As I climb to the end of this summer and we voyage back to Monterey for my final year, I am given an opportunity to reflect on my experiences. My own feelings of my time with Secure Fisheries and the work with Somalis plus the connections that I made reminded me of the narrator’s view of the sea and world around her/him:

 

Break, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

And I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me.

 

O, well for the fisherman’s boy,

That he shouts with his sister at play!

O, well for the sailor lad,

That he sings in his boat on the bay!

 

And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill;

But O for the touch of a vanish’d hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!

 

Break, break, break

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!

But the tender grace of a day that is dead

Will never come back to me.

I will sorely miss the people who have made my time working with Secure Fisheries who welcomed a stranger for a few months and taught me so much relating to the marine policy and conservation field. Additional appreciation goes to all Somalis who taught me so much about the history and life of Somalia and Somaliland—I will sorely miss their sonorous laughter. My deepest gratitude is extended to those who made Boulder my home. Friends who visited and friends who I saw in my final days noted that the set up that I had was pretty perfect. I wish I could have stayed longer and continued our nightly outings and weekend adventures, but alas:

 

And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill;

But O for the touch of a vanish’d hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!

 

Perhaps I my end will be different than the narrator’s and will come back to the people and the place—for our stories are steered by us and for us.