Changes

Mon-

For almost a quarter-century, almost every week, I’ve sat along one of the benches along the park here on Mill Dam road, under large leafy trees, listening to birds in the pines.  I’ve seen them in cold, and snow and storm and sun.  It seemed they the scene had been there forever and would continue well after I could no longer return.  Alas,  time catches up to parks as well as people.  The trees, the benches, the grass _ all gone.  Who knows what comes instead?

Admittedly there was no choice.  The same storms and cold and snow and sun had done their work on the bulkheads, and the earth was crumbling into the bay.  For a while it looked quite picturesque, but of course there was danger, and in any case the situation was rapidly growing worse.

So even in the short time I keep these notes, change presses on massively, and what once was is no more.
Tue-

In Halesite, the stream from Hecksher and the pond outlet empty into the harbor.  This has long been a difficult area prone to flooding, since there is a constant stream of mud and water silting up whatever pipes are constructed.  The latest greatest project had ripped up big chunks of the former roads, wiped out the former ancient dams, and apparently is going to create a new lake as a kind of large settling pond.

The point is simply that such changes, no entirely dramatic, happen all the time now everywhere.  There is no place, however remote or forgotten, that is not touched often by one of the seven billion.  There is no parcel of land, however forsaken, that might not suddenly sprout an office tower or shopping mall or mansion.  I can always lament the old days, and rue what is going away, but the only real lesson is to appreciate what is here while it is here.  Trying to preserve is a lot like trying to hold back the tide.

Wed-

Until a decade ago, this barren little patch had a concrete pier with a cute abandoned red shack, something that would not have been out of place in Maine or on one of the tourist towns on the Massachusetts coast.  But, like many such unused pieces of history around here, some lawyer deemed it dangerous and convinced the owners it must be destroyed.  So we get a different view, perhaps a bit more natural, but less attached to the open world as it used to be.

America still destroys its history wholesale.  We tend to see the heritage of our country as preservation of wilderness, rather than celebration of the people who lived on the land.  Preservation costs money, and although it is useful for everyone in general, is useful for no one in particular unless it can be fenced off and admission charged.

Thu-

Not all changes along the harbor are for the worse.  This property formerly held a rather nondescript house, which has been replaced by quite a handsome and well-done dwelling.  The entire area, of course, is going upscale, regardless of possible rising water.

For an old guy like me, it is far easier to complain about all the bad things I see around me and the way the world is going to hell than to appreciate some of the good things that also occur.  For example, at least global warming and climate change have entered the realm of political, social, and economic discussion, instead of being ignored as they were not long ago.  I need to smile and enjoy what is, especially when it is fine, rather than scowl at how much better it could all be.

Fri-

The gold coast magnificence of the Ferguson Castle _ before my time _ can only be inferred from the survival of its gatehouse, preserved when the land was transformed into condominiums at the end of the last century.  Like many such artifacts, it was hardly worth preserving.

Some might argue that except for nostalgia, that is generally true of just about everything around here.  There is little of historic significance or substantial world heritage.  I would say, rather, that just as a tree or blade of grass has a certain amount of rightness in simply existing, so does the land and the works of the past.  I believe we are wiser to change carefully when possible, rather than simply level to zero and arrogantly assume that our shiny new design is wonderfully better than coexisting with previous obstacles.

Sat-

Storms have torn a big chunk out of the sand bluff on which West Shore Road is built at the bottom of our hill, resulting in the sag in the chain link fence.  The erosion of the next big northeaster will no doubt crumble part of the pavement.  The town and county are supposedly fighting it out to see who, if anyone, has responsibility for trying to fix it this time (there have been a series of such incidents over the last thirty years.)

Life in general is relatively stable and constant, but in detail is chaotic and transient, every bit as brutal as the “nature red in tooth and claw”  interpretation of the meaning of evolution.  Sandbanks are not themselves immune to the process.  In a way, I guess, we are fortunate in having such a short personal window into infinity that we can exist in the illusion that we have some certainty and control over our world.

