There used to be water that flowed in and out of Bahia.
There was enough water that people took out sailboats in the evenings and Sunday afternoons.
Once, we even took out an old red motorboat with my grandfather. With fishing rod in hand, I plucked our earthworm bait from a styrofoam container of dirt.
When I was little, my dad promised he would teach me how to sail our little blue sailboat. Then, my Bahia was a tidal lagoon and you could sail all the way to the Pacific Ocean from my front yard. Even Bahia’s name, the Spanish word for “bay,” implied the presence of water.
But now, it’s mostly silt—- salty mud perfect for a thriving marshland.
Surrounded by reeds, boats sit locked in mud and wait for the next sail that will likely never come.