Like a Lion

Mon-

March on Long Island this year looks more like upstate with solid snow cover and frozen ponds and streams. The temperature has been at least ten degrees below average for a while, and sometimes a lot below average. Nor does it appear that either the snow nor cold will exit any time soon, as evidenced by the dark overcast.

This winter, North America seems to be in a tiny retroactive bubble, an anomaly from the warming throughout the rest of the world that lets us cheerfully ignore global problems that may be brewing in the atmosphere. We are like happy medieval peasants collecting a good harvest while ignorant that Genghis Kahn is just over the far hill and heading our way. Or like the characters in Boccaccio a year before the plague swept into Florence. Day by day, ignorance may be bliss. Given that the human race seems helpless to control its destructive tendencies, day by day may be the correct way to live.

Tue-

Important markers during normal harbor recreational use just look silly in bleak season. Who would want to use this narrow patch of land right now? Too mushy for eskimos, too cold for wimpy moderns. Even the ducks have been temporarily silenced.

Yet the brighter sun and the rest of the warming world are working their way along. There’s open water here already, in spite of low temperatures, and I am pretty sure that a few minutes or so after the final snow melts there will be green annuals sprouting and hardy perennials trying to shoot up for whatever advantage they can gain from a quick start. When seasons seem to delay, as spring has this year, it often means that they simply occur in what is almost an overnight rush

Wed-

This year, Coindre Hall could have hosted some of the Olympic events. Well, except for the quick-frozen dog droppings that litter the top of the hill by the parking lot. These north-facing slopes never melt until the temperature advances pretty well.

Very little seems as hopeless as a scene like this in March, which around here is typically beginning to burst. Not even the various thorn bushes like wild roses have begun to green up _ sometimes they are leafing out mid February. Buds on trees have not noticeably swelled. Birds are beginning to starve from lack of open thawed ground. We assume it will all work out, but this is all a slap in the face of how little of the important things in the grand scheme of things we actually control.

Thu-

A witch’s nest of poison ivy on top of a post demonstrates how it can rapidly become an impenetrable wall _ given its toxins _ wherever it grows freely. The amazing contradiction about evolution is that it somehow leads to diversity rather than to a few dominant species overrunning the planet and crowding out everything else. At least until humans came along.

You can’t hear the bird calls, and my camera won’t even attempt to capture their flight, but they are everywhere now, and somewhat confused by the impenetrable ground cover. Most are frantically seeking thawed areas for food and materials for nesting. We are promised temperature relief in the near future, but this year all predictions come with a lot of reservations.
Fri-

Soon the damage will become apparent in gardens and ecology. Some ornamentals and invasive species will not survive through spring, and some marginal natives, primarily the youngest and oldest, will also be destroyed. It has been intensely cold, but there was also a severe drought in the fall and heavy wind/snow damage to add t
o the stress. The landscape will eventually be just as green and colorful, but the individual notes may have changed significantly.

Ducks, seagulls and crows _ like people _ seem not to pay much attention to the vagaries of daily weather nor the extremes of seasons themselves. They always seem to find something to eat, and always have their own particular concerns which supersede mere temperature, humidity, and light.
Sat-

Ice floes appear and vanish mysteriously and literally overnight depending on temperature, tides and wind. Clear water one day can become filled with chunks and patches of smooth glass the next. It would be much more interesting if we didn’t keep expecting the trend at this point to be less and less frozen.

This time of year is particularly one of microclimates. We are scarcely tracking the reported daily highs of nearby New York, for example. Because of the intense snow cover, deeper than in many other places, we are running some ten degrees below even spots on the island a few miles away. Places down in hollows may be even colder. Can’t complain, because the same basic pattern moderates us in the hottest summer weather which we still believe will be arriving eventually.

Sun-

By this time last year, Hecksher park was bursting with life and activity. Probably, under the waters and in the ground, through the trees and hidden within bulbs, the same mysterious processes are starting up and have just decided to hit snooze for a while. But to a casual observer, it looks pretty hopeless.

As temperatures approach normal over the next week, barring a big snowstorm, the ground may finally clear. Birds may finally find places to land and eat and begin their nests. And people may finally shed their depressed feeling of eternal hibernation and smile once again.

Yep, still winter.

Mon-

Often by now there are snowdrops and crocuses blooming in this bed. Wild garlic would be all over the place, and chickweed would be starting its creep to cover everything. I suspect little is happening under this mound, however. Anyway, what I can’t see can’t affect my mood.

I did see a robin yesterday. But, as the saying goes, one robin does not make a spring. One warm day won’t let me put away the mittens and snow shovel. On the other hand, equinox is less than a month off, and the sun is definitely stronger. With the snow pack reducing rapidly to melt and sublimation, I hope to start back into normal walking routine along the water early this week.

Tue-

Probably a reflection of how warm the oceans are becoming that in spite of what seems to be a brutally cold winter the “Huntington harbor icepack” is still basically nonexistent. There were never polar bears nor walruses sunning themselves here, but even twenty years ago thick plates of frozen snow and water would jam all the way to the inlet from shore to shore. In the real old days, my wife claims, people would walk from one side to the other.

Well, all I can do today is to appreciate what is. There is wonderful beauty in the blue sky, buffleheads float and dive chaotically out near the channel, trees have withstood the storms magnificently. Warmly wrapped, I can appreciate the near silence and solitude until another angry driver, driven nearly mad by the narrow lanes and magically appearing potholes, careens around the corner paying no heed to me nor anything else in frantic need to get wherever they must go.

Wed

The Huntington Town Glacier usually appears sometime in December at the Mill Dam parking lot, and sometimes lasts through the end of April. All the snow from our increasingly paved environs has to go somewhere, after all, and some misguided soul in some environmental agency has probably decided it is wrong to just dump it into the harbor _ even though it all goes right there when it melts anyway.