Sun-

Some things have not changed yet, but probably will soon.  With advances in transportation efficiency gas stations around here are already becoming somewhat scarce, as evidenced by the closed business across New York Ave.  It would seem only a matter of time before others such as this one will also be gone forever, replaced by something, maybe better, maybe worse.

It’s playful to think of the savage battles that will be fought by preservation groups to save the last vestiges of cheap oil as part of our heritage _ declaring this station or another part of our industrial heritage and keeping it operating with public funds.  Many of the things I took for granted have already gone away forever, and should I live a few more decades, or even years, this view will probably also join them.  Is it a loss?  Who knows _ but it will certainly be a change.

Autumnal Equinox

Mon-

You can’t feel the cold stiff gale requiring me to wear a vest for the first time, and the changing angle of the sun is not obvious.  Even the pictures do not tell the whole story, since they don’t give a full view of the scene.  But for those who look, the clues are obvious.

We don’t usually get the full effect of seasonal change for another four or five weeks _ it often arrives ferociously around Halloween.  But the grasses shown here, certainly know.  The people, in their own way, by letting the yard go to seed also provide clues.  The changing colors, the dry leaves on the ground, the sparseness of the foliage in the trees, all agree with the solar calendar.
Tue-

Directly along the shoreline spectacular fall colors generally do not happen.  The oceanic water refreshed on each tide moderates the air temperature too much.  Mostly the tree and bush leaves just turn brown and blow off in one of the first northern gales.

You need to go a little inland, not much, maybe a mile, to get some real reds and yellows.  Even on the harbor. though, if you get up a few dozen feet from the water _ as in this shot along a bluff property _ you can get a little action.  Yet, for the most part, all that will really become noticeable is the drying out. 

Wed-

Not all the color comes from leaves, nor all the indications of fall from any color at all.  There are many fruits and seeds ripening in various shades, and for the more knowledgeable the autumn annuals like goldenrod and aster have arrived in all their glory.  Many of the lush grasses are turning brown and stiff, many of the early flowers are stiff and grim skeletons.

The important key is that there can be celebration in each day.  I always loved a place with actual seasons because for me the transience of each moment is reinforced by the certain knowledge that soon it will be gone for another year.  When these fruits fall, there will be no others until next equinox.  That is both discouraging and a source of constant wonder.

Thu-

Spartina becomes a beautiful orange-brown, starting at the tops and working down, as the seeds ripen and fall into the bay.  These sheets of grass make wonderful frames for the water, of course, but also provide a rich habitat for the wildlife that remains, including innumerable hermit crabs.  Unfortunately, for many reasons, many of its vast beds are dying back over the last few decades, after being viciously destroyed in previous centuries.

In any case, current predictions claim this will all be underwater in another few decades, and hopefully spartina will have enough time to drift its seeds to sprout where lawns are now.  I will never know, except in imagination,  so I just enjoy this day before the seas rise.

Fri-

 

 

Poison ivy is so pretty in all seasons that it’s almost a shame we react to it so strongly.  Apparently, however, its seeds are good food for wildlife, who don’t share our difficulty.  In the early fall, in particular, the vines turn spectacular shades of red, orange, and yellow, while some of the lower leaves retain their lush glossy green.

There may be some moral here about looks being deceiving, but of course in terms of pure visual interest looks are just looks.  Sometimes our culture tries too hard to find meanings and hidden metaphors in what should simply be taken for granted and enjoyed for the beauties given, and the value to the environment.

Sat-

Most of the year, Montauk daisies are a clump of nondescript dark green, impenetrable to any other flowers or weeds.  In the fall, they come into their glory and bloom in their native element, along the beaches and on the dunes.  The wild goldenrod adds a nice touch.

