Earth & Sea

After a few summers of sargasso overwhelm, I began to focus on protecting our beachfront. That eventually led to sewing giant experimental barriers and learning through repeated failures, repairs, and redesigns. What began as a practical experiment slowly became something deeper: a lesson in adaptation, persistence, and living in conversation with a changing coastline.

What began as an attempt to protect our beach from erosion slowly changed the way I saw sargasso entirely. By layering seaweed behind rocks and covering it with sand, we watched dunes begin to form and plants take root where bare shoreline once existed. Over time, the coastline itself seemed to start adapting — reminding me that in nature, even the things we first experience as destruction can sometimes become the foundation for renewal.

At first, I saw sargasso as whimsical washing onto Caribbean shorelines. But over time, living with it began changing the way I understood the ocean itself. Tangled in the floating seaweed were plastics, debris, and signs of larger environmental imbalance. I began wondering whether the sargasso was not simply invading the coastline, but responding to the condition of the waters it moves through.

Living off-grid at Mahai has changed the way we think about waste, water, and our relationship with the natural world. Without municipal infrastructure, we’ve had to build systems that work with the environment rather than simply pushing consequences out of sight. Over time, our humedales became more than infrastructure — they became a reminder that in nature, nothing truly disappears.

At Mahai, living off-grid was not originally a philosophical choice — it was a necessity. With no electrical or municipal water infrastructure reaching our stretch of coastline, we built the property around solar energy, rainwater collection, and ecological wastewater systems. Over time, what began as necessity became something deeper: a different relationship with the natural rhythms and resources that sustain daily life.