house choosing their rooms. It was going to be a trip full of quiet and loud moments.

I stepped through the chaos for a moment alone on the patio. I willed my shoulders to relax, and my mind to clear, and took in the view before me. The buff colored sand appeared to softly melt into an expanse of blue and turquoise water as far as the eye could see. I could mix those colors. Perhaps I could try my hand at a sea scape. I looked down the beach to my right and pictured myself taking a long walk. I bet there are things to explore down there. That would be nice. Maybe tomorrow. Just then my silent contemplation was broken by a band of children running past me to the beach. There were beautiful shells everywhere, and the kids began collecting with abandon. Soon, the patio wall became a showplace for the hundreds of shells that were collected.

We settled in for the night with a light dinner and Mexican beer. A fire was built on the patio and some of the kids tried their hand at net fishing with flashlights on the shore. The older kids stayed on the patio to discuss politics with the adults. They would be leaving the nest soon; these moments were precious.

Soon the conversation yielded to silence, which was the telltale sign that it was time for bed. Tomorrow would be epic. We needed rest.

As morning broke, the bright gulf sun rousted us from bed. Coffee was made, breakfast eaten and it was time for the adults to play tennis. This gang did not sit still. The same gusto that got a house built in three days was present in every tennis match. There were grunts and “in your face” type of comments as the competitive spirit rose from the sandy court. Soon the sun chased us to the cooler coastal air. But again, sitting still was not an option. So a volleyball net was erected on the sandy beach and play ensued. The seven kids were invited to join us, some playing for the first time. It was interesting to see their personalities emerge in the game. Some were encouraging to others, some easily frustrated; some couldn’t care less and just wanted to play in the water.

Soon, the gulf water won. It was shallow and warm, perfect for kids. Our friend Steve warned us to be cautious, however; there were small sting rays here and they were the same color as the sand. Shuffle your feet was his advice. Ok, noted.

Included with our villa was an afternoon meal prepared by two local ladies. Today it was ceviche and homemade guacamole. They called us to the patio when it was ready and we ate heartily. Finally, the pace slowed a bit. The gusto of our busy competitive group gave way to talk of reading and naps. The moms (Nan, Beth and I) began to hatch a plan to take a walk down the beach sans kids. Which put the boys in change of all seven kids. But they were capable.

By now the sun was lower in the sky but still intense. We could hop in the water as we walked to cool off, being careful to watch for stingrays of course. We hydrated and headed out.

The walk was glorious. The water sparkled in the afternoon sun and the tide created little shallow pools and islands to explore. The conversation ran the gamut from our children to our past adventures. These were hardy ladies. They had accomplished great things and were brave in spirit. It felt good to be in the company of woman who enjoyed and valued the same things as I did.

Water and beach memories began to dominate the conversation; Nan was a strong swimmer in high school, and Beth had been bitten by a shark once. Wait, what? I was surprised and not surprised. Beth had often reveled outrageous details about her life in small modest moments. Teenage beauty queen, lottery winner, shark bite victim. Amazing. Now I was scanning the water for sting rays and sharks alike. You couldn’t be too careful.

The flat shore to our north began rise and form a bluff. Up ahead we could see a small inlet where the gulf flowed into an estuary that spilled into a waterway behind the bluff. You could see the high-rises in town beyond the estuary, and some fishermen had parked their truck on the opposite side of the inlet. There was also a small dark shiny creature glistening in the sun and resting just across from us. What was that? We were curious folk, and we could not let this opportunity for adventure pass us by. Our conversation reminded me of the scene from the movie “Stand by Me” where the kids go on quest to see a dead body.

A plan was hatched to go see the creature. The estuary was not that wide and, in most places, you could touch the bottom. This was no problem for Nan and Beth, they were strong swimmers. I took a moment to assess the safety of the adventure for myself. I was not a strong swimmer, but if I could touch bottom, I would be fine. But what of the stingrays and sharks? I discussed my concern with the girls. We decided we would swim and keep our feet from touching the bottom to decrease our chances of getting stung. If we needed to rest we could stand on the bottom for a moment and then continue. It would be fine. I looked over my shoulder back towards our villa, which was now out of sight. We still had a few hours of daylight, what’s the worst thing that could happen?

The planning discussion morphed into giggling as we made our way across the estuary. Nan took the lead, then Beth, then me. They were talking and laughing and swimming and I chimed in occasionally with a one-liner. That was my way. Especially when I was nervous. About half way across the water I decided to rest. I was out of breath and needed to regroup. I swung my legs from the top of the water behind me to the sandy floor below.

Except there was no sand floor. Just water, and more water. As I looked up I realized the tide had been rising as we had been swimming across. I glanced at my friends, who had almost reached the other side. Now, knowing I was in trouble, I tried to get their attention. But I could barely stay afloat and I did not have the ability to shout. I began to panic and thought “so this is how it ends, in an estuary in Mexico.” My normally low heart rate was racing. I was gasping for air. “Get ahold of yourself,” I thought. I rolled over on my back and told myself that I could do it. I gulped in air as calmly as I could muster and slowly moved towards the shore. I can still remember hearing the voices of my friends on the other side, totally unaware of my peril. “This is how people drown,” I thought. “Quietly, and when no one is watching; is anyone watching?” Just then, I felt my head hit the sand. That beautiful buff Mexican sand, that blows around without any consideration to anyone or anything, was my safe resting place.