Another example of how dependent we are on energy. Trucks run all day carrying loads scooped up by other trucks. Loaders run sporadically lifting the dumped mass as high as possible. I’m sure the ospreys don’t quite know what to make of it. Maybe it was better in the olden days _ yet I don’t hear anyone clamoring to be cooped up inside for weeks at a time _ heck, the brickbats start to fly if anyone’s tight hourly schedule is messed up a bit.

Thu-

A fresh dusting of snow obscures the horizon and coats the ice. The reeds somehow have remained fluffy-looking through all of this and are only more attractive when frosted. I stand here in my extremely warm clothes and marvel at how a change of a mere forty or so degrees Fahrenheit can so completely change the surface appearance of our world.

Science claims to be discovering other watery planets around other stars, and we immediately think they would be like Earth. After many years of enjoying science fiction and speculation, I have come to believe that our planet is unique, not just because of water but from the moon, tides, and seasons. I may grudgingly concede some form of life elsewhere is possible, but I think we are alone in intelligence. The tragedy is that we are unheedingly squandering it all.

Fri-

Abstract patterns can create beauty anywhere. I always enjoy watching new photographers and painters who suddenly discover how much there is to see when they take the time to look. We usually have so much on our mind that we ignore the commonplace an
d quickly label things as “brush by side of road” if, in fact, we notice it at all in our constant haste to be elsewhere.

It’s not necessary for beauty to claim to be perfect, the most, the best. The charms of these tangled branches against frozen snow are unique to this time and place, a visual treat only if we are in the right mood. The plant itself is simply responding to historic Darwinian imperative, growing as best it can in the margins left to it by civilization. The snow doesn’t even have that rationale. It takes consciousness to put it all together into some alternative, pleasurable pattern or narrative that we label beauty.
Sat-

There’s a quiet beauty many days from certain hidden vantage points, especially if you can ignore the ten degree wind sweeping down the harbor behind me. You’d expect the natural world to somehow react more dramatically to cold _ and immediate ice freeze up, trees freezing and exploding, dead birds dropping from the sky from exposure. None of that happens. We generate hysteria within.

The blues interlaced with bare brown branches are marvelous. Harbor water is for once crystal clear. Usually it can all be enjoyed in what has become very unusual quiet _ no leaf blowers, no chain saws, no dogs barking on the beach. I’m not foolish enough to claim I like it better than other seasons, but I strive to experience winter as more than a hiatus and contrast to the rest of the year.

Sun-

A brief colorful digression to the lovely camellia greenhouses of the Planting Fields Arboretum state park in Oyster Bay. All in bloom in February and early March _ although somewhat behind schedule this year along with everything else. The girder framework of the greenhouse is fascinating in itself, redolent of fabled English structures like the Crystal Palace or New York Penn Station, destroyed by the capitalist barbarian hordes.

Some of the families of great wealth in olden times were truly in love with their creations, and took pains to preserve it and pass it on to future generations to be enjoyed. Many of the wonderful places on Long Island were created in that way. Today it seems all wealth is to be cascaded and piled and burned in a great potlatch with no concern for anyone except the fortunate egoists who have accumulated it. Does anyone believe any of the “great houses” in, for example, the Hamptons will please or inspire anyone fifty years from now? Well, for the moment, at least, we all have this, and for the moment it is more than enough.

Island Hostage

Mon-

Probably just a hostage here today, leaving tomorrow unless the predicted “light dusting” turns magically into another “historic northeaster” on Tuesday. In any case, this time we will take our chances camping out at the airport even if there are problems. Good place to be a hostage, of course.

These fuzzy blobs are white pelicans, crowded in the Darling National Wildlife Preserve _ another in the chain that includes Target Rock _ which the guides were assuring people usually were not available in such numbers. They and the other birds were quite beautiful, and by far the most wildlife we have seen in any park down here so far. I have a new appreciation for how jammed with waterfowl Huntington really is. Anyway, the people around us, most loaded with high end telescopic super cameras, no doubt could provide you with a detailed set of portraits. I’m not sure I get quite so enthused over the difference between the brown pelican and the white. It may be the “second largest native bird in North America” but it still seem significantly smaller, and less dramatic, than the swans gliding majestically in familiar waters.

Tue-

Sunset looking backward, which seems appropriate. Being active outdoors at the beginning and end of the day is the main reason to head to a warm climate when the weather at home is bad. We live completely normal lives in winter now, thanks to technology, but usually huddled in artificial warm caves. It has been relaxing to again greet the sun and bid it goodbye.

The deserted appearance of the sand is a bit deceptive. Sanibel at this time of year is stuffed to the gills with people, utterly overloading the infrastructure. Traffic jams on the only road begin at dawn and don’t let up until near midnight. You cannot walk anywhere in meditation without being on the alert for some wobbling newbie bicyclist to knock you down, or a jogger on paths that are too narrow, or streets that _ even when dead end _ are always filled with cars going somewhere and groups of people striding briskly. The standard price of success, I suppose.

Wed-

Minor delays, but home by midnight. Islip didn’t look all that bad, but as we got closer and closer to Huntington the snow deepened until the roads resembled an old Russian fable. We half expected wolves to be jumping out from behind snowbanks.

Today it still looks pretty bleak, but we still have fresh perspective so it remains picturesque. Anything can be picturesque for a few days, I guess. Glad to be back, but also happy at having missed the enervating sameness of cold and wet and grey for day after day.

Thu-

First things first. Couldn’t walk anywhere until I got the cars dug out. Well, it’s another chance to be in the great outdoors, relatively muted. Two days of warmth and rain while I dug have actually cut the original drifts to half their original size _ at first it was hard to find the cars at all.

