Mon-

And yet it can all swing in a moment.  Torrential rain, cold nearly into the thirties, a raw gusting wind, long bitter nights are yet possible, even likely.  Stretches of nasty dark days may string out between equally long periods of perfect afternoons.  So you try to appreciate each hour for what it is, don’t worry too much about what is coming next, enjoy the pink and white floats of the dogwoods.  Not really a bad way to appreciate quite a few moments of life.
Tue-

For a month now pollen has been causing us to sniffle and sneeze.  Over the last few weeks at least insects have been busily flitting about.  The results of some of that orgy of pollination are now visible day by day, as in these seeds blowing off merrily into the strong breeze.

With the general scenic landscape changing so dramatically day by day, it is sometimes hard to remember that all that vast transformation is the accumulation of infinite tinier individual actions by trees and grasses and everything else.  One tree, one branch, one set of leaves, one small bundle of small brown seeds on white parachutes are easily overlooked and ignored.  Yet in some ways, that is what is real _ the scenes we stitch together are just figments of our minds.  Ah, the nature of reality, eh?  No, back to the perfumes and the perfect day and just being grateful for everything that is.
Wed-

All the subtle shades of spring greens are on display from the Coindre hillside, although my photographs do the scene no justice.  Without the cries of numerous birds, the sharp wind blowing off the harbor, the occasional perfumed scent rising above the simply fresh smell of new growth, no purely visual composition can do more than hint at the entirety of this experience.  Yet, in a purely visual sense, the variation of hues is magnificent.

So much of our civilized world centers on sight, with only an occasional wave to sound or other senses.  Some spend hours and hours entranced in no more than images on a screen or on paper.  Our brain keeps running its little kingdom, it is true, and our thoughts rush unimpeded by what pours in from outside, ignoring how uncomfortable our seat is, or how tired our eyes, or even if we are hungry.  And when other senses do intrude, they are often ignored as much as possible.  It is important sometimes to give in, center in one place, and expand to actually notice everything possible for a moment or so.
Thu-

Not much to add here.  Dingy ready for action.  Blue waves.  Boats waiting at moorings.  The only additional note would be a chilled wind, which keeps the nautical action in check.  Besides, it’s a weekday, and except for the clammers nobody is about to go
out before Memorial Day.

As I get older and grumpier, I tend to think of this stretch of road as my own personal domain, and kind of resent the weekend.  Then I must share it with many people out for an occasional stroll, lots of joggers, bicycle tours, folks walking their dogs, constant cars and pickups and motorcycles.  On the other hand,  I’m glad I don’t have to pay for or do all the necessary upkeep, so having it available to the public is a good thing.
Fri-

Azaleas planted by my father-in-law forty or so years ago still bloom profusely and magnificently every year.  This is one of the connections to the past represented even in the midst of the future promises of spring and a new growing season.  Traces of what was continue, or die, or are built upon.  An extended drama of life that only humans with their strange consciousnesses are ever aware of.

Like the rest of the children of nature, we must exist in the moment and manage to survive hour to hour and day to day.  Pursuing dreams which deny those fundamental realities are usually tragic.  Yet it is our unique gift that we can dream of more than the moment or the hour or the day.  We remember, we plan, we hope, we fear _ none of these center in the instant where we actually experience the world.  That is a profound wonder.
Sat-

Leaves are all out, framing views.  Boats dot the placid surface of the inlet.  In fifty years, this will all be submerged, leaving only old pictures and writing, perhaps, for the next generations to imagine.  We are living through a slow-motion Pompeii, able to watch changes as they occur, perhaps able to flee the catastrophe and survive, perhaps not.

