If someone hasn’t yet coined that particular phrase I will call it my own. Get me close to the beach and you’ll have difficulty dragging me away. I could wander for hours, head down, scanning for interesting bits that have washed ashore. Are there any career opportunities for beachcombers?
I like it best when the beach is deserted except for a few people out for their morning exercise. It’s quiet. The only sounds are the high-pitched cry of the gulls and the crash and boom of the waves as they come in, followed by their hissing retreat. So, every morning my feet propel me to the water’s edge. The sand is packed and wet here. My feet leave solid but squishy footprints and my big toe throws up a clump of sand that falls in front of me as I walk.
The sand is like a canvas that is continually in a state of flux. Every time a wave washes over it, objects on the canvas get deposited, rearranged, taken away, or erased. It’s fascinating to me and I never tire of it. Each morning I am eager to see what the canvas of sand has “painted” for me. Let’s take a look. (Just for the record, everything is photographed the way I found it. No rearranging has been done.)
I call this painting “Three Organisms: Man: Bird: Jellyfish”
“CrabFest”
“Mussel Beach”
“Caught in the Tide Line”
“Jelly Jewel”
“Jelly Jewel Two”
“Hitching a Ride”
“Jelly-Belly”
“The Mermaid’s Necklace”
“Whorled Beauty”
As I stand at the water’s edge, the foam from the breaking wave laps at my ankles. I try to stand upright as the wave pulls back, sucking at me with all its might, trying to pull me into the ocean along with it. It seems to murmur softly, come on, join me in the deep blue sea. The water rushes backwards in a dizzying display, making me feel disoriented and off-kilter. My toes curl under in a desperate attempt to keep a foothold as the sand rushes out from underneath them. My feet sink lower into the sand as the wave retreats in defeat. Not this time old man Neptune—not this time.
I am not alone at the water’s edge. I have a few friends that like it here too.
I think I enjoyed the tiny sandpipers the most. They made me laugh. The constant scurry-hurry back and forth between waves in search of food seemed like a lot of effort for one small morsel. Can you see that it has something in its beak?
Here, look closer:
It’s hard for me to leave all the treasure I find behind. Here is what I took home with me. A shell that’s a bit battered but has a lovely patina to it; several small scallop shells; bits of shell that have been tumbled and polished like smooth stones; an intact cocina shell.
And last but not least, a beautiful wafer-thin piece of polished shell that just happened to have a hole in the right place to use it as a necklace.
Reminders all, of my morning strolls at the water’s edge.
We are now on the road for our return trip back East. Right now we are in Lincoln, Nebraska and facing severe storms this evening. At least we are on the ground level floor of our motel. I’ll be glad when we are out of the Midwest. whew. I don’t care to do a Dorothy imitation. After seeing Wicked I don’t believe anymore.
I wanted to post some shots of fences as I saw them. Here are a few.
First, our nearest neighbor’s fence catching the last light of day.
A red-tailed hawk just leaving his fence post.
A fence along the way to our cabin.
A fence falling down.
A fence to keep hay bales in their place.
Sometimes fences are just not good things. Poor Mama Moose! Stay tuned for more moose and baby twins photos coming soon!
It started with a loud thunk. We were sitting at the table having our first cup of coffee when a hummingbird flew into the window. He hit hard. I asked Rick if he had flown away and he said “I don’t think so.” I went outside to see if I could find him. He was lying the in the tall grass with his neck at an odd angle but his little eyes were blinking. I carefully scooped him up in my hands and held him. He flicked his wings a few times, then settled back down into my hands. He was watching me, but his long tongue was still sticking out of his beak which I didn’t think was a very good sign.
I sat down on the stairs to the porch and just held him which I’ve done before when a bird has flown into the window and is too stunned to fly. I asked Rick to come out and take a look at him. He took these photos for me.
I held him for about ten minutes and decided he wasn’t looking all that good. I placed him gently on the porch rail and came back inside.
A few minutes went by and when I checked he was still there. When Rick checked about ten minutes after I had come back inside, he was gone! He had recovered enough to fly off! A successful rescue. I would like to think that he is one of the birds now visiting our feeder.
After that exciting start to our day we decided to take the dogs and walk down to Egger’s Pond which is about a mile away. Here are some photos from our walk.
When we got back we moved wood from our stockpile by the shed to indoors on the porch and filled the wood racks to the brim.
We got all of that accomplished before 11:00 a.m. I’d say that all that activity has earned us the right to kick back this afternoon and do not much of anything. Wouldn’t you agree?
Hah! Just now as I was busily typing up this entry sitting at the table by the window, a deer walked right by!
We have a lovely Burning Bush hedge in front of the house. Right now it’s going through a huge growth spurt (all this lovely rain!) and is threatening to take over the windows. It’s getting harder and harder each day to see out over it. The hedge is also a bird refuge. All manner of birds can be found throughout the day taking advantage of its protective branches. This hedge also happens to be directly under our second-story bedroom window. This hedge also harbors a mockingbird.
Each morning, promptly at four a.m., the concert begins. It starts out slowly and gains momentum. First a little chirp, then a few more, and then the full-blown repertoire begins. Really now, it’s all very pretty but it’s too darned early, Mr. Mockingbird!
The first morning this happened, it woke me up and I could not get back to sleep. Every time I’d drift back off into a light slumber, he’d wake me up again with his loud, clear notes. shut up! I silently screamed. When the concert began the next morning I drug myself out of bed, closed the window, and turned on the ceiling fan to help drown out the chatter. It is oh so annoying to be wakened before your time. Very annoying indeed. It’s enough to make you want to throttle the damn bird.
This morning, right on cue, I heard the first chirp and looked at the alarm clock. Yup, 4:07. I closed my eyes and went right back to sleep. Instead of keeping me awake, his singing has acted like a lullaby. 6:15 and I’m more or less awake. I lie in bed and see how many of his mimicking songs I can identify. This particular mockingbird is not the world’s best mimic. His notes get a bit garbled and hurried, but I can still pick out the goldfinch, the titmouse, and the wood thrush. Three repeats and the song changes. I have to giggle silently to myself (or the dogs will hear me and that will be the end of my pretending to still be asleep) because the songs and the way they change sounds a bit silly. Am I beginning to like this pesky bird?
In the two years that we’ve lived here we have never had a mockingbird around. Nor have we had any early morning songsters living in the hedge. Even though he’s as annoying as can be when he starts up at that hour of the morning, I guess he can stay. That is, unless he decides the hedge isn’t such a great place to live once Rick gets the hedge clippers out and gives the hedge a proper and much needed haircut. We shall see. If he decides to leave I might just miss him.
Page 15 of 21 pages
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