I suppose, under all this, the bulbs are still pushing up. Don’t see many tree buds swelling, but I’m sure they are getting ready as well. The days continue to lengthen and the sun progressively strengthen, even though it is hard for mere people to notice. If I wanted to be Pollyanna, I would say that we will appreciate spring all the more when it finally does start to show _ but my back refuses to go along at the moment.

Fri-

Through the cold, the snow, the endless gloom, an andromeda gets ready to bloom anyway. The first real warm sunny day will probably start to open some of the small flowers. In a few weeks, it will be fully open with white bunches that last for the duration of colder spring.

I am lucky to have electricity and distractions _ an andromeda is all very well to contemplate, but one needs to be more of a monk than I am to practice it all day. I enjoy books and music and even the chance to go to the supermarket. I’ve never claimed to be a back to nature survivalist, just someone who appreciates the natural world which should be preserved better than we seem to be doing.
Sat-

The other night I expected wolves, this afternoon it looks more like Hollywood vampire effects. The rest of the world is warmer than normal _ in France fruit trees are blooming a month early. I don’t see any sign of that here _ in this fog I don’t see any sign of anything much at all.

The weather is obviously changing. Some claim that is true, but it is not our fault, just coincidence with sunspots or cosmic rays or supernatural will. It seems to me that is like drunks complaining about a headache the next day and blaming it on a tumor, bad water, or stress rather than having anything to do with how much they were imbibing the night before. And not willing to modify behavior for a while to find out.

Sun –

Since water has been around for us and our ancestors forever, we tend to take the drama it provides for granted. A snowstorm can, in a few hours or a day, completely change the landscape and the infrastructure by which we live. Heavy rain can cause all kinds of incredible damage. Ice has its own tragedies. Drought, although taking longer, may be the worst of all, especially when accompanied by fire.

More than that, water is rapidly fickle. A clear sky changes into something else. A heavy snowfall may shut road to one lane. Yet, especially at this time of year, the sun and a warm front can in a day reduce a four foot snow pile to two feet, a two foot cover to nothing at all. All the snow here was at least twice as high a few days ago. Of course, our industrialization can build snow mountains in parking lots that rival anything in the Sierra Nevada, and which may not go away until mid-spring.

Sanibel Island

Mon-

Further down Florida, in a standard resort, room facing east so I could watch the sun rise out of the bay this morning. Fort Myers lines the opposite shore, but here it is all quiet and even the “guests” are subdued. It is warm, and lovely, and if we get bored there are bike paths everywhere.

My problem has been that I get extremely attached to wherever I actually live. My philosophy has always been something like that old song “love the one you’re with.” Huntington, New York, Long Island _ I get quite chauvinistic, and bored when I am gone for very long. I admit I have been this way before anywhere I happened to be _ and surely I would be the same if I lived here. I think that is an admirable trait _ or at least one that keeps me happy most of the time _ but it makes me a somewhat jaded travel writer.
Tue –

Along this coastline, units are limited to two or three stories. That should not prevent them from having charm, but in fact the coastal architecture has all the pizzazz of soviet-era blockhouse construction. Well, folks come here for the beach and nature, not the magnificent housing.

This time our window faces east over the bay and for the second day in a row I have watched the large red ball hurriedly float up into the clear air. It’s been a while since I watched sunrise, since I am at least civilized (and old) enough to not leave my house before coffee and shower and breakfast. For those of you who have not enjoyed the experience recently, sunrise is just like sunset in reverse. Both phenomena are free for those who have the will (well, free in this case if you can spring for a place on the beach…)
Wed-

A pathway through preserved vegetation at the lighthouse. Sanibel is half nature preserve, so many of the old swamps and thickets remain undeveloped. If you wander some down the thick black mud trails, filled with fallen palm trunks that might be alligators, watching an occasional snake frantically slither away, you get some idea of how far islands like this were from paradise in their “natural state.” And that is even without remembering the clouds of mosquitoes and other noxious pets that were wonderful for the ecological balance.

My problem is that I expect paradise to be fashioned for people. That has been true since my childhood tales of Eden (lion lying down with the lamb, no mention of mosquitoes) right through adulthood. I want nature in comfortable doses. I want to get to beaches or canyons in hours without effort; I want food and water when I arrive; I expect to be able to easily wander around and appreciate the wonders. I do not think I vary that much from everyone else_ what the world now works on is how to balance our needs with the non-human requirements of all the places that are far from paradise and always should be.

Thu-

Looks enough like a tropical paradise, deserted beach stretching away under a palm tree. Just like all the photos I take, however, this is hardly the whole picture. What you cannot sense nor hear nor experience is the roar of traffic overhead _ this is from under the causeway link to mainland Fort Myers. Streams of cars and trucks in both directions never cease. And those deserted beaches stretching into the distance are actually walled off mostly from the public by carefully guarded resorts and estates.

Sanibel prides itself on being a nature preserve _ and a huge percentage of the island is indeed undeveloped. Unfortunately, that means there is one road in, one road out. With lots of tourists and residents and sightseers that means infinite automobiles, and that makes for dead-stop traffic jams almost all day long in each direction on the only road that goes anywhere. And doubled prices for anything you buy. If you ignore all that,
ride the beautifully maintained bike paths, walk the wide sand beaches, just give up and spend whatever is necessary to eat _ well, then it is all beautiful and perfect.

Fri-

A large part of Sanibel Island and its surrounding waters is kept as a nature preserve. This is Tarpon Bay, which can be explored by taking boat tours or rentals of pontoon boats or kayaks. It is a constant that we can only appreciate nature these days by using some form of modern machinery, and powered vehicles to get there.

