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 stay 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.

 

Wintry Solstice

Mon-

Over the last few decades, winter solstice has been kind of a stealth arrival of winter.  There would be a couple of cold snaps, maybe a snowstorm, but generally the days remained fairly benign.  The shortest day of a year was a marker of the entrance to a cold season, but not an event in the middle of it.

My brain sometimes has trouble with the notion that seasons follow the sun events.  It makes sense that the longest day should also be the warmest, for example,  just as it seems intuitively obvious that noon should be the hottest time of day.  But that is not so _ the earth continues to warm in July and August, as it does at 1pm.  Likewise it cools after December 21. 

This year, however, the local weather is definitely more in tune with my incorrect internal notions.  This is Coindre Hall in the midst of a pretty decent north wind wintry blast.

Tue-

Although the harbor is clear, shallow puddles have frozen solid.  The afternoon sun is bright, but dimmed by the atmosphere as it shines in from its most southernmost positions.  Dead and dormant vegetation has not yet been broken or crushed by heavy storms.

We’ve mostly lost the abilities our ancestors had, to tell at a glance exactly what season it is.  The clues are all around us, but they are clues that no longer matter as much to us as is our power on, is the gas tank filled, who do I have to please today.  Perhaps our lives are just as rich or richer for the change, but every once in a while I wonder.

Wed-

Tiny bits of holiday cheer in the bright red berries.  We become so used to plastic artificial excess that we discount the real thing when we see it. 

Today is one of the times that photographs lie.  The real joy of the day is in the bitterly cold air, the quiet breeze, the almost empty streets, and the happiness of being well clothed and warm and able to enjoy the sensation of walking and thinking.  Vision is not all of existence, nor even most of it.

Thu-

As the latest snow covers the parking lot, the empty docks show that all the boats that are going to be put away for the winter are now safely on land somewhere.  When you see anything like this, there has to be an assumption that the boat club has firm rules in place having to do with protecting the docks.

Everywhere else, a few boats are still in, some covered, some not having moved all summer.  I always wonder what stories they tell _ death, disease, bankruptcy, old age or change of life?  A motorboat is not an inexpensive toy, but there seems to be a constant stream of abandonment.  Obviously, however, not the case at the Harbor Boat Club.

Fri-

Sure looks like winter _ but of course astronomical winter doesn’t start for a few days yet.  I think I’ll just go with the testimony of my eyes (and all my other senses out here in a cold wind.)  Whatever the actual date, this is a winter scene.

That’s one of the curses of our industrially-formed culture.  We squeeze the hours and days and seasons into nifty little boxes,  as precisely formed and labeled as our plastic food packaging, and ignore the fact that nature is really a bit more amorphous and ragged than that.  In reality, even our own midday is often controlled by events rather than the clock.  The only harm of living in categories is that we tend to observe even less than we usually do.

Sat-

This seems to be our local miniature version of Scuffy, the brave little tugboat.   Every morning about this time it seems to chug out into the sound, and then chug back shortly thereafter.  I would like to think the slant to the horizon in the picture adds to the drama, although we both know it is my fault for failing to hold the camera steady. 

Natural human reaction (and it is kind of weird when you think about it) is to wonder what the story is.  Perhaps we have a drug runner in plain sight, or someone who just likes to keep the motor tuned, or an old captain who pursues memories, or a local gang dumping bodies or (what would be far worse to current sensibilities) ecologically damaging waste in deeper waters.  Anyway, it can add a dash of romance to an otherwise normal day.

Sun-

Not sure about all these geese _ certainly not here all summer, maybe here all winter.  A lot of them from somewhere, anyway.  This little area attracts waterfowl because there is a constant spring seepage from the sandy hills providing plentiful fresh water along the shore.

I usually don’t get birds or other wildlife in these shots.  Just an old camera, not nearly as capable as that on a modern cellphone.  I would have nothing against a better device except that I notice that people who (in their middle age crisis or second childhood) equip themselves with expensive and showy equipment tend to concentrate more on what is available in the viewfinder than what is really around them.  I guess people really seeing weed leaves for the first time and exclaiming over them as they take thousands of shots is a kind of aesthetic progression, but I have always tried to do the same thing without manufactured aids.

