the lowcountry of South Carolina, I would have to take you to
the marsh on a spring day, flush the great blue heron from its
silent occupation, scatter marsh hens as we sink to our knees
in mud, open you an oyster with a pocketknife and feed it to
you from the shell and say, ‘There. That taste. That’s the taste
of my childhood.’ I would say. ‘Breathe deeply,’ and you would
breathe and remember that smell for the rest of your life ...
My soul grazes like a lamb on the beauty of indrawn tides.”
The odor that Conroy insists one must smell to believe
comes from the decomposing of decaying spartina leaves.
This dead plant matter is called detritus. It mingles with
bacteria, fungi and other microorganisms to begin a
complicated cycle that provides nutrients to a variety of
insects, invertebrates, fish, birds, and ultimately the spartina
itself.
Not only do marshes have a unique taste and smell, they
make sounds. Those living close to a marsh will attest to the
variety of sounds ranging from the noisy clapper rails and
marsh hens to the subtle squirts from oyster beds and clicks
of fiddler crabs. Listen carefully when walking near a muddy
marsh right before the tide comes in to hear a “pop, pop,
pop” similar to the noise of a percolator. Hundreds of bigclaw
snapping shrimp, only two inches in length, are eating. As
Andrew Hudgins described in his poem “Child on the Marsh”:
And even as a child, I heard …
the lovely sucking sound of earth
that followed me, gasped, called my name
as I stomped through the mud, wrenched free,
and heard the earth’s voice under me.
In addition to being what some people refer to as a
“nursery” to the sea, saltwater marshes also perform a filtering
process that removes toxins and sediment from the water.
The twice-daily coming and going of the tide allows the plants
to break down pollutants and act as a water treatment facility.
Marshes also serve as buffers from the constant motion of the
waves and to some degree can absorb a hurricane storm surge.
Ethereal and earthy, steadfast and dynamic, the saltwater
marshes are an essential part of Kiawah Island. Kayak
through them on a moonlit night, search for crab from their
edges, or simply gaze upon them from a porch or pier. Slog
through pluff mud, eat a raw oyster, and listen for a clapper
rail. As Rachel Carson wrote in The Edge of the Sea:
To stand at the edge of the sea, to sense the ebb and flow
of the tides, to feel the b ɕ