Birds, Snapshots, Travels with the flock, Wanderings

Images: Barnegat Light

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Some more pics that might’ve been included in yesterday’s post…

Beth and her friend Kathy traveled all the way from Pa. and had HAD ENOUGH by the time we met in the parking lot at midday. While the weather was beautiful… usually I think of Barnegat Light as the coldest place on earth… the brisk wind had brought out the apples on sweet Beth’s cheeks.

🙂

This would, I think, make a nice quiz photo for those, like me, who are terror-stricken by shorebirds. At least in wintertime, the possibilities are somewhat limited.

Sleepy dunlin (I think… though I was at first convinced they were purple sandpipers), an orange-legged ruddy turnstone, and a sweet spotty-flanked black-belly plover.

(Take all those ID’s with a grain of salt, of course.)

I love how tame shorebirds can be in winter and am amazed with how they find comfort together on these wind-swept jetties.

Harlequins… what sweet little sea ducks!

They weren’t close in to the lighthouse this time, like they usually are…

Instead they were feeding way out at the end of the jetty, with a happy group of photographers closeby.

(I was a wimp and walked along the sand, instead of on those treacherous rocks.)

Oldsquaw (long-tailed ducks) are a favorite… for their pink-tipped bills and their calls… nothing says winter to me like that sound echoing in the wind.

The day was ended near Manahawkin with hopes for short-eared owls hunting like butterflies over the marsh at dusk.

There were none, but that matters little, really. For all the frigid sunsets I’ve lingered in to spot one with no success… the couple times I have seen them in the low-slanted light of a winter afternoon serve my memory well enough that the hope of them keeps me coming back to wait, just in case.

Birds, Snapshots, Travels with the flock, Wanderings, Whatever

Moments: Barnegat Light

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Once past the terror of the jetty rocks, a rush of wind and an expanse of space… and ducks.

Birders caught in a quandry about the identity of the long-tailed (or are they pin-tailed?) ducks paddling and diving along the inlet at Old Barney’s feet.

(A good enough reason for me to continue calling them oldsquaw… politically incorrect or no…)

The oddly painted costume of the harlequin duck is distinct and well worth the hours long drive to see them.

Random teeterings and dawdlings of dunlin, turnstone and purple sandpiper.

Tears that come at the memory of another visit here, a lifetime ago. I turn around confounded by the wall of wind… heedless of how fast and far I’ve come.

I try to imagine this place in summer, as most would know it… waves glitter a thousand small suns, the long rhythm of the surf, a herring gull’s call like a rusty pulley, the clatter and crunch of periwinkles, scallops and skate egg casings, the sight of a black skimmer slitting the seam between two worlds.

– – – – – – – – – – –

See any good birds yourself this weekend?

😉

Oh… and I ran into Beth out ogling the harlequins! Small world…

Snapshots, Wanderings

The Night Traveler

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“Passing by, he could be anybody:
A thief, a tradesman, a doctor
On his way to a worried house.
But when he stops at your gate,
Under the room where you lie half-asleep,
You know it is not just anyone —
It is the Night Traveler.
You lean your arms on the sill
And stare down. But all you can see
Are bits of wilderness attached to him —
Twigs, loam and leaves,
Vines and blossoms. Among those
You feel his eyes, and his hands
Lifting something in the air.
He has a gift for you, but it has no name.
It is windy and woolly.
He holds it in the moonlight, and it sings
Like a newborn beast,
Like a child at Christmas,
Like your own heart as it tumbles
In love’s green bed.
You take it, and he is gone.
All night — and all your life, if you are willing —
It will nuzzle your face, cold-nosed,
Like a small white wolf;
It will curl in your palm
Like a hard blue stone;
It will liquefy into a cold pool
Which, when you dive into it,
Will hold you like a mossy jaw.
A bath of light. An answer.”
–Mary Oliver, Twelve Moons
I’m not sure how it’s even possible to love a poem so much that I barely understand, but I do…
🙂
Pic from last December at the Lakota Wolf Preserve
From the field, Snapshots, Whatever

The Linda Show

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“A true friend, regardless of personal sacrifice or embarrassment, makes us smile.”
– Me. (I just made that up.)

