Sun and Water

Mon-

Mussels piled up under the dock presumably indicate the water is healthier than it once was.  With all the talk of sea level rise, it continues to amaze how far out spring tides can go.  These little deceptive indicators are probably why everyone has so much trouble accepting ongoing challenges of climate change _ we only see results in catastrophic events.  Otherwise, everything just seems as normal as ever.

I won’t see this all go away, probably.  But I may see the tides much higher all the time, and the sand beach submerged.  On the other hand, the tendency here has been for currents to fill in and perhaps the beach itself will be pushed up with the water.  I am simply a curious observer now, not a participant nor anyone who believes that by turning off the lights more frequently I can prevent what is going to happen.

Tue-

Simple pleasure scenes of summer return now.  Empty rowboats, reflections of grass above the waves.  The water in every one of its moods remains fascinating, even if that is only true because I am not lazy enough to spend long moments staring hypnotically.  Sitting and doing nothing is somewhat harder when it’s cold and raining. 

After all, that is one of the true functions of beaches everywhere.  We can just sit and do nothing and let our minds drift as sun and sea lull us into meditation.  Those with no beaches available can look up and do much the same with clouds.  It’s a wonderful universe, and at times like these we feel fully part of it.

Wed-

   

Beach roses opening before most of the hybrids.  From here on, there is a profusion of color as first the trees and shrubs join the blooming extravaganza, followed by an increasing wave of flashy annuals until a little after solstice.  Then it is the long sustained crescendo of whatever specialty flowers people buy and plant, but by that point they are just small pinpoints in a world of green.

An alien intelligence like a computer would assume that once we have seen this cycle we would never really find anything interesting in it again.  Certainly still enjoying the pattern after having watched it for nearly seventy years would seem to be an indication of brain dysfunction.   Yet, powered by the subtle unconscious desires of biology and nature, we always respond, and it is miraculous and wonderful that we do so.

Thu-

 

 

 

Deadly nightshade blooming already, one of the prettier weeds.  Not only the odd flowers, but also the bright red fruits later.  Of course, it is in the tomato family.  The fact that it manages to survive in the same habitat as ragweed always amazes me.

The rest of the harbor environs this day are fairly damp and miserable.  Not quite raining, but so humid water can form drips in front of your face.  Not exactly cold, but with a strong breeze even the mid-fifties can require a heavy jacket.  The sun is trying it’s best, but cloud cover is grey and gloomy.  Once we’ve had a taste of eighty degree temperature at this time of year _ as we did a few days ago _ we are ruined for the season whenever the weather goes back to being “average.”

Fri-

Colorful kayaks are ready to go, the dock has been repaired, boats sit awaiting passengers.  True, it’s only fifty-odd degrees this morning, but the intent is there as soon as summer arrives and compels appropriate activities.

Along the shores of Long Island, we have started to develop our own picturesque aesthetic, as beautiful as anything in New England or Europe.  You can almost immediately tell where you are, as you can from pictures of, say, the Cote D’Azur.  There are certain elements that remain the same.  This will only last for an instant, a brief flash before sea levels take it away, but it is lovely today and worth appreciating.

 

Sat-

Just more of the same old harbor, same old boats, same old water, same old sky, same old ….  Just because it is not the most different or most unusual or most spectacular does not mean it should be ignored.  Most of what we encounter is beautiful, and every moment is unique.  You are never this exact age, in this exact position, ever again.

Appreciation of existence is exactly understanding moments.  The past can be part of them, because we are composed of memories.  And our consciousness reaches out a cloud of comprehension and planning and being that goes far beyond our immediate environment.  But what is here should always be part of our awareness.  Anyway, that is my thought on more of the same old stuff today.
Sun-

Starting this month, I am expanding horizons a bit.  The last year has been restricted, for the most part, to places I have actually walked from my house.  Age is becoming more restrictive, and so this will now include almost anywhere I go doing the day _ the town, parks, the city, the beach.  Long Island has many such that I visit fairly frequently.

This old 1711 homestead is in Caumsett state park.  I like to go here because it is far less crowded than the rest of the park, and connects me back to days when the land was wild and new.  On the other side of the dwelling, barely visible, is the inlet which connected to the rest of the known world at the time.  Three hundred years ago_ an infinite distance from where we live now.

   

 

 

Floribunda

Mon-

The full tree/shrub flowering season is upon us, azaleas, rhododendrons, dogwoods and in this case a large horse chestnut.   Normally, I ignore the mansions but in fact I am a creature of civilization, and often do appreciate what human touches bring to a landscape.  Endless miles of trees blooming, vast impenetrable forests to the horizon, also tend to leave me cold.  I like human interaction with nature, not one or the other stripped of each other’s acquaintance.