 

Weather Turning Winter

Mon-

From October until mid-December on Long Island is a confused, almost schizophrenic series of contradictory weather patterns.  It may be very warm for a few days, then extremely cold, then chill down for rain or flurries.  Week to week trends somewhat colder, but nothing really definitive seems to say “ok, now it’s time to stop fooling around ….”

Every year, right around now, there is a big change. The tiny waves have the color of the North Atlantic, the clouds get ominous, the temperature stays low, and every weather prediction is for maybe snow, maybe sleet, maybe rain.  The dark days heading to solstice feed the gloom.  Time for the winter overcoats and hats and everything else, and finally to forget about the autumn and look forward to spring.

Tue-

Low tide is beginning to have that bleak off-season look where the exposed sand bottom just kind of grades into the water, sky, and brown tress on the shore.  Even the houses have lost their vibrancy, as all the flowers are gone and the festive outdoor detritus _ flags, barbeque sets, toys, whatever _ have been safely stowed away.

Winter is the most unchanging season of all.  Oh, there are a few dramatic events like a heavy snowfall or deep frozen ice but for the most part each day resembles the last and the next far more than in the dramas of the other times of year.  What I most dislike about the current consumer culture is that we have so willingly put ourselves into exactly this kind of gloomy timeless purgatory for work shopping and entertainment all year round _ one day after another, endlessly, all the same.

Wed-

  

Not a heavy snowfall, but enough to make a difference.  The opposite shore is obscured by a heavy band of flakes, as the dock takes on a new coat of white.

A couple more of these, a week or so of desperate cold, and I am ready for spring.  Ah, that’s when you know winter is really arriving.  The thing about this area is that _ although not nearly as bad as say upstate New York _ the winter drags on long after you have experienced the thrill of seasonal change.

Thu-

I try not to use zoom too much, with a preferred aesthetic of art remaining within certain bounds for certain tasks.  When something gets too fine-tuned it gets somewhat artificial.  On the other hand, I know anything I decide to shoot is simply a fragmented selection of the real world, and as completely fake as can be.  That is always one of the issues of art _ not that these photographs have much to do with art, I suppose.

At this moment the snow fell heavily, but that in itself is a misdirection, because before and after there was hardly any snowfall at all _ this was one of those long storms with bands of activity and other times of complete quiet.  Nevertheless, at this particular moment, it was much like a blizzard, cold, driving, relentless and blotting out the horizon.  I was happy to head back up the hill to our house.

Fri-

At this time of year it takes more than a few days of twenty degree weather to affect the relatively warm salt water in the harbor.  Even here at the head of harbor, where inflowing fresh water floats on top for a while, there is no ice skim yet.  The ducks, of course, never seem to notice anything.

All those boats will stay out there all winter, protected _ at least in theory _ from even the thickest ice by a system blowing bubbles all around the docks.  I guess it works, but the air pumps can make an awful racket, polluting even the calmest crisp clear days.

Sat

Some snow evades the warm vapors for a while.  Even where it melts rapidly, the damage has been done.  Stalks are already starting to break and fray, by the summer most of this will form thick mats washed up along the shore.  Well, to be fair, maybe most of it will get waterlogged quickly and lie rotting on the bottom.  For now, there are lots of pleasant tonal contrasts.

Up the shore away, in a sheltered indentation, there are thousands of geese on the waterline.  Surprisingly, although there seem to be quite a few birds of all kinds around, they are almost silent.  Maybe they know something about what is coming that I don’t.

Sun-

Doesn’t look like much.  Snowflakes barely screen the far harbor shoreline.  But the strong winds and twenty five degree temperatures wake you up pretty quickly.  The white coating is all new.

Only seven days until winter solstice _ at least my winter solstice, since I simplify it and always declare the sun at its lowest and shortest on December 21, regardless of what the newscasters tell us now.  That doesn’t matter much, really, the nights come early enough for weeks wrapping around the actual turning point. 

 

   

Open Waters

Mon-

The boat owners have mostly decided by now.  They raise their left hand to test the wind and guess how hard and severe the winter will be _ will there be snow and gales, will the harbor freeze over, will it be a hard freeze with crushing ice floes.  Their right hand opens their wallet and examines the cost of getting the boat out and stored and safe.  Looks like everyone over in puppy cove is feeling flush this year.