(Yes, Linda is wearing a hat fashioned from bubble-packing. She does this sort of thing routinely. It’s all part of The Linda Show.)

Is it any wonder I love her?

😉

Are you lucky enough to have an office clown for entertainment on late afternoons?

Books, Pastimes

Still Alice

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My plans for the weekend involve a blanket and a book or two.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

I’m a committed non-fiction reader; resistant, for whatever reason, to the suspension of reality necessary to enjoy most novels. Sure there’s the occasional story that grabs and holds me, but more often than not I leave them half-read and only half-enjoyed.

Sometime before the holidays I read the debut novel by Lisa Genova which was recommended to me by the owner of a little bookstore I found here in town.

(As a side note: How wonderful is it to have someone, anyone, employed in a bookstore actually be familiar enough with the inventory to be able to recommend something based on one’s favorite authors?)

Still Alice tells the story of a Harvard professor diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. A sad story, sure, but unique in that it’s told from Alice’s point of view and thereby offers insight into the painful descent into dementia.

One of my most favorite parts of the novel occurs toward the end; Alice has been invited to deliver the keynote at a national conference for Alzheimer’s care professionals. She makes a plea to not be forgotten and written off or limited by her disease saying, “… My yesterdays are disappearing, and my tomorrows are uncertain, so what do I live for? I live for each day. I live in the moment. Some tomorrow soon, I’ll forget that I stood before you and gave this speech. But just because I’ll forget it some tomorrow doesn’t mean that I didn’t live every second of it today. I will forget today, but that doesn’t mean that today didn’t matter.”

A worthy credo for any of us, I think.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

So… any good books this weekend to stay warm with?

Birds, Snapshots, Wanderings, Whatever

How I spent my blog vacation

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trying to stay warm

giggling into pillows

treasuring the magic of snow and ice

buying the world’s most ridiculous bikini

reminiscing with shrinky-dinks and easy-bake ovens

waving back at colorful fish
sliding down snowy roads in my converse sneakers
feeling a little blue
spoiling other people’s dogs

trying out the big bed

witnessing the sun decorate the sky at dawn and dusk
grasping for words

(triple letter and double word scores)

searching for a cell signal in the mountains

counting crows

watching quietly as children opened gifts

puzzling over cryptic sparrows and wishing for a better lens

meeting friends and family

losing myself in diamond dust and the enormity of the night sky

scandalizing a couple sweet little girls

(nothing too serious… don’t worry!)

scoring an awesome set of horseshoes

celebrating the new year twice

(once with sparklers and banging pots and the next with kisses and hugs)

making wishes on a falling star

beating everyone at pool

soaking up the welcome heat of a fire

seeing someone i love look ridiculously happy

Birds, I like to make lists, Travels with the flock, Wanderings

Year in review: birds

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2009 was a good year for birds: I added twelve new species to my life list, give or take one or two that I’m probably making up or remembering wrong.

😉

I don’t believe that increasing one’s life list has anything much to do with skill; in fact, I’ve found that over the years as my skills have improved, I’ve whittled my list down by quite a few birds that were questionable in my memory. Did I really see that Baird’s Sandpiper or was I just part of a group that did? Would I know it when I saw it again?

Most certainly not.

So I don’t count the Goshawk that flew over our van in the Adirondacks years ago or half of the gulls I could. I’ve seen them, yeah, but I recognize now that I still don’t know them. I was probably a little too generous with myself as a beginner and my life list reflected that.

As it stands, the number hovers a few over 300, which is respectable, I think, considering that I hadn’t traveled much to see birds until this past year. Adding new life birds at this point is about money and travel and getting up the courage to do a pelagic trip. Considering how close I am to the ocean, it’s almost shameful that I don’t know shorebirds well or have many seabirds. Gulls are still beyond me and that’s still a point of pride that I’m not prepared to surrender, yet.