It got “cold” here overnight _ below fifty! _ everyone is dressed like the snowstorm hitting New York will arrive any minute. We have purposely isolated whatever hemisphere of the brain worries about tomorrow so that we do not think much about whether or not our fight will make it back tomorrow night. Living for the moment and enjoying it fully is truly one of the things we should learn from experiencing the rest of the natural world, wilderness or not.

Sat –

Shells thrown up after a storm a feature of any sandy beach. People come here expecting to find exotic treasures, and they are often filing out along the surf before dawn. This is just the common debris, the stuff nobody cares about because it is abundant, although each piece was surely as important to its inhabitant as any of our homes are to us.

I find myself getting as grumpy as any old nineteenth century traveler, for example Mark Twain, mostly because of the way things are oversold. “You’ll love Sanibel” cried everyone. We imagined a beach like a shell store, lined with exotic and magnificent beauties, leaving no room for the sand. This is _ well, there are shells. But there are shells at Caumsett as well, and to my eye more variety than here. But nobody has tried to convince me that Long Island is a shell collector’s paradise, so whether there are any or not does not really engage my cynicism.
Sun-

Like all lighthouses, Sanibel Light has a story to tell. As do we, unexpectedly still here for a few more days after a last minute snowstorm canceled our expected flight yesterday. But you can read the public story of the 1884 structure on your own, and our tale is more one of the joys of the internet and easy communication than of anything else. It is so easy now to find out what is being predicted, what an airline is doing, finding numbers to rearrange things. What could have been a nasty stay in a bleak airport became a lovely, if expensive, extension to our stay in the warmth.

We were rewarded today by a score or so of dolphins playing close inshore only tens of yards from the sand. Almost as if they had been paid to put on a performance, they dove and chased fish for hours, as crowds lined the shore and snapped pictures. The sad note is that a sight once so common as to be unworthy of notice along any seacoast has become rare enough to merit hysteria whenever it now occurs.

Siesta Key

Sun

Breaking all the rules of the blog, here. Not one week, not one day at a time, obviously did not walk here from my house, not about Huntington harbor. Joan desperately wanted to look forward to a break, and I reluctantly agreed back in September, and in fact it worked out well. The other thing is that for the last two weeks I have been getting over a bad cold and faced an awful internet connection. So this is catchup.

Drove from Tampa airport totally wiped out, little sleep, coughing like a smoking addict, desperate to arrive yet afraid of what we might find. After all, on the internet every hovel is a castle; each new friend a prince or princess. But it all worked out, nice fifties-style room right on the beach, looking out on the Gulf. I sit here on the porch and (between coughs) hear the surf breaking endlessly on soft white sand.

Mon

Mid Florida need not be warm and sunny in January. In fact, it was in the forties and threatening rain. Embarrassed, I felt like a tuberculosis patient spreading plague to the neighbors.

Human nature being what it is, many ignore reality and will sit in shorts and even bathing suits no matter what the actual conditions because _ hey!_ we paid for this. By gosh it is Florida and we mean to get our money’s worth, even if it means shivering in the chair in shorts. Bah. Illusions.

Tue

People stream along Crescent Beach (#1 beach in the USA, proclaim the signs) constantly from foggy dawn until darkness after sunset. From the porch it looks like an old film of war refugees _ particularly since the average age of the sloggers is maybe seventy or more. The loop goes along the water line from the public access two miles away to the dead end of Point of Rocks, where it crashes into private property and reverses going back.

I admit that on occasion I have joined the long conga line and quite enjoyed it. The gentle break of the waves and constant rush of the wind with cries of gulls drowns out the intrusions of man and is very meditative. Of course, from another perspective, it is simply another endlessly boring grey moment at the vestibule of Hell.

Wed

John Ringling started a circus, lived on Fifth Avenue, and in his spare winter months built a Venetian palace in Sarasota. Joan pretty much hates the long, and usually boring, house tours, where guides always end up telling you more than you really want to know, more slowly than you would believe possible.

Yet this was a great day to spend a rainy day, even if I did scare guards and visitors with my ongoing hacks. An Art museum of old paintings is included, but the real star is the miniature circus, which I am really happy that I got to see. Look it up if you’re interested. My main question is what kind of obsession is required to bring such an exhibit into being.

Thu

Joan took this picture from near our porch on one of the few clear days. Yeah, we faced due west. Every night a gang of folks would gather outside at the picnic tables and drink wine and compare their mostly tiny dogs. Very convivial.

It’s not that we don’t have magnificent sunsets in Huntington. I can see them from the windows of our house in winter, and a short walk away the sun goes over puppy cove from our dock. Yet, you know, you’re paying for vacation so you pay more attention as well.

Fri

Two miles along the powder white sand is the public Siesta Beach, separated from the road by this wild grass and vegetation. The parking lot fills quickly on hot days, and over this rise you can make out the countless umbrellas, although you are spared the screams of the young children and the sight of people who think they look better than they do exposing vast amounts of ancient flesh.

Nevertheless it is all a happy and harmless celebration of being alive, hurts nobody and nothing, and perhaps represents what we should all strive more to attain. I’m not one to shrug off wisdom no matter how it may arrive.

Sat

Various back roads represent the old days before the march of progress constructed huge apartments lining the beach. One woman along this road said she had lived here for forty five years. I don’t know what kind of changes might have happened in that time.

Still, the fifties and sixties were not the true “old times.” One article claimed that originally Siesta Key was famous for being natively inhabited by every species of venomous snake in the continental US. And that’s not even taking into account infinite mosquitoes ….

Sun

All along Florida the back side of coastal islands are connected by the watery “intracoastal”, a canal used by countless pleasure craft. Originally built after world war one, to protect shipping from German U-Boats. I don’t think there was ever an enemy submarine within sight of Tampa but, well, I haven’t searched all of Wikipedia nor alternate web sources.