Sometime this week, a working tug and dock will head out from Coney’s marina and pick up all the buoys to stack up on shore as well.  Then there will be nothing but cold blue waves, and whatever goes on under them.

Tue-

No yachts on the sound today, even if you could see that far through the mist.  Fog and reduced visibility are common now, with the various sudden changes in air temperature, and slower adjustment of the water.  You might guess it feels warm out _ you would be wrong.  For some reason, there is a real bite to the dampness.

It’s as if the world is waiting …. But no, that is just projection, a common fault of mine to throw my mood on things that have no mood at all.  And one, to be honest, that is probably not at all shared by most of the population around here.  December kicks off the mean season, when everyone has too much to do and is worried about family and fate.  Aggravated drivers, angry pedestrians, upset children, all hiding their true feelings under masks of good cheer.  Fun to watch, if I stay alert.

Wed -

Just grass and reflections with bare trees along the far shore.  Off camera to the right crews are pulling up the buoys and heaping them on a barge to tow off to winter storage on pavement near Halesite.  That will complete the transformation of this end of the harbor into a semblance of what it once looked like.

The grasses are a shadow of what they even were ten years ago _ might be pollution or sea level or global warming or nutrient overload or some disease _ nobody knows.  But it’s clear they become less year by year, everywhere along the shore.  These will remain valiantly waving beauty until the ice floes arrive and crush and cut them with rising and falling and pushing and pulling tides.

Thu-

Most of the floating docks have been either taken in and tied up on shore, or taken out to deeper water and anchored tightly for the winter.  These float up and down on the tides, with chains or other fastenings wrapped around deeply driven pilings so they can slide freely.  Unfortunately, deep cold weather freezes the spray and fresh water near the surface, coating the pilings and chains with ice, freezing the ice together.  When the tide comes up, the pilings are slowly but surely ripped up with the rocking action of the waves.

Springtime a barge comes around and hammers in the pilings as necessary.  But this costs a fair amount of money.  And for the permanent docks built on the pilings, large damage can occur from twisting as the supports are never raised equally.  Of course, it’s not all floating docks, in the winter frozen icebergs have exactly the same effect.  In other words, the endless calm tourists often ascribe to the quiet cycles of nature on the bay are not quite so timeless as they might think.

Fri-

Collecting the buoys in the fog _ they lucked out this year since it is extremely warm.  I’ve seen the crew out before with spray icing up the chains in a bitter north wind.  I’m not really sure why these have to come out, but I like the fact that for at least of the year the waves are unbroken by artifacts.

Atmospheric effects can happen anywhere, I suppose, but near the water they vary constantly and change the landscape dramatically from day to day, hour to hour, season to season.  The most difficult thing for me is to avoid the easy lethargy of looking out the window and deciding that some kind of weather or other should prevent me from taking my daily two miles.  That is not only lazy, but also sets up a day when I fail to get my thoughts cleared and my head screwed on straight.

Sat-

The kayaks and small sailboats will stay stacked along the shore all winter _ unless some huge storm or tide comes along and destroys the racking, which as happened recently.  I look at them less as intrusions than as interesting bits of color in an otherwise monochrome landscape.  Obviously, there is not much contrast being provided by any boats.

An artistic eye has the ability to take things as they are and find pleasing patterns.  If you train yourself in this way you can find beauty in rotting piers, iridescent oil slicks, and discarded roadside trash.  It is impossible to make the world into something it is not, but there is always an open question concerning what it really is.

Sun-

Sort of like a vortex, the watercraft are swept off the surface from the inlet on in to the head of harbor.  The outer area is cleared by December, some of the water in Halesite has active anchorage all winter.  This reflects the likelihood of hard freeze and thick ice occurrence.  Right here is about midway,  mostly abandoned to the geese and swans and ducks that overwinter.

Baymen (as far as I can tell there are still no Baywomen) who do the odd jobs, go out for clams in the coldest months, and who are increasingly scarce, regard this time of year as calm before the storm.  Well, actually storms.  At some point soon it will blow hard for days, the temperature will be in the twenties, and spray will add to the misery of freezing fog even when it is not sleeting or driving snow.  A hard life.  Some call it rewarding, but it’s certainly not for the likes of a wimp like me.