Sandbanks

I am watching the tide receding quickly, exposing more and more beach criss-crossed by ribbons of silvery water. A little way out I can see a large flock of terns initially seeming to be afloat but on closer inspection clearly enjoying a feast of small creatures in the shallows around a sandbank. They are packed together, rising up and dropping down, flashing grey and white in the sun. Within just a few minutes the sandbank is clearly visible, a golden island with its own small breaking waves and its own transient ecosystem until, a few minutes later still it is gone, left behind by the falling water and deserted by the rising terns as it becomes just a piece of beach indistinguishable from any other. Blink and you'd miss it.

The house we are once again staying in here on the North Norfolk coast shares its name with one of these sandbanks, a larger one further out in The Wash, only exposed at the lowest of low tides, 'Silversands'. A friend of ours once had a picnic lunch on this isolated little island as he kayaked across from Norfolk to Lincolnshire! We have swum out to smaller sandbanks here, suddenly finding our fingertips stroking the corrugated sandy seabed and then no longer able to swim but standing up in ankle deep water hundreds of meters from the shoreline. Time spent on a sandbank is precious, a fleeting interlude to be savoured whether for a brief rest as a swimmer or for a source of food as a seabird. The most precious of all is time spent here at Silversands. I know we've written about this in our blog before but I make no apologies because it is truly a magical place, I don't think I know anywhere more relaxing, more peaceful, more perfect. My sister Dawn visited us here this week having been here perhaps half a dozen times before but not for over 10yrs. She said it felt like coming home. 

The difference in our two visits so far this year after our 10 years away has been the weather and, this time in particular, the wild flowers. We always used to come here in winter when our walks meant leaning into the strong wind and often icy rain, wrapped up warm and returning to the cosy house with glowing cheeks and cold fingers. It was a grey landscape where only the hardiest shrubs and grasses clung onto the dunes and only the dead stalks and sculptural seed-heads gave a hint of what had grown there during the long forgotten summer. It was beautiful and we always loved it but to see it in summer is a totally different experience. The dunes and the banks of the sea walls (built to protect the delicate coast from the ravages of longshore drift and to guard against inland flooding) are home to the most amazing array of flowers I think I've ever seen, every colour, shape and texture, all perfectly adapted to life in the salty sandy marshes. Sea holly, evening primrose, knapweed, sea purslane, samphire (delicious!), harebells, poppies, black mustard, stonecrop, bramble, vetch, clover, mallow, rosebay willow-herb, woody nightshade, fennel, valerian, wild parsnip, sea-lavender, bedstraw, bindweed, camomile, teasel, ox-eye daisy, ragwort, thistle, goat's beard, leafy hawkweed, pyramidal orchid.....and they are just the ones we've identified.

So we have spent the week wandering through these flowers, along the dunes, out to the beach past the brightly painted beach huts, along raised sea-walls and swimming in the late afternoon when the tide is high and the shallow water is warm, enjoying long huge breakfasts after a run or a walk, sitting in the sun with a book and an ice cream. Days governed by meals and snacks, by the weather and the tide which makes such a welcome change from days and weeks governed by Nick's next hospital appointment or the next time she needs to take some medication or have another injection. Silversands is our sandbank in the choppy sea of cancer and we are so happy here feasting on the metaphorical bounty of sea creatures (actually we have feasted on quite a lot of very real sea creatures too!) and resting on our swim through this disease, its treatment and all that goes with it. Cancer is a stark reminder of how easily the balance of the body can be upset, how one tiny group of cells can just stick up two fingers to your healthy equilibrium and your comfortable life. The shoreline habitat is a beautiful reminder of harmony and balance, of nature at its best and strolling through it feels restorative.

We have reached another natural resting point; the six cycles of CHOP chemo are complete, the stem cell harvest is done and there is just one more intra-thecal chemo to go. Nick feels well and has good levels of immunity at the moment but her body needs this time to rest and recuperate after both the ravages of lymphoma and the harsh treatment to which it has been subjected, to strengthen its muscles and lay down some reserves in preparation for the final slog. This is likely to involve a month in hospital having 'high-dose chemotherapy treatment with stem cell support'. We both need this time to repair our somewhat tattered emotions after the last few weeks and months of uncertainty and anxiety. Being here again means we can forget about all that (apart from the fact that Nick's hair is almost gone for the second time) and lie back on the sand for a while.