The main thing about the intracoastal now is that it has to justify its existence to the rich yacht owners. So drawbridges on crowded highways (including this one on Stickney Road) are raised every few hours tying up a heck of a lot of motorists while one rich bastard in a little boat with a big mast proudly sails from one end of the island to the other.

Mon

Obligatory shot of brown pelicans, almost as common as gulls. I think the locals are as amused at tourists taking their pictures as I am at visitors gleefully snapping shots of squirrels in central park.

On the other hand, they are big, graceful, fun to watch, and do dive into the waves to catch fish. I still find it hard to understand how they can they take off again from a floating position on the water. We are lucky to still have wildlife to protect. I am grateful to have been able to have seen it still holding its own in the world.

Tue

A ”pass” around here is any channel between islands that lets you navigate from the true gulf to the back bay, which is what is shown here. At the end of this picture and to the right is “Midnight Pass,” which leads to the otherwise incomprehensibly named “Midnight Pass Road” which is _ logically _ the road that takes you to that dead end inlet.

All water shots are inevitably beautiful. It’s hard to mess them up, here or in Huntington, or probably in the Arc tic. That, of course, is why a dumb amateur like me likes to concentrate on them. Water forgives a lot of lack of technique.

Wed

Florida has state parks, from what I have seen (and I haven’t gone to the everglades) none as grand as those we enjoy in the northeast. This is a sandy scrub, really second growth on what was a cattle ranch until the early fifties.

There is something fun about walking down desolate tracks like this, especially if you know exactly where you are because there are easy blue markers all along the way. On the other hand, I saw no wildlife other than a few grasshoppers and tiny butterflies. Joan and I enjoyed the respite from traffic and humanity.

Thu

On the other hand, the nanny state is a bit less intrusive here. Although, the last time I was at Niagara Falls, there were no fences preventing people from swimming in the river right about the falls _ and people and their children were wading right out having a grand old time. Idiocy is not confined to one region or another.

You can’t make it out, but there are people in the water, and, yes, it is a designated area with floats around. On the other hand, the “lake” is the size of a large hotel swimming pool. Maybe the sign is just here to give people a thrill _ I know I might do something like that if I were a bored ranger….

Fri

Point of Rocks is _ a point of rocks. The maps and brochures say it is great for snorkeling and wading to find shells. That assumes you can get to it, because the public tide-line beach ends at the bulkhead, and you have to wade almost chest deep to reach to rocks themselves.

There is always controversy about public/private ownership of shoreline. On the one hand, I know I like to be able to sneak in anywhere. On the other hand, I am often grateful when the rest of the stupid idiots like me are excluded. That makes it a problem that has no rational absolute answer _ like Einstein’s universe, the flat fabric of human rights is distorted by the presence of large amounts of wealth.

Sat

The dunes support (seasonally) dry dead grass and occasional flowers like this one. I love finding little patches like this, even if the flowers end up being as common as dandelions, even if they turn out to be invasive species. I have no idea how this falls, but it is beautiful anyway.

The interaction of man and nature is our proper study. Ignoring nature for our own desires and dreams and internal considerations is folly. Ignoring our vast emotional and logical human existence to pay homage only to raw environment is an affront to the universe that endowed us with our infinite capabilities.

Sun

Fittingly, a last near-sunset through the clouds as we move on to the next week. This may not be a classic sunset, but it is surely typical. How many typical ones have I ignored over the last year?

One reason I take pictures and try to write is for the discipline. Knowing, or thinking, I must do this forces me to confront each day and each moment in each day. So, I apologize for digressing from the pure form I have tried to follow, and hope you enjoyed this digression.

Clearly Cold

Mon-

Around here in the winter, a relatively warmer day will be cloudy or wet, while a clear day is almost inevitably cold. For all the blather about wind chill, I am one of the old school that worries a lot more about the actual, absolute degree. I, for one, do not stand around naked in this weather (nor any other) and don’t really care what the temperature would feel like if I did so.

Ice forms decorations on the infinitely varied tideline. A visiting New York conceptual artist could do no better. A New York conceptual art critic, on the other hand, might make a great deal of all this while seeking to enlighten you and me about the profound meaning of it all, and especially about the possible dollar value of the transient artifact, and even more emphatically about the importance of such critics to our world.
Tue-

Now is about a dormant as things get in this relatively mild maritime climate. Oh, there will be another month of hard freezes and deep snows, maybe the grass will brown a bit more. But surprisingly, as the days grow noticeably longer, there are also increased signs of growth.

Already I can see the tips of bulbs pushing up from frozen beds. A few pussy willows are almost open, and buds are noticeably swelling in some of the trees. These things become more and more obvious as each thaw reveals a bit more life. My problem is that I think because I see them happening that spring must be near. It is not.

Wed-

Snow arrived earlier than expected, with cold. This is around eleven on Tuesday, temperature about fifteen, wind driving the snow horizontally. The visibility has obviously been knocked down considerably. Believe it or not, there are still some of us old regular walkers and joggers out here, pretending we are as hardy as our ancestors.

When heading back into the gale, I was grateful to be wearing a ski mask to take away some of the stinging as the flakes were driven into my cheeks. Other than that I was incredibly warm, layered in wonderful modern materials. Being retired means I can totally enjoy days like this, since I have nowhere to go and nothing to do. The hard part, as it was all my life, is to make the effort to get out the door and experience the storm, instead of sitting on the couch listening to others try to describe it.
Thu-

When I titled the week, I foresaw the polar air and the blue skies, but not the snow in between. Well, we’ve got the blue skies and the frigid temperature and a blustery wind. So we can just sort of ignore all the snow on the ground.

