Gratefulbeing

Mon -

The Yoda-like syntax of this holiday remains meaningful, but Thanksgiving has such immense and varied connotations that a general feeling of gratitude to the universe for our existence sometimes gets lost in the shuffle.  There are certainly times when most of us are overwhelmed by the richness and wonder of being alive.  On the other hand, there are all the sales, the hassles with cooking unfamiliar birds, travel, the dread of encountering family, and, of course, the fact that the original holiday was declared by Lincoln as a day to ask God to help us slaughter the other side so that right might prevail.

I’m not at all cynical about being in awe of the cosmos all the time.  I know I had nothing to do with the bounty provided to me.  Like many people, at least in the more fortunate parts of the world, I would not trade my ordinary life here and now for an ordinary life in any other time nor place.  I am very lucky. 
Tue -

Amazingly, we can find beauty in scenes that promise little direct pleasure.  Evolutionary theory would claim that there is a clear survival skill in recognizing something immediately useful _ a fruit, a possible animal dinner, avoiding danger, whatever.  But the sere landscapes of late fall and winter offer no useful relief to our basic needs.

Yet we look at snowdrifts, and brown reeds, and skies promising rain or snow or harsh cold and we are often happy.  This all fits, we think.  Beauty is complex.   Our universes are more complicated than our theories can ever know.  I sometimes wonder if the only real sin is in extreme simplification.
Wed-

Everyone seems to have taken the hint of the last few storms and spells.  The waters ride open and clear _ at least at this end of the harbor _ once more.  Even most of the buoys have been taken up.  Let the ice and snow arrive _ we are deep in our burrows until better times.

Thanksgiving kicks off the “holiday season” with which the Northern Hemisphere combats the depression of dark solstice.  It’s filled with feasts, and lights, and special social gatherings, and that is all to the good.  Some urge us to ponder the “deeper true meaning” of such events, but the “deeper true meaning” of any time you can take some moments to contemplate the universe is just to be astonished and in awe of your own experience of existence, and overwhelmed that you can share it with others.
Thu-

Of all the infinite things for which I am grateful, perhaps the most extraordinary is the privilege of having lived in a goldilocks historical period.  Nature was still viable, man had not yet overwhelmed the planet, the past of cultures and buildings and languages lived on.  There was an amazing mix of new scientific knowledge and deeper religious experience.  We were all amazingly free to experience almost every human possibility.

This picture symbolizes that nicely.  It seems remote and wild, but it is in one of the most heavily populated and reworked places on earth.  Nature frames all, but there are docks and kayaks with which to explore.  An old man can walk here with a camera and go home to a full dinner.  Perhaps in the future, as in the past, the sky and the water will be filled with menace and destruction, but this particular slice of time was mostly benign and immensely glorious.
Fri-

Not so much the cold as the raw drizzle and biting wind _ and the early onset which means I have not adjusted yet _ added gloom to the already dim and bleak scene.  I hunched down in my parka, furtively snapped some pictures, fondly remembered other, better times, and began to put myself in a pretty nasty funk.

Fortunately, I was able to take a few deep breaths and pause and finally immerse myself in the moment, and all was well.  I am constantly astounded that my mind can switch moods and make lemonade out of just about anything.  I’m not so foolish as to claim my life is entirely built on attitude, but I am amazed (and often grateful) that emotions can override any logic.
Sat-

Bittersweet is featured perhaps too often in these seasonal shots, but this year’s crop happens to be magnificent, after several rather skimpy autumns.  It is the flashiest of the wild berries, out of place in the drab brown wilds where it is typically found.  Harder to ignore than the more inconspicuous fruits of poison ivy, wild grapes, rose hips, and innumerable others, but we manage to not see it all the same.

I never pretend to divorce myself from this blog, and that includes my personal history.  The other reason for bittersweet now is that it brings back strong memories of gathering it over twenty years ago for Joan’s Mom to decorate the house during these holidays.  Linking the past with today using tangible artifacts can be a rather noble activity, especially when it also recalls nature and a world that once was, keeps constantly changing, and yet, fortunately, still remains with us.
Sun-

The greenest life around is the algae happily glowing on the tideline, although the most vibrant life of all remains under the water, like the seaweed draped on the back of this concrete.  The concrete itself is a remnant of a once-mighty wall futilely designed to hold back the sea, although its true demise rested on the constant erosion caused by fresh water springs seeping through from behind.    So many processes and connections in this world, of which we are mostly unaware.

Happily ignorant, I try to experience what I can each day.  I know I am affecting nothing, doing nothing, being nothing in particular.  And yet, to me, it is all important.  And, selfishly, “to me” still matters a great deal.

