Maria Mora, above with her son, is a freelance writer and blogger based in St. Petersburg. She wrote a beautiful piece on why she loves the gulf and agreed to allow me to publish it here as a guest post. Mora blogs about parenting issues on Mommy Melee; you also can follow her on Twitter @MariaMelee.

I know the Gulf of Mexico.

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I’m eight-years-old on my hands and knees on the bright blue deck of my father’s fishing boat. The rough sand-and-paint mixture of the deck digs into my knees but I remain still, my small face crammed against a hole in the rail at the bow. I watch a pod of dolphins as they surf in the swell of our wake. Their shadows flicker under the surface until they break, jumping and glistening in the sun.

I’m riding along as the boat moves from Tarpon Springs to Bayboro Harbor to load nets before the long trip around Florida and up the Eastern Seaboard to fishing grounds off the coast of Massachusetts.

The sun beats down on my back. We follow the shore and tuck ourselves under the new Skyway Bridge.

From the crow’s nest, the gulf waters look green and blue and black and yellow — the gleaming skin of a living body of water.

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