It seems selfish, in such awful scenarios, to say, “ah, but I have today and it is magnificent.”  Yet as a human, is that not the proper response?  Many things are out of each of our hands _ nothing I do today or tomorrow makes any difference at all.  It never did, in spite of American myth.  If I waste this beauty, is that not also a perversion of the miracle of my actual existence? 
Sun-

Interesting flowers on a tree that I cannot identify.  This photo shows why I will never make a nature photographer.  The lack of identification shows why I cannot be a decent botanist.  But why should I want to?  There are plenty of photographers and botanists out there.  Only one me, walking around on a delightful Saturday afternoon.

One of the evils of our society is specialization, even in our leisure and hobbies.  Consumer culture and prevalent social myths insist it is important to strive to be the best, to achieve as much as you can, never to settle for mere naïve experience.  So the feeling is that if you must photograph, start doing so with focus and composition and paying attention to the details of the craft.  Balderdash.  Unless your livelihood and life depend on your expertise, I think you should happily remain as ignorant as possible about details, and simply enjoy the great platter of life spread before you.

  

    

 

 

  

Mon-

Inevitably, at any such annual event, the unbidden thought comes asking “will this be the last I will see.”  It is morbid, of course, and could have been asked any of the many years prior.  But so many peers and those slightly older now become commonly impaired on a routine basis that worry is natural.  On the other hand, it does heighten the sense of adventure and enjoyment and determination to make each day and hour as memorable as possible, all the time.  Take nothing for granted.

The far shore is rapidly becoming a wall of green.  Any close look yields convincing evidence either that a plant is well on its way to summer or has succumbed to winter.  The sun continues to scream that it is getting lovely and warm, but the breeze often begs to differ.

By now, primal rhythms in our own blood have cast deciding votes.  Young folks are as helpless as ducks caught in hormonal mating tides.   Only bloodless elders like me find ourselves observing the dance more or less dispassionately.  But even that is fun, now, as I am convinced at least for a little while that in spite of all its immense problems, the world continues on its course.
Wed-

Even the algae changes now, brilliant green in the bright sun.  The crystal clear water comes to an end soon, as all the various organic components awake and turn it murky, a surprising sign of vitality.  For the moment, it is easy to see the bottom from the dock.

Invisible in the picture, but definitely present, are shoots of green reeds, pushing upward inches a day, racing to be ready to take full advantage of the summer.  Even though all we see now are the interesting brown remnants of previous summer, the stage had been set for their replacement already.  As it is, really, for each of us as well.

Fri-

Maybe out of focus, but the colors on this foggy morning are true.  Sometimes everything looks more brilliant and harmonious in mists.  Spring has such a range of wonderful hues, from the bright yellows to pastel reds to fresh greens.  A feast for the eyes.

On the other hand, maybe I am just too lazy to walk much beyond my driveway.  If I had a porch and a rocking chair, I would probably be sitting on it too much.

Sat-

Recently purchased flowers line the patio wall under an overhang protecting them from predicted thunderstorms.  Joan has everything ready to go into what I refer to as our Ita
lian garden.  I’m privileged, because except for mowing the lawn and trimming the bushes, I can just sit back and enjoy the labor of the genuine gardener.

This time of year I often feel guilty even sitting inside and writing about it, although I have a window directly before me.  It is if there is a wonderful gift of experience out there and I am ignoring it.  That in spite of the fact that I have been outside thousands or tens of thousands of times before.  Nevertheless, for me it never gets old.
Sun-

As the temperature suddenly hits the eighties, the world turns green.  Dune grass is up, the far hills are finally veiled, and local views are obscured by big leaves.  Lines of people are starting to show up on the beach, from which dogs will soon be banished until the fall. 

So we made it through an April that seemed like it would never end.  The summer seems to stretch away forever before us.  Those perceptions, too, will prove illusory as time goes on and each month fades back into those previous.  But for the moment, all the universe is timeless and wonderful and we almost wish it would pause here forever.