I’m not along the harbor this morning because I hate walking in this. Oh, not the six degree temperatures _ my clothes can handle that fine. The lack of shoulders along the roads, and the anger of the drivers who must be out and about, make me feel I am doing some death defying stunt every time I venture past the end of our driveway. People have never been so independent of the weather, yet, no matter, they still resent any ruffle to their internal timetables.

Fri-

All these nights below ten degrees, the harbor is finally starting to freeze over. Looks like we may get a pretty thick cover this year, shifting and crushing, which means some of the folks who left
their boats in the water have lost their bet. But, of course, anything can happen.

This view makes it pretty obvious why no reeds survive upright by the end of the winter. Not even counting the snow and gales, the water does a pretty good job of pulverizing any organic matter on shore. It’s all very beautiful if you are dressed warmly and can appreciate it. Infinite diamonds sparking under a stark sky.
Sat-

Maybe the geese wonder what happened to the water, maybe they don’t care. I can’t get any closer because I would no doubt slide right down into a hole.

For eons, humans have attached their own thoughts and attributes to other animals, rocks, spirits and natural events. Scientists tell us it is foolish, but making stories is after all how we form our real world-view. I will let those geese think just what I think they should ….

Sun-

There is still some low-hanging fruit around for birds that are adventurous enough. When it gets below 10, you don’t seem to find many of the smaller creatures. Probably takes more energy to look for food than it is apt to provide.

It’s always nice to find some unexpected natural color in the landscape. Winter is brown and white and _charitably _ blue if we include the sky. I know, I know, dawn and sunset break those rules. Still, these red berries at midday are oddly comforting.

Normal Lows

Mon-

One inescapable consequence of global warming seems to be extremes in weather conditions. The storms have more wind and precipitation, the heat waves are hotter, the cold waves are colder, the droughts are dryer. Meanwhile, the tides inch upward, and nature reacts to all of this somewhat subtly but in a manner that we become aware of over time.

We should probably appreciate anything “normal” or “average” on the infrequent weeks when it shows up. This week, the meteorologists assure us, will be such a time. This clearing morning sky may not agree. In the meantime, I just enjoy what I can, happy for whatever pageant may appear.
Tue-

Sometimes, it strikes me how the world is changing even as I accept it each day. What I take for granted might be completely extraordinary a few years from now. How many people really noticed, for example, when the horse was replaced by the automobile? How many people my age, for that matter, were watching as great ocean liners and their city piers disappeared in the face of inexpensive air flights?

So I see this oil truck and _ well, perhaps that is in the same class. Not only are new homes becoming much more efficient and insulated, but oil heat almost everywhere around here is hanging on by a thread, since natural gas is cheaper, cleaner, and more useful. Will I miss deliveries? No, not really, no more than anyone ever missed the horse shit all over the street when animals were finally gone.

Wed-

Stone, plaster, stucco and tile all look more beautiful when wet. Coindre Hall can take on aspects of being a real French chateau, at least if you squint a little. Anyway, I enjoy the changes in the appearance of materials with the weather conditions.

A meteorologist on the news yesterday mentioned that our concern with weather is a recent thing _ from the 1800’s or 1900’s on. Before that, people only spoke of seasons, as in a “wet spring” or “cold winter.” It’s odd as that we were less and less affected by the daily vagaries of storm and sun we should become more and more preoccupied with them. Perhaps another example of perverse human nature ….

Thu-

Fog seems to be a kind of metrological confusion. Oh, yes, it is just low clouds _ common enough. And weather has no anthropological basis, confused or otherwise. But after all that _ well it seems the water just can’t make up its mind whether to drip or absorb into invisibility.

That brings out all kinds of responses from us. Mysterious, enveloping, beautiful, annoying. It’s hard
for me to make up my mind as well. Here our inlet seems a tiny replica of the Golden Gate, while dark pilings hold reality firmly in place.

Fri-

Solitary working boat in the harbor, not only surviving ice and cold but challenging it. At times, this area can be as picturesque as Europe. Of course, it’s all in the selection of the pictures and presentation _ but the Europeans know that too.

I try not to be dogmatic about photographs. The essential fact is that any image capture is untrue to our actual experience and vision. No matter how much you try to make it “realistic” it never can match someone on the spot. So tricks, like zoom or fuzz or color adjustment are simply playthings added to what is basically a lie anyway.

Sat-

Tiny red tugboat behind rusting orange crane, both unemployed until the spring. The feathery rushes somehow survive all kinds of wind and rain and freeze for months. They look a lot more fragile than they really are.

I can search for profound thoughts or follow logical trails to fantasy meanings, but often it is best to just let the mind clear. Not try to think of why or how or what it all means, but simply appreciate what is. That is not only this view but also the wind and temperature and sounds and contented feel of my musculature letting me wander along.

Sun-

As I walked, unpredicted drizzle turned into unexpected rain into unusual sleet into surprise heavy snow shower. Naturally, it all stopped as I reached home again. One of those days when you just have to grin and bear it.

Big fat flakes rapidly coating everything bring out the inner child, delighted that the everyday world suddenly turns so magical. Not just the images, but the cold patches landing on nose and lips, then melting. The hush that falls from any falling water absorbing ambient sounds. And the frisson of possible danger. It’s important to listen to that voice sometimes.

Winter Weird

Mon-

Had been planning to theme this week as “winter bound” _ it’s been hard to get out the house these last few days between snow and cold. But this morning when I arose it was 57 degrees out, the icicles were gone with most of the white cover and I hardly felt trapped in spite of the downpour. By midnight, we are supposed to be back in the teens. Should be an odd week …

Afflicted with a common disease of the age, I end up taking too many pictures and saving them. This is from the “archives” of a week ago. Although I sometimes make fun of those who rush from place to place snapping shots to prove their presence, I respect that doing something that will “save” an experience lends a focus to life, makes us concentrate, and can make us appreciate things more. Like these vines and branches, that I would no doubt otherwise ignore, which form a pretty tracery over the empty port.
Tue-

Strange little thaw leaves the turf frozen under a thin layer of mud. Signs of winter everywhere are clear enough. Looking north a kind of peach color breaks through saw-toothed clouds over the hundred-year-od lighthouse. Although the camera can’t really catch them, I love the infinite variety of soft browns in landscapes such as this.