In today’s hurried electronic times I tended to rush by these sights on my way to work or leisure or just wrapped up in my own cares.  Nature is too vast.  I would glance at it, say, ah, I have seen that, and quickly move on.  Now I have the time, and there are miracles of beauty everywhere.  Even consciously taking the extra time, however, I fear I still rush by much too fast.

Sun-

No composition, no artistic merit, but you get the idea.  The prickly hedge is going orange, the bay is in the background.  It’s an open question how much snapshots should bother trying to have some kind of formal architecture anyway.  In fact, the whole field of photography seems pretty wide open, since what seemed correct and proper and striking generations ago has faded into formal dullness, and the various crude shots which were dismissed at the time are recognized as masterpieces recording time and place.

The Romans used to say “life is short but art is long.”  That may be, but the appreciation of art, the evaluation of art, is faddish and fickle and usually even shorter than life itself.

 

Trash

Mon-

In spite of heavy use, the water, shoreline, and highway are kept relatively clean.  But you can’t escape the culture, and our culture generates a lot of garbage, much of it never collected or recycled.  Everyone learns to pretty much ignore it _ if it doesn’t fit into the pattern of how beautiful everything is while you are taking time to do so, you try not to see it.  Of course, some artists reverse the process and shove it in our faces. 

Doesn’t matter _ it is still there.  As the paperback spiritual guides often assert, there must be Buddha in the discarded beer can as well as in the swan.  Those of us less sophisticated just realize that it is part of everything.  Deposit requirements have helped a lot with cans and bottles since I was a kid, and in general trash is better taken care of than a few decades ago, at least in this little local area.
Tue-

Some trash is kinda cute and picturesque.  Some is just plain ugly.  An inconsiderate oaf unloaded this pile, and now it awaits _ what?  High tide, garbagemen going beyond the call, a civic-minded citizen?

It’s precisely at this pile that I part ways with libertarian tea-party fanatics.  My simple solution is to pay a government to clean up the common areas and punish the oafs.  Their brilliant idea is either to let the junk pile up forever or let the roadside be sold to a private interest who will keep it clean but restrict the view so the rest of us can’t enjoy it.  I believe in common heritage, common rights, and common responsibility, including access and control of common natural areas.  Libertarians do not.  Simpletons.

Wed-

Not a bad harvest for a strong wind pushing flotsam into the wall.  Mostly leaves, a few bottles and the inevitable loose buoy.  Of course, the glass and metal sinks, so you never see it, the paper rots away, and most of the plastic, we are told, turns into a kind of oceanic mush that permeates the world’s seas and will not go away for thousands of years.

Nevertheless, the general pattern seems to be more considerate than it used to be.  Most people, at least around here, have accepted that the world is finite, and that the environment is precious.  Social pressure can influence individual behavior far more than laws, and right now that social pressure concerning trash disposal is pretty good.
Thu-

Well, most people would probably say this is not trash.  After all, it’s carefully in a bag and on the road and will be picked up by the town and magically disappear from the landscape.  And yet, it is trash.  It will join tons of other material on our landfill, which grows larger daily.  Eventually, as the icecaps melt and the sea rises, perhaps only the landfills will jut up from where Huntington used to be.

I’m as guilty as anyone.  If you are part of a culture, you pretty much need to accept a lot of that culture.  We are trying to change over time, but we are far past my boyhood days when we buried cans in a trench in the back field,  composted all the organics, and didn’t have enough surplus to be picked up more than once a week. 

   Fri-

Even in the midst of the garbage crisis, nature continues on its merry way.  The bittersweet turns orange, the ailanthus goes brown.  We wonder how much of our proclivity will finally end it all.

I ask, what can I do?  Is there anything one person can change, or is it all ordained by heaven, for us to accept as we will?  I wish I had an answer.  In the meantime, I just enjoy the season and the signs all around.