   

  

Mon-

Around our house, I am the people, and my updates require scraping and painting, trimming and cleaning, washing windows, and fertilizing the lawn.  I do the latter with some reluctance, but although I try to resist the stupider conventions of our society, I enjoy a decently green lawn as much as anyone around here.  Like them, I think “well, one more lawn can’t make that much of a difference.”  Hey, it’s probably good to remove carbon from the air, right?
Tue-

Wall Street goes along Mill Dam park tracing _ naturally _ the ancient wall that formerly surrounded the tidal mill pond itself.  This section simply winds along the base of the sand dune heaped up by the receding glaciers.  The sand for tens of thousands of years since has been gradually covered with a thin layer of topsoil, some of which naturally washes down, and you get a few pockets of decent fertility.  This cherry tree is taking advantage of it.

Until pesticides came along, this was the poor part of town.  The marshes bred mosquitoes, so everyone wanted to live a bit farther upland.   It’s fun having learned enough to enjoy many of the ghosts of the past which inhabit  this land.
Wed-

Coney’s marina has reactivated piloting yachts to their moorings in a little red gondola with orange bumpers along the side.  The dune grass is well advanced.  Still too cold for trees on the other side of the harbor to be joining into April.

This is a day that reminds me Long Island is a maritime province.  A cold northeast wind off the Atlantic is damp, raw, and wicked.  It’s hard to believe how a few centuries ago mariners would cruise through this and worse in sailing ships all the time, working the rigging, fishing, whaling.  We’ve become a very soft people, I suppose, but I for one am glad of it.
Thu=

Coindre boathouse in high water, nasty storm.  This picture shows why docks inevitably become useless, just old pilings rotting in the water.  The county sure has no money to keep fixing them up, barely enough to put up fence and “no trespassing” signs _ ignored until they ripped out the missing section.  The overall color today is that of bad dreams.

With May here, the temperature (one day behind) was a scant 40.  I hate
to complain (ok, I can’t prove that for anyone who looks at my entire year of observations) but some warmth seems in order.  I know we need rain, and I really try to be grateful for it, but I’m only human.
Fri-

Heavy fog as our temperatures finally return to normal for the first time this spring after extremely heavy rain.  What we have here is a chunk of marshland which edges most of the shores here above the sand.  This winter’s ice and the higher water have broken many such pieces off and stranded them as seen here.  It’s a graphic example of the decline of the local ecosystem. 

I’m not too worried about the spartina grass.  It adjusts pretty quickly and will recolonize the current lawns as the rising sea level floods them.  People enjoy discussing catastrophe as much as they can ignore its local manifestations.  I suspect in fifty years, whatever happens, everyone will have accepted the new normal.
Sat-

Tides in the spring can be extreme _ very high, or very low, as seen here.  Sometimes the docks are almost submerged, sometimes so much bottom is exposed that you half expect a tidal wave to be coming soon.  This is also the first time we start to pay attention to what the winter has wrought in terms of shifting sand _ some beaches are all but gone, some deep anchorages  have filled up. 

Of course, everyone wants to keep it as it was.  Where the sand has gone away, people try to truck it back, bulldoze or shovel it around.  Where the sand has filled it, boaters want it all dredged out and dumped somewhere else.  In the meantime, the state ecology department believes that whatever happens by itself in wetlands is by definition natural and often refuses to issue permits.  No matter what, a lot of effort and money is going to result.
Sun-

That boarded-up beach house will be opening in another month.  Cherry tree is in full blossom.  Dune grass is sprouting strongly.  Here we have a turtle’s-eye view up the beach, if there were any turtles left around here, which there are not, at least of the salt-water variety.  Nor any lobsters either, but the only way you know that is from the lack of piled lobster traps ready for the season, as there used to be until twenty years ago.

Weather now is often hour by hour.  A gap in the clouds, a brief cessation in the wind, will cause summer to glimmer for a half hour or more, then suddenly a chill will descend and everyone grabs coats and sweaters.  You can be taking a lovely sunlit walk or sweating crouched in a garden, and suddenly be splattered by raindrops, a shower gone as quickly as it comes by.   It’s all fine, if you plan as little as possible.