Some years the heat by now has soared, and this short marvelous season is over as it begins.  For the northeast, this spring has been quite cool and continues to run ten degrees or more below average, especially here along the waterfront.  That prolongs the blooms indefinitely, although any given day we might wish that we could just ditch the coat.  Never completely happy seems to be my permanent condition.
Tue-

First beach roses of the summer.  It’s obviously silly to be obsessed with the “first” this or that of any cycled season, just as is it ridiculous to keep hanging on the “last” in the fall.  But it’s a human outlook on things, as we know there do exist such boundaries of beginning and ending.  Something never shared by other animals.  We are blessed or cursed with memories leading to projections of long-term possibilities.

Forsythia blooms, daffodils and tulips are already a distant recollection,  it is hard to remember the desolate brown branches covering the hills.  Heavy coats and gloves are packed away until autumn.  We take all that for granted, adjust quickly, move on into the new present.  But if we just pause a moment to think about all that _ how aware we can be _ it is a constant miracle that we are so conscious.

Wed-

The scent of wisteria is overwhelming from up close, but rapidly dissipates.  It’s almost a contradictory plant, seeming to bloom so profusely, look so fragile during much of the year, and yet manage to establish itself, perhaps for decades, climbing high into trees.  I love watching for the surprising flashes of lavender in the most unlikely places.

Each set of blooms is running rapidly through its programmed progression now, as buds turn to flowers turn to seed or fruit.  The dogwoods are on their way out, the lilacs have come and gone, cherries are long vanished, apples are about halfway, depending on location and microclimate.   The more aggressive annuals like dandelion are all over the place.  I get dizzy if I try to notice everything.

Thu-

Spartina is well on its way, although these seem to be perched more on floating mats than part of the wetlands.  Whatever works, I guess.  In another month they will be waist-high, and filled with various visible and invisible animal inhabitants.

My petty concerns with money or aches and pains too often intrude on my appreciation of existence.  Yet, in saying that in all truth, I also lie.  For I am as much my petty concerns as I am appreciation.  I not only must eat and sleep and perform various bodily functions and think, I also know that if I did not have to do so I should be much diminished.  Being alive and aware is more than anything else a miraculous balance of impossibilities.

Fri-

Civic pride still around in the plantings at the private beaches along West Shore Drive.  Hardly anyone except motorists will see these blooms, and certainly will not give credit to whoever planted and tends them.  Yet there they are for the public to enjoy.  An immediate refutation of capitalist economic theory, if you think about it deeply.

We’re in a fog and rain period typical along the seashore this time of year.  Inland gets very hot and then big storms when fronts come through, but the heat hardly reaches us as the cold water moderates the air.  Sometimes a thick mist or fog is quite beautiful, making all the greens more luminous than they are in bright sunlight.

Sat-

Nothing special, just a view on a misty morning.  Oh, we think, yes yes it is beautiful enough but nothing really remarkable, nothing we would sing about, just another glance among the infinite visions we see each day.  It is not only miraculous that we can engage in such infinite wonders with the world, but can treat them as common and to be ignored.
Sun-

Memorial Day weekend, so flags are obligatory.  I like flags quite a bit, they add unexpected color and movement to any landscape.  I’ve never been a purist, both raw wilderness and hermetic human engineering (such as malls) bore me. 

Anyway, it’s the great anticipation of summer.  Beaches are now charging entry fees, children are anticipating the end of school, everyone dreams of vacations to come.  In many ways this is the best time of summer, while such hopes are as fresh as nature itself.

  

 

  

May Tease

Mon-

Suddenly summer.  Warm enough that I need shirtsleeves and sunscreen.  Green all over.  The hue is a bit yellow-fresh, the leaves smaller than normal, but you need to look closely to see.  Red wing blackbirds are attacking anything _ including pedestrians _ who gets too close to their nests in the old reeds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  

    

 

 

  

Simply Beautiful

Mon-

Without walking anywhere, there are now sights all around the house like these tulips.  Now I have the time to actually anticipate them as they grow, worry about if buds will form, watch the promise of opening and finally enjoy their full bloom, always wondering how long it can last.  Being able to experience such performances for the days and weeks necessary is a marvelous luxury, only afforded to the very young and quite old.

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

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

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

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

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

Fri-

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

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

Sat-

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

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

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

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