Sat -

 

I suppose it’s colorful enough, just another human pattern at the interface between civilization and nature, but when it strikes your consciousness (which it often does not, because we suppress so well) trash heedlessly thrown in beauty is jarring.  We hardly ever pay artists to create hideous works, so creative efforts usually go in the direction of apologizing for the junk and making it somehow pretty and interesting.

Nevertheless, that is a lie.

Sun-

 

Eventually, a lot of garbage just fades into the underbrush, decaying gracefully or not.  Since we cannot get people _ at least all people _ to be responsible in disposing of their leftovers it seems the only real solution is to make it as innocuous and organically degradable as possible.  It’s not a good solution, especially in the long term _ but its better than the current alternatives.

  

Between Seasons

Mon-

Ancient astronomers tried to fit the cycles of the moon neatly into the yearly cycle of the Earth, but of course failed because the real universe often maddeningly fails to follow our logical, precise, mathematical models ( a problem science and philosophy still face head on, in spite of denials.)  Stable calendar systems had to come up with months or days thrown in periodically to keep the lunar calendar and annual calendar in alignment.  These inserted bits were often considered “between calendars”.

We would like to believe the seasons follow fairly strict rules around the equinoxes and solstices.  But weather patterns refuse to fall neatly in line, and this time in September can be confusing.  Hot or cold, wet or dry, windy or calm.  The vegetation follows the sun, but must take into account not only the current conditions but everything that occurred during the growing season and (like us) accidents of fate such as when the seed happened to land on wet fertile ground. 

So we keep things like the barbecue and boat ready for the summer-like moments, and start to pack up the bathing suits and get out the sweaters for the chill that is inevitable, and remain in a happy suspense for a while, like the plants, taking whatever comes along. 

Tue-

There should be a “goldenrod” day, presumably on autumnal equinox, when the yellow flowers of fall suddenly burst forth.  But of course, depending on how dry and warm it has been and how much sun each site receives _ not to mention various genetic variables in each plant _ the bloom occurs anywhere from early August to early October.  This year, it seems to be around mid-September.

There is almost no surer sign, in the midst of a late heat wave, that “this too shall pass” and that regardless of what our body is telling us about today, the cycles of the world are relentlessly moving on.

Wed-

Colors are sneaking into the green all the time now.  Some are fruits, some are leaves but they all relieve the inevitable monotony that has gripped the landscape for the last few months.  It’s really one of the things those of us who live where there are seasons appreciate.  Too often, in these extreme times, we are directed to look at only a single spectacular moment _ peak foliage _ as if it occurred overnight.  But there is a wonderful and subtle harmony of changes that glow gradually into that crescendo, and it is a privilege to attend the entire symphony and appreciate nature’s entire work.

Thu-

One of the town docks at Coindre, pilings covered in barnacles, clump of spartina colonizing the shore.  All shellfish and plants in some ways cleanse the water, much cleaner now that runoff from the town is treated before running into the harbor.  We have no intensive agriculture around here, but the county has passed relatively strong regulations on lawn fertilizer use which are adhered to pretty well, at least by the contractors.  Still, a lot of dog and goose waste trickles in during rainstorms.

The exposed low-tide bottom was covered thickly in oysters a few centuries ago.  The blue barrels on the docks mark an attempt by some environmentalists to reintroduce them, not so much for an edible industry as to do more heavy duty filtration work.  So far, the results have not been particularly encouraging.

Fri-

Early burst of color from a doomed tree sprouting from the concrete overlook at the head of the harbor.  Boat owners obviously remain optimistic that some good weather remains, although in fact for several years a lot of the vessels stay in the water year around.  Not quite this many, though, because the more prudent have them lifted and cleaned.

More and more of these spots of yellow, orange, and red as the days drift on.  Photographs by an amateur like me obviously do not do reality justice, but really all I am trying to do is get myself _ and maybe you _ to truly see them and their environment a little better than we normally do by habit.