  

 

 

 

 

  

Mon –

Each day is a little like a drag race.  Starts pretty cold, maybe high thirties or low forties, then races up the thermometer with the sun until, depending on the wind, air hits sixty or higher, only to fall back as afternoon grows late.  Always looks nice, but you can’t tell what to wear without actually going out for a few minutes, and then you’re not sure because if you turn a corner into shade or wind you may need something totally different.
Tue-

Dandelions are so fine in April or March, and so much a pest by later summer.  In the beginning, they are cheerful little outposts of brilliance amidst almost endless brown dirt and dead stalks.  Through the magic of our thoughts, they transform into the deadly enemies of gardeners or of those seeking a magazine-perfect lawn.  Another victim of our ambivalent consciousness.

This year, it’s pretty late to be so early, so they are all the more welcome.  One of the few species that seems to be able to keep up with the ecological tragedy that is human effort.
Wed-

Blushes of red and green faintly halo the trees beyond the reeds.  In a few days the crowns will fill in and branches will more or less disappear.  The sky seems impossibly blue.

Just another April day, a little cool, nothing that a poet would rhapsodize Our lives are filled with these “ordinary” moments that are all filled with miracles that we never notice.  Experience is so infinitely abundant and overwhelming that we too quickly retreat into small trivia we think we can understand _ like our jobs or fixing the house _ and waste the gifts all around.
Thu-

These few weeks are demonstrations of microclimates.  Sheltered south-facing terrain is in full blossom, with some of the earlier species already past peak.  Sound-bordering northern slopes, exposed to the Canadian winds, are barely greening.  The maples here are in full bloom, but nothing else is willing to make an effort.  A half mile away, all the cherries are open and ready to be blown away with the next storm.

We too easily group everything together and call it “environment” or “nature’ when in fa
ct it varies tremendously.  “The environment” is made up of an awful lot of complex variables, which drives scientists nuts since they can’t control nor easily determine cause.  Unfortunately, that rarely cures their hubris.
Fri-

Now the reeds are getting into the act.  Like pokeweed, they shoot up almost unnoticed in last year’s dry rubble until magically one day they seem to be everywhere and four or six feet tall.  That is always a lesson in how much I miss even when I am carefully looking.

Once the sun reaches a certain angle and a couple of warm days have gotten rid of all the left-over freeze, most annuals are dependent on soil warmth to germinate, and even those perennials which die all the way back do the same.  Trees and birds are slaves to sunlight length.  People _ ah people want it to be exactly the right temperature all the time.

Sat-

In a few months, this parking lot will be filled with cars and children and sunbathers will be all over the beach.  Although this area is one of the least used, it’s convenience keeps a certain popularity, especially for small kids to play while parents gaze at the water.

Meanwhile, the cold and school limit visits during the week.  The cherry tree has made it through the blasts of winter unscathed even though the north wind continues to hold back all the trees along the horizon.  I can finally believe warm weather is just around the corner.

Sun-

These little red leaves look innocent enough.  Just another cute reminder that spring is here, taking away the dull browns and whites of hibernation.  But of course this is poison ivy _ in this case a huge plant extending far up a tree by the side of the road, a constant hazard to people walking by.  Those who know better avoid it carefully.

Were it not for the effects of the sap toxin, it would be a lovely plant.  Shiny, bright green all spring and summer, gorgeous red and orange in autumn, cute whitish berries in winter.  Wildlife loves it.  But like any of our own internal fatal flaws, that one little factor makes all the difference in how we perceive it.