😉

My first life bird of 2009 was close to home; a sweet Orange-Crowned Warbler that I saw with a sweet friend at Sandy Hook in January.

April’s trip with The Flock to the New River Birding and Nature Festival netted me three warblers: Swainson’s, Cerulean and Yellow-Throated. I most wanted Cerulean on that trip and was glad to get it, though the light was horrible and rainy and I still hope to see one whose color matches the sky like they say it does.

Late June found me, on a whim, in Michigan for Kirtland’s Warbler. Most would consider this a once-in-a-lifetime bird and I was lucky enough to stand among a small group of them singing and feeding young on a summer day.

Wow.

October at the Colonial Coast Birding Festival brought many wonders and six new birds.

I spent a couple days with crazy dream birds, like this Roseate Spoonbill, flying over my head while I wondered how anyone could possibly concentrate on anything else!

Huge pink birds with ridiculously-shaped bills… just crazy.

Mind you, there was a Spoonbill here in NJ at about the same time, but nothing could’ve compared to the sight of groups of them, mixed with Wood Storks and White Ibis floating over in the unbearable heat.

The Brown Pelicans on that trip nearly drove me to distraction, too. And fits of uncontrollable laughter.

😉

There was also a less-than-satisfying look at a Loggerhead Shrike and what I remember to be a Common Moorhen.

Probably I’m making that last one up, though I do somehow remember a purplish bird that reminded me of a chicken.

Probably I shouldn’t count that one yet, right?

The last life bird of the year was sort of a nemesis bird for me: a Golden Eagle. There’d been a couple speck sightings of them through the years, mostly at the hawkwatch at Cape May, but nothing I ever felt really comfortable counting. This one, flying over the road in late October I’ll count for now, until I spot one out west somewhere, perched close enough that I can see the wash of gold across its shoulders.

So… what birds did you add to your life list last year? Which are you hoping to add in 2010?

Half-finished ramblings, In the neighborhood, Remembering

64 steps

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Standing at the bottom of the
circular staircase, there are just 64 steps to the top and a couple of landings in between where you can look out. Sandy Hook and Manhattan lie to the far left, that maze of a new bridge crosses the river down below and leads to the sea, home is somewhere in the estuary to the right. Medieval in its feel, the brownstone building is eight-sided; not a perfect twin to its square southern sister who’s never been open to climb. I remember kissing a red-haired boy with my hands on the top railing during a class trip in the 7th grade. The teacher sent a note home to my dad the next day. It’s all at the bottom landing that I remember this, that cramped space that gives no hint of the view 64 steps up. There’s a restaurant at the bottom of the hill, under the old bridge, where you can eat steamed clams and mussels, tho I never did. I used to take the bus to Sandy Hook, hitchhike on the long road out with a friend to our favorite beach and come home with the sea in my hair. The salt from an afternoon swim still on my skin. The waves against my body, the caress of the sea, the embrace… that stayed with me back at home. I worked in a restaurant on the bay for a while and ate clam broth every night that tasted of the sea. I liked the potatoes but the clams slid down rough. I haven’t yet learned to like the texture of clams. There are 11 steps to go. This could be any place, this circle of stairs, but as soon as I think it, I know it’s not true. Nowhere feels quite like this. It stays with me and rises on the wings of a gray and white gull. It follows the boats through the green-marked channel below. Sea Bright isn’t far… where I would go to watch fishermen and plovers. Stand in the dunes and tall grass at the end of Surf Street. Watch the tide rush and the flow of the moon, let go to the arms of the sea. When I climb back down I’ll run for the sea, eager for its lick on my legs. I’ll wait for dark, maybe, look up from the sand to the moon on my skin, to the beam from this clamshell-shaped lens as it circles the sea and finds me, lost in remembering.

Just me rambling about birds, books, bunnies, or whatever!