Sat-

 

 

Some flowers like asters and this white silverlace vine bloom as fall approaches.  We tend to accept their aesthetic contributions gratefully without reflecting on how remarkable this really is, considering that everything else seems to shove flowering into the spring and midsummer.  Since we are always alert for metaphors and similes, we seniors who have not yet changed the world like to believe that we, also, are going to burst forth late in life.

Well, any stories that get you through the day and don’t harm anyone are fine.  In the meantime, it’s enough to just inhale the unexpected fragrance and notice how well they contrast with the brilliant atmospheric blues as the angle of the sun relentlessly drops further south.

Sun-

 

 

Looks very much like summer _ except for the fruiting grass and the goldenrod.  Of course, if you were standing here (at the slight angle I seem to be, since I still can’t hold the camera level) you would feel that the breeze is very cool, and the traffic has picked up into autumn patterns, and the children are playing their organized soccer and football behind me and it is necessary to wear long pants today.

From the standpoint of what we see, pictures examined closely often tell us more than we actually experience visually at the time.  On the other hand, they are selected from a vast field of vision, and ignore all the massive other perceptions that flood into us each moment, and hence are total lies.  Often, the more art there is in a picture, the more it ignores the reality of being.  Nevertheless, such things are certainly pretty and amusing and useful in their own way.

 

 

Hazy Daze

Mon-

September brings a land of frequent mists, when the dew evaporates into humid low-hanging haze, and the frequent rapid temperature changes produce low clouds and fogs.  And my brains, also, goes into a kind of haze knowing how soon it will all become bleak, with many dark times until the coming later spring.

But no matter how foggy my perceptions may be, they manage to keep a sharp eye out for that ivy which is in its fully shiny poisonous glory everywhere!

Tue-

Sure, it’s all green and inviting – but the far shore is dimmed.  Time grows ever more short.  Tomatoes not picked will quickly rot, and snappers not caught off the docks in the next few weeks become full-fledged bluefish and flee into deeper waters.

Wed-

Fine old Chinese painting ink on silk with light watercolors, as the markers read in the museum.  One reason to enjoy and try to appreciate art is to be able to reward yourself by applying it to the views available to us all the time.  In this case, it would almost be a shame to seek to improve it by actually picking up a pencil or brush, although such an exercise can, of course, deepen our enchantment with being even more.

Thu-

Annuals are all finishing up now, sending fluffs of seeds into each breeze.  Some would think their brief lives are sad, if weeds could feel such emotions, but any life for any time is infinitely longer and richer than anything else in the universe, including rocks and the atoms themselves.  In any case, it is just me who emphasizes so with their plight, and enjoys their form against the unfocused far bank.
 

Fri-

First falling leaves already dotting the tide, but the boaters hardly notice.  The hardy ones, like these used by clammers to get to their moorings, often go all winter as long as the harbor isn’t froze over.  But all the pleasure craft usually are winterized by December.  The season, I’ve noticed, has been pushing back later and later.  Superstorm Sandy gave everyone a bit of shock last year, but procrastination is the order of the day when you’re paying a fortune for a room on the waves.

Sat -

Spartina grass seeding into the high tide while you can just barely discern tinges of seasonal color change in the trees and other vegetation.  Not all of September is haze, of course, but from now on the clear days often mean cooler days with high pressure systems coming in from the North, and the warmer days are filled with fog and rain, both from the southerly breezes and from contrasts of water and air temperatures.  It’s a fine time to be about and take a deep breath and be enchanted by overwhelming beauty and perfection.

Sun -

The old dock at the mansion was effectively destroyed by hurricane Sandy, when the high tides and waves were breaking over the deck so that the supports were ripped up and the piles pulled up.  Nobody has gotten around to removing it yet, there are certainly not enough funds in the county budget to fix it up.  Of course, the lawyers made them put up a fence with legalese signs, but that’s all ignored.  Somehow, the verdant ragweed growing in front of it is completely appropriate.