 

 

 

  

Mon-

Everything is improving around here.  Improving means that trees are cut to make better views, parks are leveled and fenced in to please the lawyers, houses are enlarged gigantically to block the views of those behind them, and every square inch of waterfront is crammed with boats, boat racks, picnic tables, and for sale signs indicating yet another giant building is imminent.  Sometimes I think this part of the world deserves its fate to be underwater soon _ a tiny bit of sympathy with Noah.
Tue-

Forsythia opened up overnight, but unfortunately this is the only example in a halfway natural setting, crushed in a Sandy-ravaged patch of forgotten roadway.  Daffodils are everywhere.  It’s nice to finally have patches of brilliant yellow all over the landscape.

The whole landscapes are patchy this year.  Some sheltered places are in full bloom and leaf, green and multiple colors, halfway to summer.  Others look as if they are sleeping late, waiting for clearer signs to show up.  As I walk this week, I encounter both, seemingly at random.  Doesn’t matter, I’m grateful for any sign that the season is finally underway.

Wed-

Along with the sap in the plant kingdom, oil in the machine phyla is becoming less sludgy.  Apparently there are to be significant changes to the dock and banks here.  Necessary work, or unnecessary, it is all a mystery until it is done.

I’m always a little sad, since I get so used to the old views.  It’s no different that the work of high tide storms or hurricanes, of course.  Nothing in this impermanent world can last, and we all know we must let go as the days go by.  That’s what memories are for, and as an old man I am filled with them at least.  I like to believe they don’t change, but of course I am wrong.
Thu-

Nope, these plants aren’t waiting any longer, jumping up and out.  The heck with freezing temperatures, blasting wind, and snow they seem to say.  I’m green and I’m proud and ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me.  Oh, you think maybe I’m falling into anthropomorphism again?

Weather and seasons cannot help but affect our mood as much as hormones.  Or, at least, they work through and with our hormones.  Some of us fight that by strictly ignoring the natural tides, others give in and wallow helplessly in emotions beyond control.  I try to let externals trigger possibilities, but whether or not I let them rule my day is more up to my own rationality.

Fri-

Sometime soon, in the space of an hour or so, if the temperature gains ten degrees from these low forties, this carpet of emerald will transform into a cover of gold.  Celadine is about the most reliable indicator of the actual status of spring, a true way to measure if the season is behind or ahead of schedule.  It shows up everywhere, but never se
ems to intrude on either native nor cultivated plantings _ always seems to be somewhere that nothing else wants to grow.

I had obviously thought that this week would cause take off for foliage and flowers, but it has all been foiled by three nights of freezing temperatures and days where highs struggle to get above the average low temperature for the date.  It’s not nasty, exactly, and the cold does preserve the blooming flowers for much longer than if it suddenly got hot.  But, like a little kid, I can’t wait for some summery warmth when I can go outside and play without my coat on.
Sat-

Wild beach roses starting nicely, with last year’s rose hips still hanging on.  Soon it will be difficult to walk down here without getting stuck by thorns. 

Already, I have seen a solitary fisherman standing on this shore, hoping I guess for winter flounder.  I’m not much of a fisherman, anything that takes more patience than pulling out snappers one after another on a pleasant August afternoon tends to bore me.  But I do tend to have a soft spot for those that cast lines, especially from the shoreline.  I think it is their own deep meditation with nature in a specific time and place, and that is always admirable.
Sun-

The only plant that seems to arrive growing a foot or more a day is the appropriately named pokeweed.  Another invasive species, of course, and possibly the early shoots are edible.  Most of the great patches of it around here have remained hibernating, but for some reason this group jumped up a day or so ago.  In no time it will be four feet or more fully screening the harbor. 

By that point, obscuring parts of this end of the harbor will have advantages.  The boats are about to arrive en masse, making stretches of water become floors of fiberglass and wood which you can walk across from one short to another.  A forest of masts will waver above them, mostly decorative since all these sailors use combustion engines ninety percent of the time, with sails pretty much as optional decorations.  Mild weather will make the water growth even more instantaneous than that on land.