I crawled onto the shore. By now Nan and Beth looked back and noticed that something had gone wrong. I am a joker, but at this moment I was dead serious. “I almost drowned, you guys.” It took a moment for them to realize my truth. They were sorry that they hadn’t noticed; perhaps crossing was a foolish decision, but sometimes bad choices are made on vacation when your guard is down. Sometimes rational, educated people travel a very long way—say, from Ohio to the Grand Canyon—only to make one wrong step and fall into the abyss. I read those books, I know those stories. After my heart rate returned to normal, I was able to conjured up a one liner. “At least I wasn’t stung by a stingray, right?” We gathered ourselves for a moment, and assessed the situation. There was the small issue of returning across the estuary to get back to the villa. The sun was sinking, and the tide was still rising. Now I did not see sparkling gulf water before me; I saw dangerous fast-moving water and it terrified me.

Beth laid out our options. “We could walk around the estuary, we could ask for a ride from the guys in the truck, or we could swim back across.” The guys were not an option. Stranger danger. Walking was not an option; we had no shoes, no drinking water and we’d be cut to ribbons in the reeds. We would have to swim back across. I didn’t want to even think about it. I looked away from the water, hoping to find a safe place for my eyes to rest, and my friends followed suit. We all took a deep breath. And that was the moment when we all noticed the very thing that compelled us across the channel in the first place. The shiny black creature. “Let’s go at least have a look,” Nan said. “I mean, we are here, right?” It was a decent plan. Maybe that would help change a channel in my brain and I could revisit the task of returning to the evil water in a new light.

The shiny black creature turned out to be a dead dolphin. Not a romantic discovery, and yet fantastical and intriguing nonetheless. Nature had already set about the business of returning this creature to the earth. Her eyes and face were in a disturbing state, but her skin still glistened. We wondered how she had lived her life in the sea, free and without worry, and was she a mom like us?

We said our respects and returned to the task of the crossing. The guys in the truck were still there, that might be a better choice after all. And that’s when Nan spoke up; “Dyana, this time, we will all be together, we won’t leave you behind, this is doable.” Beth, also an encouraging force, assured me, “You can do this, we won’t leave you behind.” No man left behind, ok then. If they think I’ll be ok, then I need to believe that. Plus it’s getting late, the men folk will start to worry. Let’s get this done. I stared into the now very deep, fast-moving water. “Slow and steady,” I thought.

My friends went just ahead of me. I waded into the water backwards, so I would not see the enormity of the expanse and freak out. I thought about all the challenges God had brought me through so far, all the ways he had protected me. I thought about the women in my life who supported and encouraged me, and I hoped in a small way I had done the same for them when they most needed it.

The water slowly enveloped me.

I felt strangely comfortable, not at all panicked like on the maiden voyage across. The sky was such an amazing shade of blue. I was grateful that I had a safe home to focus my thoughts on, and I thought about the many Mexican families on our home-building trips who were so grateful when we handed them the keys to their homes.

“Dyana, its over,” I heard Beth say from shore. I flipped over, and this time my feet hit a sandy bottom. I waded the rest of the way to the shore. It was over. We were all safe. I glanced over my shoulder at our dolphin friend on the other shore. I was sad she could not celebrate with us. I thanked God for her life, my life, and the lives of my friends. And then I started running.

“I’ll see you at the villa!” I yelled at my friends as I ran towards our temporary home. I wanted to see my husband and tell him the story. I wanted to be held. About a quarter of a mile or so from the villa I could see a figure standing on the sand near the shore. As I approached, I could see that it was my husband. I picked up the pace and ran harder. His hands were on his hips; he looked concerned. Were we gone that long? Was he worried? I bet he was. How sweet. I threw my arms around his neck and exclaimed “I almost drowned!”

“Where have you been?” he asked. Before I could answer he blurted out “Steve got pierced though the foot by a stingray. Mark had to take him to town to see a doctor. I’ve been here alone with seven kids!”

Wait, what? It was obvious that Beth’s husband was trying to play catch up with some outrageous details about his life. “Married Beth, stung by a stingray in Mexico.”

There was no time to tell my story at the moment. We watched over the kids, updated the ladies when they arrived, and waited for Steve and Mark to return from town. And return they did, Steve with a bandaged foot and tales of a magical injection, Mark with a story of how great and affordable Mexican health care is, and more beer.

That night after dinner by the fire, the peril of the day slowly morphed into vacation lore. You know, the stories you tell when you are old and gray, about the time so-and-so almost drowned in Mexico, and the Mexican doctor and the epic game of volleyball, and oh, did Beth ever mention that she played volleyball in the Olympics? It might be true.

As laughter rolled, and the fire’s smoke rose into the indigo sky, I thought about the new lessons I had learned from the day’s adventure.

Later, while safe in bed, in my travel journal I wrote: “When your life is in peril, listen to you friends, take a deep breath, and repeat, ‘there’s is no place like home’.”

Dyana Hesson, December 2019