Extreme weather does help us appreciate any breaks when we have them. It is easier to appreciate a rainy day in the fifties when it is sandwiched between a blizzard and sub-arctic howling wind. Our memories tend to be so short that after a week or less we take whatever wonders we encounter each moment for granted.

Wed-

We’re in the second of several days of below-ten degree weather, but this picture was taken before it settled in. My poor equipment and technique does not capture it adequately, but I love the green glow of lichen on old trees on damp days from here on through the summer. There’s something mystic and ancient about the rough chaotic growth.

Some might say _ well, improve your technique and equipment. I have become as fanatic as anyone concerning certain things during my life, and I now resist. There is a happiness in staying within self-imposed bounds, not becoming an expert, not devoting hours to something you like to do casually. My technique and equipment is totally adequate for my demands. Upping my demands would only complicate my life unnecessarily
Thu-

With the frigid temperatures, a skim of ice forms, mostly from fresh water layered on top. We have a lot of springs coming out of the hills along the waterfront, constantly trickling (or pouring) out of the sand. That drives the road crews nuts because the embankment under the blacktop keeps getting undercut and is always wet.

This boat probably won’t be going out today. I say probably because, like the rest of us, clammers can be crazy sometimes. If they need to get to their boat, they will, even if they have to chop their way. If you look closely, in the mid distance by the sailboat there are trails of a few who have already gone through.
Fri-

Hal Harzog wrote Some We Love, Some We Hate, Some We Eat concerning our odd relation to various animals. Geese seem to fill all the roles at once. We are capable of fervently holding immense contradictions, various parts of which we truly believe for minutes at a time.

Geese are an aggravating nuisance, fouling water and grass and crowding other waterfowl. Some areas have taken to capturing or shooting and turning them into human dinners or pet food. On the other hand, they are kind of beautiful and some of the little bits of nature we get to see up close. This particular group seems to think it owns the park, as it takes a stroll on the pond ice.
Sat-

Rainy slush turning to slick compressed ice under my boots and car tires. Sirens going wild in the background, no doubt someone thinking they could stop faster than this surface would allow. You can’t fight physics, and the physical properties of water at various temperatures are insanely amazing.

The little cabin-like house at the top of the “back hill” is not quite a remnant of much earlier days, but it does date to a time before the mansions that crowd rapidly month after month. Everyone is either building new or expanding their quite comfortable dwelling to the size of a big-box store. I’ve never quite figured out what they all see in it. Having more natural yard is infinitely more interesting than more square yards of carpet and tacky doodads. Well, the differences in people’s tastes are insanely amazing as well.

Sun-

Ice and tide have mown the seagrass, which now fully engages in its annual rest. Mats of grass and reeds either sink to the bottom to decay and nourish hidden chains of life, or litter the harbor shore. Except for drift, not much is going to happen until the subtle solar signals of spring signal rebirth (whew!)

Weather stays extremely variable, as indicated by the distant fog where the cold water meets very warm freakishly humid air. The only reason I can see at all is because the wind is whipping away the local soup, around the bend the fog is shaping into strange waves like some dry ice vaudeville spectacular. We have been assured (but not by nature itself) that everything will now return to normal and average.

Another Year

Mon-

Here in the middle of the Northern Hemisphere, the cycle of the seasons expresses almost perfectly the contradictions of being human. Each grand year brings a predictable pageant of nature, from brown emptiness, through bursting abundance, long growth, fruit and decay, and return to emptiness. Always the same, yet always different, and each year we ourselves change and get older.

Our brains, tuned to detect patterns, strive to find meaning in the random chaos that accompanies each solar day, lunar month, or natural year. But even though we gain control, much escapes us, and luck plays as much a role in the experience of our lives as it did that of our ancestors. All we can really do is marvel that we have had a chance to participate, for at least part of another grand turn of the wheel.

Tue-

As another numbered year slips past, it is well to remember that our existence has limits. In spite of evidence, we prefer to believe that we are part of some grand cycles: that our soul, or our works, or our memory will last somehow forever. No doubt each person “resting” here felt the same, though none of us know anything of them nor care to know.

Each day remains limitless in boredom or pleasure, and the days themselves are infinite in number. Or so it seems. These stones bear witness to the unfortunate fact that the end of another year also checks off another chunk of our allotment of measured time here on this planet.

Wed-

Fittingly, the new year starts with the first ice on the harbor. Here near the former tidal dam, fresh water seeps from the pond through the earthen dike _ in spite of centuries of being packed down by vehicles great and small. The fresh water, of course, floats in a layer on the salt, coats the rocks and freezes, and as the tide goes out, forms interesting patterns of light and reflection. In a few months, the grass will be sheered by the same general motions.

We are most familiar with the cycles of the year, and day, and (if we really try) moon. Rarely do we think much about other repeating events like the tide _ an odd kind of thing, with a complex rhythm twice a day, and strong influences from random factors like the weather. I guess we are too busy and have more important things to consider, but once in a while it is interesting to meditate on these simple oddities that make Earth what it is.

Thu-

Fresh snow cover with blizzard predicted later. The white obscures and covers most remaining signs of life, punctuating the hibernation of this season.