  

  

Mon-

Just about everything else is moving right along _ daffodils opening, trees starting to blossom and leaf, grass patches greening, ducks chasing each other, birds performing all kinds of rituals, and squirrels crazily dashing about the trees.  We remain fifteen or twenty degrees below “normal”, but normal averages are just a human fiction.  I may resent the chill, but to most living entities it is just business as usual.
Tue-

Cheap shot!  Who doesn’t love daffodils, at this time of year.  Purple bulbs are majestic, white are pure, but yellow just jumps out with happiness.  And the trumpet shape is unmatched by any other flower throughout the year.  So many of these naturalize, over time, whole fields become golden as the grass turns emerald.

Of course, in a sense, daffodils are just another invasive species.  I don’t hear a lot of people calling for their prompt removal and extermination to let native plants have more of a chance.  That doesn’t mean there aren’t fanatics out there somewhere _ this society sprouts cult narrowness with the same wild abandon as the narcissus themselves.
Wed-

Typical April schizophrenia.  The grass is taking off, and if you examine it closely you see the weeds may have been a little late out of the starting blocks, but they are hitting stride.  On the other hand, the trees are patiently awaiting a few more signals and have hit snooze control.  I let the birds, which you can’t hear but are everywhere around me, make the final call here.  April and spring, they sing.

I try to keep my moods from bouncing along with the weather.  Moods are easily affected _ happy sunny day, sad rainy day _ or changed _ sunny day freezing and disappointing, rainy day warm and misty and gently mysterious.  Of course, I can ignore it entirely and get on with my business, but that also seems a poor way to appreciate the miracle of existence.

Thu –

Pussy willows become reliable when the seeds fully open.  Not quite as cute, but perhaps more interesting.  These days almost painfully blue sky is not yet screened by any sign of leaves, although here and there maples are beginning to brighten up with red blooms like a fuzzy gauze thrown over their crowns.

Typically these days everything looks luscious, and I feel guilty even being here typing.  I rush out the door to enjoy the moment _ and quickly run back in to get something warmer.  There is only so long I can sit around without starting to chill, and only so long at my age that I can keep active enough to stay warm.  Ah, but on the other hand, I am not trapped in an office, glumly staring out a window if I am lucky enough to have one near.

Fri-

 

Vines are leaping forward, with their thornier cousins.  Meanwhile, our maritime industry surges into high gear, unwrapping, touching up, tuning, polishing, lowering, towing, mooring.  Each day more craft fill every nook of the long harbor, and already empty docksides are distant memories. 

It’s true that I rarely see any of these boats actually heading out into the sound _ the few that do come from a very small selection, day after day.  The important thing, apparently, for those that can afford it, is to have a vessel ready so you can brag about it to friends and relatives, just in case the weather should suddenly turn into July.  I think most of these tend to voyage no more than once or twice a year anyway.
Sat-

Sometimes you have to look really closely, but these weeks growth comes on like an avalanche.  A few pebbles, a couple of sprouts, so what _ then suddenly the whole hillside is in motion or the grasses and shrubs had popped into green.  In a few weeks, parts of the scenery will have completely changed.  It’s amazing we can take that all for granted. 

April has its ups and downs.  One day you think you can lie in the sun and soak up the warmth, but even a cloud can chill you right down.  Other days you need to dress for sharp cold, and suddenly the sun breaks out or the wind veers south and you are sweating a river.  Keeps us on our toes.
Sun-

Blood seems to move fast as the sap rises.  People pull off their heavy clothes and pull out their various summer machines and activities.  Obviously kayaking is easily done in the spring _ many go white water rafting in water colder than this.  I’m sure it takes more fortitude than I could summon, even if I wanted to rock on waves.

I suppose the nice thing about right now _ even more than the fall _ is that you can clearly see the houses and the structure of the underlying terrain.  Hills which soon disappear into a general green blur are still crisp with tiny valleys, cliffs, and yards.  It’s a good time to become familiar with areas that are increasingly off-limits to foot traffic.