  

 

 

  

  

Happily Civilized

Mon-

Seems like I spend a great deal of time avoiding the immediate traces of industrialization around here.  I take shots over fences, around boats and houses, avoiding bits of trash, cutting out the auto traffic.  But, of course, it is always there, as here with the fence and the signs and the houses across the way.  Sometimes I may seem to imply that life would be far better with a return to wilderness.

But I do not really believe that, even on a perfect summer day.  I am well aware of my attire, my last meal, my health, my camera, my latest reading and the very language in which I think, none of which would exist except for the civilization in which I live.  Signs, fences, cars, noise are all part of that, as much as the seagulls overhead.  I am especially aware of it in cold air, with winter on the way, happily wrapped in heavy clothing and with a warm house to which to return after my stroll.
Tue-

Unlike some of the more bucolic coves of the North Shore, Huntington Harbor has been commercial for nearly the last four hundred years.  Originally, that just meant clearing the marshlands and building piers and bulkheads and landing spots, but as the motorized traffic increased another problem became obvious.  All of Long Island is one glacial sand dune, and constant churning of motors disturbs the hills alongside the water and naturally clogs the channels over time.  Not to mention the constant garbage, flotsam, jetsam, and sunken docks and boats and (probably) bodies.  Eventually, it has to be cleared.

I am sure that somewhere someone is trying to stop the dredging.  It is certainly not good for the natural wildlife _ it kills of oysters and clams and who knows what else, although I imagine most of the fish simply take off elsewhere.  Yet, honestly, it is part of what makes the harbor the harbor.  You need the access to have the boats, and the boats to have the stores, and the stores to have the people, and the people to have the money to create and maintain access with roads.  The roads that I use everyday.  Complaining about one element in a necessary chain is like bitterly hating your nose because it sometimes drips.
Wed-

That is a huge plastic water tank on a trailer behind a pickup truck.  Some local entrepreneurs have apparently found a way to make money siphoning harbor water and taking it somewhere _ they are reloading almost everyday.  I assume, without having verified, that they sell it to restaurants and stores selling live lobsters.  I prefer my romantic imaginings to whatever the truth may actually be.

Cold has arrived, although without the huge snow of Buffalo.  Even the wildlife is a bit stunned.  I saw a seagull lift off, take a few dispirited flaps into the strong biting wind, and flop back down resignedly onto the sand.  Another useless gift I have is being able to anthropomorphize anything at all, not so much to enhance my worldview as to fit it into whatever momentary story line I happen to be weaving.
Thu-

Mid twenty degree temperatures cannot prevent activity at the marina.  The harbor water is still too warm to be affected, but boat owners have been reminded that there will not be many if any nice days left to sail.  Also with this early hard weather, this winter may cause an ice freeze thick enough to crush hulls.  So there is a little more urgency to get the boats out and winterized.

Walking along, I notice birds and trees and other natural events.  But I enjoy watching the patterns of humans just as much.  People are nature too (as the supreme court might put it.)  Their activities are easily as fascinating as those of hawks above or seagulls along the shoreline.

Fri-

The point of this picture is that even the views that do not include some kind of industrial theme all involve some kind of human cultural attributes.  Around here, two hundred years ago or so, there were very few trees _ everything had been cleared for grazing land for sheep.  This area is called Southdown for precisely that reason.  This vista is here courtesy of Mr. Brown’s gold coast estate.   Arriving before the Europeans, you would not have been able to see the harbor from this hill.

We inhabit a world formed by us and by our ancestors.  The current debate is how much of the general patrimony is anyone’s by birth _ and why.  But the first realization must be that at this point almost all the world _ even that which seems wild, even that which represents nature _ has for better or worse been heavily shaped by our species.
Sat -

Ice forming on the little pond below the hill.  Fresh water even now attracts birds and insects, provides habitat for various plant species, and is a welcome change from lawns and salt bay.  We think it quite natural that such scenes should occur frequently everywhere.

Yet looking more closely, there is a concrete rim around the edge _ not a muddy bank with willow thicket.  This was just a muddy trickle until it was shaped by some landscape architect almost a hundred years ago.  Recently, it was all but lost until the eutrophication caused by reeds and algae was partially dredged out by the county, and the dam where the stream exits repaired.  Here in the heavily populated  northeast, very little if any of our favorite natural spots is truly natural.  So what?  It is in some ways unnatural that I can think in twenty-first century language or write and show my reflections on this machine or send them to you.
Sun-

Skin ice pretty early this year _ of course we haven’t had it this cold for a long time.  My sister reminds me that according to records, we have no conception of the harsh climate the first colonists were facing.  For them, perhaps, harbors freezing over around now may have been the normal expectation.

Just as one swallow does not make a spring, one cold snap or snowstorm does not do much to predict the eventual pattern of the winter.  In fact, most of the time we can only say “that was really warm, or cold, or snowy, or dry” after the fact, sometime in late March.  Now that I no longer have to be anywhere or do anything on any particular day, my worries about weather have pretty much vanished.  It’s a nice day, no matter what.