I tend to romanticize our connection with nature, but of course I am a complete hypocrite. I enjoy my warm house, well-made clothes, electricity, and hot cup of coffee in the morning. I like to observe from the comfort of civilization. Like Thoreau or Rousseau, I do not grow my own food nor make my own paper to write on. Sometimes I can imagine living as an aborigine on a South Sea island, but never as one surviving a New England winter in general, nor a blizzard in particular. We should experience our natural heritage, not endure it.

Fri-

The blizzard may have fizzled, but it is ten degrees with about six or eight inches of snow blowing around. Cold enough for me to s
tay in. Of course, this is normal weather in Montreal, and almost a heat wave in Quebec or Moscow.

Humans are natural animals, but the most incredibly adaptable on the planet. We can live almost anywhere, but the most amazing fact is that wherever we live we grow used to and regard as normal. I suppose if the species ever lives in space it will regard vacuum and airtight cubicles as the most comforting surroundings possible.

Sat-

An eleven degree sunset heading for a four degree morning. I admit I took this from the comfort of my bedroom window _ stayed in except for an hour or so clearing the driveway. I am at an age when I can fully appreciate being inside all day if necessary.

What keeps me in is less nature herself than human nature. I do not trust drivers who are inevitably high strung and angry when inconvenienced by ice and snow. They seem to regard anyone unburdened by the need to be doing anything useful as affronts to cosmic order. So I avoid the roads until the snow melts a bit, and life returns more to normal.
Sun-

Pre storm, but capturing the mood of the winter so far, looks like we could be in for quite a memorable one. Coldest temperatures in twenty years, more snow already than we have often had lately in months. A White Christmas was just a formality, since the storms set in before Thanksgiving.

Silver lining department makes me wonder if the really deep freeze will halt some of the obnoxious invasive insects that have been marching into our fields and forests. It would be nice if the flowers and trees and animals had a bit of a respite next summer. On the other hand, I expect it will kill off a few of the less hardy birds as well. Anyway, not much we can do except watch and wait.

Christmas Reflections

Mon-

Bright red berries in a tangled cluster of bare vines. A little color, fully natural. Most of the holiday decorations are artificial now _ lights, plastic wreaths, baubles of all materials and types. Nothing really wrong with it, stripping forests and bushes just so we can throw them out in a few weeks is pretty awful too.

A time such as this provides a moment to step out of our daily routine _ even if our daily routine is wandering about thinking of trees and birds and skies. There are other aspects to our lives that must be selected out when we do something a specific as writing a journal. This week it is all family and memories of people and times past. That is just as beautiful and strange as the vistas we inhabit now.

Tue-

Nice mixed message here. Holiday wreath, open water, fenced in beach with lock on gate. Our culture continues to have trouble with the idea of what is private, what is public, who gets what. But in the meantime, Happy Holidays anyway!

This far north in our hemisphere, regardless of the literary and metaphysical claptrap that encrusts itself on our celebrations, it is nice to have a simple cheery break, with lights and festivals and family. Unfortunately, our self-determined “great thinkers” try their best to ruin it for everyone by attaching grand meaning, when the real meaning is just _ enjoy those you love, and share your life with them fully!

Wed-

Not exactly a white Christmas, but a sprinkle of snow which has been somewhat unusual. One lonely bird echoes repeatedly over the frigid hush out here a 9am. Overhead a woodpecker is busy high in the bare branches. Almost everyone has some symbol of the season on mailbox or house or tree.

Curmudgeons of all types try to derail any festivity. They decry the commercialization of a holy time, they rant against the colonization of the West, they long for imagined olden paradises, they earnestly beg for future utopias. That all misses the point. We here today, fully human and lucky for it _ we should appreciate that fact every moment. If we happen to try to make a special effort when the natural world seems more cold and bleak than usual _ well that is to the credit of humans and their cultures. In that spirit, happy holidays to all!

Thu-

The clams don’t take holidays, so far as we know, but the clam market is often better when people do. So it is not only retail work that takes no pause. Fortunately, for me, this is simply an opportunity to observe something picturesque.

Traditionally maritime pursuits are either romanticized as lovely pursuits which place you close to nature, or horrible nasty necessary encounters with ice and storm. As with all labor, there is truth in both views. As with all our experiences, we can choose which we wish to emphasize.

Fri-

The Halesite Volunteer Fire Department is slipping _ usually the presents are in their sleigh (equipped in the back with a special rocket nozzle) are removed on Christmas night, since they should have been delivered. I guess the younger generation is again at fault.

This is the nicest part of the holidays, the short interregnum from Christmas Day through New Year’s. Most of the family obligations have been met, the tensions and hassles discharged for better or worse, and people can just relax with each other for a short while, each getting prepared for the year to come. The cares of the world will surely crowd back in quickly enough, but for now we just celebrate another year of existence.

Sat-

Lest you get the idea it is some kind of bucolic paradise around here _ this is a sample of what you would see if you look the other direction from some of my photos. Selecting what we want to see is nothing new _ Thoreau wrote Walden in what was basically a vacant lot with pond near a railroad surrounded by homes and farms.

That’s the point, really. The world is so rich and infinite that we can construct what we will make of it. You can choose to see the beauty or the ugliness, and even more than that, you have complete control of the lessons you draw from your selected experience. Sure, the little wreaths are tacky, but, on the other hand, it’s kind of neat that the town is at least trying.

Sun-

It’s always nice to have a bit of history hanging around, reminding us that there were people just like you and me doing just what we did in the immediate and far past. The easiest to recall that, of course, is by looking at the artifacts they have left behind.

In a way, decorating a house pleasantly for holidays is showing respect for the original builders and connecting their lives and deeds to the present. Keeping an old house well maintained and with respect to its original features promotes a valuable heritage, whether it is tens, hundreds, or thousands of years old.