Beneath the Timber Pier — Marlene on the Shipworm

Late in the afternoon, with the tide out, Marlene walks beneath the old timber pier. Light falls between the boards in narrow strips. The sand is wet enough to hold each footprint; farther out, a shallow channel still carries water toward the sea.

Marlene rests a hand against a piling and moves it slowly over the rough surface. Small bore holes interrupt the grain. From a little distance the timber looks solid. Close up, there are openings into work that cannot be seen.

The shipworm is a mollusc, despite its name. Teredo navalis bores into submerged wood, making damage that can remain hidden behind an ordinary-looking surface. These holes alone cannot say which species made them, or how much timber remains inside. A hand on the outside cannot measure what has been lost.

In 1732, a dramatic shipworm outbreak in the Netherlands was read as an invasion from the Orient and a punishment from God. Faced with failing wood, people sought an explanation larger than the animal. The danger was real, even if that account of its arrival was not settled knowledge. The native region of Teredo navalis remains unknown.

Under the pier, the scale is smaller: one opening, then another, a drop gathering on a dark ridge of grain. Above, the deck continues toward the water. Its familiar shape gives little indication of what is happening underneath.

Marlene takes a hand from the piling and steps around a pool. Along this edge of land, timber holds a place for people to stand over the sea. It has to keep doing that while the sea, and the small lives within it, slowly take the wood away.