Heat

Mon-

As the highest temperatures of the year grip the area, people used to flock to beaches and onto boats, anything to get into cooling breezes and away from the stifling, fly and mosquito infested inland areas. Now there is somewhat less seasonality, as people rush to air conditioned barns to browse and buy what they think they need, and hide out in hermetically sealed homes and cars to avoid the possibility of sun exposure and possible risks like lime disease or west nile virus or e-coli polluted water.

I end up feeling, with a few fellow adventurers I meet walking about or the “lower classes” toiling on yards and actually doing work on the boats, like an almost different race of beings. The “outdoors” is nature, less artificial, more healing, and whatever danger it may present is danger that is usually to our benefit. And the stimulation you get _ looking at the deadly nightshade or the neglected rowboat or the weeds in this view, for instance _ is worth almost any price to experience fully.

Tue –

In spite of the sign, there is a lifeguard sitting in the tower at Brown’s beach _ remnant of an old estate. Hardly anyone goes in at low tide, and besides it’s pretty early in the morning early in the week. Mostly sandy bottom, but it turns to muck, and the water quality here in the actual harbor _ even though it is right in front of the inlet _ can be suspicious, although it is tested daily.

But it’s a lovely scene and actually quite heavily used, even in the winter. Kids can run around in the sand, use the playground, and scream their heads off; adults can just stare at the horizon and unwind a bit; and frantic younger folks can grab an hour at lunch or around jobs to sit for a short suntan before heading back. And it doesn’t cost a dime, which is certainly something an egalitarian like me appreciates a lot.
Wed-

Grand to have a country dirt road on an old estate near my house. It leads through the overgrowth past a pond from the mansion to the boathouse, and is filled with flowers and various kinds of wildlife, including _ recently _ a fox. In a solidly populated metropolitan area (which is what we are here) it’s a breath of an earlier and simpler _ if just as economically unfair _ time.

On a hot July morning, the cicadas are already loud, the birds hide, the tadpoles are just developing, the raspberries are almost ripe, and the humid heat has not yet had an entire summer to ravage the leaves which remain lush. I could almost pretend I am a kid walking down to the water barefoot with a bamboo pole in hand. Places that evoke fantasies are as necessary as those that remind us of the interconnected nature of all life.

Thu-

By eight AM the temperature is already heading into the 80’s, so people who can have already been out and about. There is, of course, a significant drop off when any extremes of weather hit _ rain, cold, or heat _ but walking, jogging, or cycling along West Shore road is a favored activity of many when they consider it possible. The regulars are usually cheerful and friendly, there are lots of others who grimly stride along, trying to lose weight or lower blood pressure, listening to music or talking on phones, angry that their perfect lives should be interrupted by anything so mundane as bodily health.

I’ve always considered it a privilege to be here, where I can walk a block from my house and have the constantly changing seascape and people and their activities besides. My own personal problem is that sometimes I get too wrapped up in my internal musing to pay much attention to what should be feeding me interest for the rest of the day.
Fri-

At this time of year the harbor is filled with boats _ the visible ones floating, although hulks from many years litter the bottom. As pleasure boaters go upscale they tend to use marinas instead of dinghies to reach their vessels. And the clammers ferrying out are fewer and fewer as time goes on.

An inconspicuous yellow hawkweed forces its way out of the asphalt to ripen into soft floating seed carriers. It’s the kind of loveliness you never see when riding a car or bicycle, and rarely when engaged jogging, talking on the phone, listening to a music player or even (my particular sin) following a heavy train of thought.
Sat-

Kayaks are sitting under the willow, providing a bit of color to the solid greens of midsummer. Kayaks have become ubiquitous in the last few years, which is certainly a good thing since they have no motors and make no pollution (at least after they are made and until they are thrown away.) There do seem to be a lot more on the shore and in the racks than there ever are actually on the water.

Surprisingly, surrounded by water and boats, I am not a boat person. I like to walk _ I subscribe to the belief that golf is “a good walk spoiled” _ and time on a boat with nothing to do is very like being in prison with high definition television. Something grand like the Staten Island ferry is acceptable. Thinking about having my own platform on the water just makes me nervous.

Sun –

Summer just started, it seems, and heat is high, but already there are premonitions of times to come. Like these dead leaves at the Brown Pottery site park. In fact, there are signs everywhere, but it is more fun to wallow in the days that are, rather than worry about the future rain, ice, and cold.

I’m afraid I’ve always been something more of a grasshopper than an ant. I found life uncertain, and never quite trusted long term plans. Each moment is more than enough, and we should strive to be aware of and grateful for each one.

Height of Summer

Mon –

Somewhere, the fields of grain are ripe and being harvested. A few hundred years ago, this whole area had been cleared and made into fields, but the forest has recovered its ascendency. Of course, many of the trees are ornamental, and there are mostly exotic flowers tended carefully in gardens, even the weeds are generally invasive imports, trying to keep pace with global urbanization. But much of it is very pretty, and the birds and various wildlife have mostly kept up.

I’ve always been more a fan of the interfaces between humans and nature rather than areas where the people have eliminated nature, or where nature is completely wild. I am fascinated about how we interact with the world, often for the good, tragically too often for the bad. Knowing that the past has changed so much, even in a few decades, is somehow comforting to my own sense of impermanence. This too shall pass. But, at least at midsummer this year, it remains very good indeed.

Tue-

That guy sitting almost hidden is nominally fishing _ you can see his pole stuck in the rocks if you look closely. In earlier spring, you might catch some flatfish. In later summer you could get snappers (baby bluefish) or maybe even a lost striper (bass). And I guess there’s always hope for an eel. But here in July … nah, probably not.