 

 

  

Flocking Geese, Falling Leaves

Mon-

All the foliage is now turned and in various stages of drying brown, the only uncertainty being which raindrop or snowfall or gust of wind will eventually drop each leaf onto lawn or into gutter.  Biological function is fulfilled, except for ultimate decay to nourish future life.  In a more morose mood, I would make an analogy to being a senior in human society.

Flocks of certain kinds of geese, not those that  hang around all year, have been overwintering in this harbor for several years now.  Some would claim that as a sign of global warming, but I don’t need such subtle indicators.  In Thoreau’s time ponds all around here were used to harvest ice blocks when they froze solid, even when Joan and I grew up there were frozen lakes and streams on which to skate.  Now _ not at all.  You can argue as to whether humans cause it, or if the effects will be for better or worse, but not that the climate is different than it has been recently.
Tue-

Most of the horizon now a harmony of thinning yellows and browns.  Artists will try to capture such things, but of course images are not reality.  You would think such limited pallet would be boring, but nature is never boring.  If a natural scene bores me, I know exactly who to blame.

In a frantic world, it is often necessary to consciously slow down _ even to stop dead _ to regain such a perspective.  I rush too frequently with eyes blinded to a vision of the future, staring into desired futures rather than experiencing my surroundings.  I accept the need for speed to simply live in this culture, but I must be willing to fight against it consciously as much as possible for my own deeper cosmic sanity.

Wed-

The boats are gone from puppy cove, the buoys are being picked up and stored off at the end of the harbor, half the leaves are fallen from the trees along the shore.  The day is beautiful and warm, apparently the last of this until spring arrives.  Nobody wants to be inside, loveliness is overwhelming.

We all get to pretend we are good little ants now, having worked all summer to store up for our winter needs while the frivolous grasshoppers fiddled away.  Of course most of us did no such thing.  We worked at keeping our income available, in the civilized faith that somewhere someone else was growing our food and digging our energy.  It’s amazing what lies we can tell ourselves about how virtuous and independent we are, when in fact we generally have never been so individually helpless.  Carpe Diem, my friends, while we have it.

Thu-

  

Signs of the season, but another example of beauty everywhere.  The trick of being an artist _ or at least of experiencing life as an artist _ is to be able to experience uniquely and intensely.  Most of the time, I go through life blinded by what I think is important and what I must do next and what will be necessary.  I fail to feel my heart beat, I ignore the distracting sounds, I filter out anything that is not danger nor opportunity.  If I can just stop, and look, and meditate for a moment I will be rewarded with incredible riches _ but I simply do not think I have the time, if in fact I think at all.

There was an old saying common in the counterculture _ “the further you go, the less you know.”  It is an old person’s lament, a joke among the young, and yet it is true.  At least for a certain value of true.  As I go less far, I seem to understand far more.  Maybe it is a trick of a deteriorating brain, but I find it helps me feel fulfilled every day.
Fri-

Calm waters, emptying rapidly.  I guess most of the boat owners expect another hard winter like the last one, with the harbor possibly freezing over deeply, crushing hulls.  Looks like the expensive craft have mostly been removed, anyone who took their chances last year either paid dearly or were frightened to death.  So we regain a slightly bucolic vision.

Calm is pretty unusual for mid-November.  There is almost always something blowing from the north _ from a constant relatively gentle breeze to a relentless gale.  The only time that stops is when wind from the east overcomes the prevailing normal.  A still day is welcome _ both for visual effect and for relief when walking through the chilled air.
Sat-

Day to day changes now can be dramatic.  The tree in full colorful foliage one afternoon may be nothing but branches by the next.  Whole sections of land transfigure.  Microclimates and the vagaries of wind patterns mean that for a while nothing is really in step with each other _ there are pockets that look like midwinter, others that hold promises of late summer.  But the trend is clear.

At first I welcome the bite, a refreshing difference from the flabbiness of by now ordinary mild temperatures.  Then I wish it would go away.  Finally, I adjust completely and what was once ridiculously cold becomes the new normal _ or even the relatively warm.  I find the fact that I still have the flexibility to go through such transformations myself, season after season, to be a hopeful reminder that I am not yet entirely fossilized.
Sun-

Today I present the cathedral of the Japanese Maple.  It is true that this was taken yesterday; today is overcast.  Nature presents its cathedrals all the time, with sacraments and services every moment, if we have the will to observe them.

Faith is just another word for unknowable.  Some scientists with faith that everything is just random coincidence affected by underlying mathematical laws could doubtless write Proustian multi-volume texts showing how everything just happened to lead to my enjoying this moment and writing about it for you.  My faith that it was especially directed at me to guide appreciation and contemplation of the universe is no less valid, and no more provable.