There used to be a red shack here, worthy of Maine, but after it was torn down, guys (almost always guys, often alone) come and sit for a while and go home with empty pails. I think it is mostly just to get away from everyone and everything. Like fishermen and hikers everywhere, just losing worries and spending some quality time with the horizon.

Wed-

Summer seems to have just arrived, but the Ailanthus seeds are already turning red, preparing for the next season. From solstice on, the varied greens of spring fade into a single dark hue, and the early flowers vanish to be replaced by late bloomers and, increasingly, seeds of all types.

No matter how we may want things to stand still, especially while they seem so perfect, they rush by, the days disappear into the past, and one day we look at colored leaves suddenly swirling and wonder what happened. As I grow older, I find that as days have always been, years have become. What happened to the world, that I wake up a stranger here in my autumn? I can only hope that my seeds, also, physical and immaterial, are prepared for their next season and will prosper no matter what may come.
Thu-

Hecksher Park is about a mile and a half away, with a shallow pond fed by streams from the hills, a source of power and recreation since the town began. It has always had turtles (some quite large!) and of course swans, geese, and ducks, but lately it has also become home to some river otters, which are apparently recolonizing Long Island in the last few decades. Behind me is a cute little art museum, and a bandshell where free concerts are given almost every summer evening.

Being a romantic, I like to come here sometimes and sit on the bench, watching the people jog and stroll by, pretending I am in some Parisian green space. And, to be fair, that is not so far off, in certain ways. In important ways, of course, where I am is not at all Paris. But one might equally say that the park I inhabit _ filled with my memories, my selections, my observations, my summarizations _ is not the “real” Hecksher Park at all. It’s fun to have the time to consider such bizarre bits of useless speculation.

Fri-

Even in paradise (maybe especially in paradise) it rains sometimes. An
d around here there are also seasons. Anthropomorphically I see them as nature’s moods, when the world seems calm, or tired, or refreshed, or lively.

Nothing much bothers me since I spent some money and bought appropriate gear for just about everything, for which my wife makes fun of me. I have shoes for rain, and snow, and normal days. I can dress from almost naked to eskimo bundled. If I cannot get out any given day, I feel I have failed. Making it into the world, and actually looking around and listening (not buried in email or recorded music or feverish planning) is one of the ways I respect and pay homage to the world around me. From it, I receive a benediction which I treasure.
Sat-

When anywhere is truly understood, there are many magical times and places and light effects. A seacoast is favored by mist and fog, or by startling clarity, or by blinding reflection, or by diffuse colored light interactions with the water, land, and clouds. This makes every day a different visual feast.

I’m excited by the variety, although one of my faults is I tend to become a little too affected in my moods by my projections into the weather. A foggy day feels different _ more inward, more calm _ than one of bright sun. I try to reach beyond that projection, and work on the beauty and meaning of everything that is offered to me. Fortunately, what I learn, like the forms of the moments themselves, is inexhaustible.

Sun-

Sunday the bicyclists often tour in groups along West Shore road. Especially relatively early in the morning, before the full heat of the day arrives. The same reason I am out here now. Most of them are, it seems, too busy talking to each other to much notice the views, and certainly none can observe the plants, nor hear the birds, nor feel the breeze as I do.

Nothing wrong with bicycles, except that lately their riders have become holier than thou types who think that their few minutes a week on wheels is saving the planet. They treat all cars with contempt and expect drivers to conform to whatever riders want to do, regardless of common rules of the road. They expect pedestrians to get out of their way in awe, when they are not ignoring them as a bird or rat in their path. This inability to emphasize beyond one’s temporary current role (for riders will soon enough take on the roles of drivers and pedestrians) is characteristic of our selfish and increasingly badly focused culture. Grump, grump, grump, goes the old guy …

Around and About

Honeysuckle

Fri.
Engaged in any activity _ even a simple stroll _ I tend to concentrate on one sense at a time, which is usually vision. The world is so rich I cannot possibly notice everything, and I am amazed by what is constantly before me. And yet, sometimes, I need to force myself to be aware of my other capabilities _ the feel of my legs or gut; the sounds all around me whether traffic, boats, or birds; the touch of the wind or sweat; and the scents in the air. I find that forcing myself to stop for a short time _ even only ten seconds _ can bring a whole new depth to the universe.

Honeysuckle is in full and magnificent bloom, and its perfume is strong and completely tuned to the seasons. It evokes memories of childhood and vacation, and the fact that it will soon be gone for another year adds poignancy to the experience.

Sat.

In a way it’s subversive. Just walking and appreciating for a few hours puts no money in circulation, doesn’t save nor even change anything, has no effect on the many problems of the world nor at least physically on my own. I’d like to believe it helps me have a low planetary footprint _ but of course in this culture that is a lie _ I have already used electricity and gas and water when I woke up, already ate food grown and transported and sold by others, even now wear clothing and shoes and glasses supplied from the far corners of the Earth. Being righteously independent is an illusion we can hardly afford.

But for a while I simply feel close to the universe, and can hardly express my thanks for the miracle of being able to experience existence so deeply. An elder, I tell myself, has already done his part and can fade away graciously, doing as little harm as possible. Or, maybe, I am just lazy.
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I live up a hill about a block from West Shore Road along the harbor, and I usually walk about two miles every morning. It is about a mile to the head of harbor, and about three to the other side in Wyncoma. Away from the harbor, the Huntington center and its parks is two miles away. Any of these, within walking distance, are proper foci for my notes and photos.

The goal is to post pictures and daily notions within a week of encountering and writing them, and only from the places I normally reach on foot. On occasion, I may cheat for a picture by driving somewhere I normally walk because of injury or weather. This simple circumference gives me an infinite and bottomless opportunity for my contemplations.