  

 

 

  

Metamorphosis

Mon-

Like a mirror image twin of March, October comes in like a lamb and goes out like a lion.  Whitecaps on the harbor are caused by a fierce north wind following a blast of cold rain.  Throughout the rest of this month, the lion cub _ cute at first _ will grow stronger and bigger and eventually be a constant presence in our subconscious and a frequent nighttime terror.  Already the villagers huddle in their warm huts and set out lights against the increasing darkness.

While the rest of the world warms, the northeast seems to be chilling down.  If the patterns of the last year hold we will have brutal cold and frequent heavy snow bordering on blizzard conditions.  The future is always filled with such ifs, and while it is interesting to contemplate them abstractly in daydreams I fight the enervating tendency to let them control my mood right now.
Tue-

The weekend storm ripped many of the most colorful leaves to the ground, the rest are rapidly fading into various shades of browned russet and gold.  But there are still patches of brilliance, abstract masterpieces no matter where we look if we just take the time.  Of course, no photograph can do justice to what we can actually see.

Nature always puts the lie to any systemic theory of aesthetics.  In nature, all colors and shapes fit perfectly well, regardless of our logical preconceptions, which usually involve willfully ignoring parts of what is before us.  Once upon a time, all this surely warned us of danger or opportunity, but somehow we have been gifted with the amazing ability to appreciate it all.  If we but try.
Wed-

Exactly the scene everywhere, from the top of the Coindre hill.  Leaves beginning to cover the still verdant lawn, one tree stripped, colors becoming muted, the far hills transitioning away from basic green.  This was another particularly warm day, with pedestrians happily stripping off layers of clothing in surprise.

Nature doesn’t care how we vote, whether we dissolve into anarchy or become feudal clans.  What might be lost will only affect human individuals, as parks like this are removed from common heritage and enjoyment and taken by the most aggressively heartless selfish wealthy for their personal use and enjoyment, leaving the rest of us to wonder at what once was.
Thu-

Another boring shot of the same old boring places.  But to me they are constantly changing and mysterious.  Nothing is simple in the universe.  Should I ever get tired of the banquet obviously spread before and around me, I can consider what is unseen _ under the water, in the air, beneath the trees, over our heads.  Or what once was here and what may happen in the future.  Imagination knows no boredom.

I think we have lost that in our edged search for novelty everywhere all the time.  We have lost the ability to glory in the subtlety of change and difference.  We have become the grossest of consumers, with absolutely no discriminatory tastes, no connoisseur ability.  We experience as we eat _ until we are overfilled and on our way to obesity of the soul.
Fri-

Although the general surrounding splendor is rapidly dimming into browns, this is probably the week of greatest contrast with what remains _ a brilliant red here, a glowing yellow there, greens still untouched.  And, after all, it is contrast _ like movement _ that our instincts most detect and call to our attention.  A sea of scarlet-orange maples on a hill is all very well, but we lose interest quickly.  Just as spicy food is brought out by a bland companion course, the colors of autumn are more spectacular by comparison with lesser surroundings.

True, I have to search a little to find what I want, but the rewards are greater.  I suppose a philosopher would extend that to some kind of tedious metaphor.  I’m too old for metaphors _ I think everything just is as it is and we better learn how to accept reality.

Sat-

Pure November, across the wind-churned water to the deepening brown trees under a dark foreboding cloud-filled sky.  Breaks of sunlight highlight a white mansion standing almost defiant against the coming elements.  Of course, that is the normal romantic take on all this stuff.  Otherwise, ho hum, another day, whatever.

There’s always a question of how much I allow my imagination to run wild.  I can despair at all the awful news in the media, until I am ready to gratefully welcome whatever apocalypse is being served up today.  I can equally become enamored of the wonderful discoveries and scientific marvels of a new age until I believe everything will turn out better than ever.  And my own future _ my own future actually varies just as much mood by mood.  But from this scene, right now _ why not be a Romantic for a moment?
Sun-

November fully colored by nature, active waves, constant clouds and wind.  You may not feel the temperature nor experience the shortened days nor hear the lack of birdcall, but somehow for anyone who has been there a picture like this recalls it all.  That is, really, the primary purpose of photographs and most other forms of capture _ not so much to show us new marvels as to refresh our memories.

What I find disturbing is that lately what I read is that everyone is ditching reality for imaginative capture _ avoiding the sunlight to watch a well-crafted show on some media.  That may be true, and if so is quite sad.  Yet simultaneously, I note that the people I actually know are doing no such thing _ the parks and outside fairs are crowded, the parks are well used, many take walks as I do, my children grab the same time doing things as I used to.  I think, not for the first time, that what the media gives me is a completely distorted view of current cultural life.