Hotels for the Memorial Service

Blocks of rooms are being held at two hotels near Winchester for the convenience of people coming from out of town for Mary's memorial service. Please mention Mary's name or the Winchester Unitarian Society for the discount. Car pooling is strongly recommended since parking may be a real problem on the day of the service.

The Marriott Courtyard off Montvale Ave on the Stoneham Woburn line, right off I-93 ($109)

The Hilton Boston/Woburn ($99)

Memorial Web Page & Call for Photos

If you would like to share comments or recollections about Mary with others, the Strong Hancock Funeral Home in Damariscotta Maine has provided a lovely memorial page:

stronghancock.com

If you have any electronic pictures of Mary that we can add to a slide show during the memorial service reception, please email up to four pictures to:

photos@maryjharrington.com

Memorial Service

The memorial service for Mary will be held on Monday, November 8, 2010, at 11 AM at the Winchester Unitarian Society, 478 Main Street, Winchester MA 01890

Mary Jeanette Harrington 1952-2010

The Rev Mary J. Harrington died on October 26, 2010, at 6 AM, in her home in Sheepscot, Maine. This is the end of her lengthy and hard-fought battle with ALS, and also of this blog, which we'll leave up for a while.

There will be a memorial service celebrating Mary's life at the Winchester Unitarian church, Winchester, MA. We'll post the date and time here, and it will also be listed on the Winchester Church web page at winchesteruu.org.

- Marty, Julia & Sam

Loose Ends

Nothing ever really ends. I see this in the marsh, where things certainly change, but they don't stop. The colors provide a continuing lesson in how the color green, for example, can become greener, or greenish, or green-like, or sort of green, depending on the day, the season, and the light. Right now this is especially true of the browns: the umbers, khakis, caramels, and military camouflage abound. There is no one true brown when you look out the window. Instead there are many many many variations.

So what does this have to do with loose ends? In my life as a person, I have stretched myself towards certain goals, such as the kind of spouse, mother, sibling and friend I long to be for those people in my sphere. Once in a while, I have had that particular thrill of feeling I had gotten something just right, and perhaps I did. But it only lasts such a short time, then there's the next day, or month, etc. So I can never become a truly pure, purely good anything. There are always changing circumstances - cranky days, and loose ends. Nothing can get pinned down for long. Just like the browns outside don't stay any particular shade of brown for more than a week or two.

Which leads to the realization that even if you could try with all your might to hold on to one of those glorious connections, it just couldn't last. This makes leaving hard, wanting so much to find the moment when all is well in every part of my life, and with every person in it. Instead, I have to settle for knowing that at a certain point, things will simply stop where they do. And my ability to improve, repair, refine, or finish will have to be sufficient, and enough.

This is why I rest my eyes on the marsh. The slow, languorous, drawn-out days fill me with a little bit of peace and solace. Sometimes there's the excitement of a storm, or an astronomical tide - these really get my attention. Mostly, I attune myself with what is easy, swimming, or in flight, or the way the current carries the water in and out with such deftness. My hope is that I too will sail off on a such a gentle, peaceful current as my friends the geese and ducks do, leaving behind whatever loose ends my little ducky toes didn't have time to complete - but knowing that my people will come with me in my heart.

Wisdom of a Three-Year Old

I received this lovely little note from my friend Jessica, with a song her three-year-old daughter Greta composed for me, my little soulmate.

Dear Mary,

Greta asked me what I was reading and I said a letter from you and you were sad and needed some cheering up.

How would you cheer someone up who was sad? And this is what she sang:

"Sometimes when I'm sad, or mad, or glad
I sing about a duck in a nest
With an egg and a worm
This nest is the best
Love this nest
The end"

I kind of think there is some deep wisdom here and I sure would never try my hand at doing any better than that.

I read a lot of Duckdreams. I had no idea you and Greta have the deep connection you have.
Love from us, Jessica and Greta

Autumn Rolls In

Sometimes a visual view is way more powerful than words to describe the beauties of this marsh, as more and more of the leaves begin to turn. We have not only the glory of the river running through everything, but also the rolling grasses and the trees undergoing their preparations for winter.

The umbers and ambers, the golden radiant light, coat everything with autumn's palette. At times, the marsh looks bright and sprightly, like a late spring or early summer afternoon. At other times, the deep power of fall can been seen and felt everywhere you look. Even though my heart still longs for summer days, I find myself more and more melting into the beauties of this season.

Little Journeys XII

as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives:

Our trip to the Gardens this week was extra special as we were able to share with Pam's Ethiopian team who were here for Bethany's annual conference. They were: Sebilu Bodja (country Director), Helina Shimeles (Sebilu's wife and also Community and Family Education Coordinator), Senait Mulugeta (coordinator of the women’s skill training program), Sisay Simon (adoption coordinator), and Desalyn Shanko (foster care coordinator). They were very much in awe of the gardens and excited to see not only the Chihuly exhibits and the many spectacular sculptures but the tremendous fall colors of the trees. It is also the last week the Art Prize entries will be there so that brought out even more people to join in our guests fun. It was a very educational evening for me as well, learning all about their homeland and families and their various journeys along the way. Just a very cool and awesome way to spend an evening surrounded by new friends and our gardens.

Afterward we brought them back to the house for a chili dinner, which they spent time trying to compare to various Ethiopian dishes. But it didn't really matter given they were incredibly hungry from the day and lengthy tour of the gardens and would have eaten most anything. But they did enjoy it just the same. Love, John

Tidal River Turns Into Giant Lake Once Again

Here is what high tide on our marsh looks like most of the time. You can see the lovely, narrow winding river and four of the stately firs that stand across from our house. But lately the high tides have burst forth in ways that have been nothing short of breath-taking, even including several alligators.

While I know it is rumored that alligators don't reside in Maine, my sister, Terry, and I have both seen them with our very own eyeballs. Just because they turned out to be made of driftwood instead of all those scales, claws, and razor-sharp teeth doesn't make them any less alligatorish.

Just see for yourself, simply look below, at the Great Blue Heron Pond photograph taken hours ago just for proof of reptilian visitors. In the right foreground you can clearly see an alligator of sorts with its jaws wide open. I hope the Quackson Five are well protected at this precarious time in their vulnerable little lives.

Astronomical tides bring back Great Blue Heron Pond

Lots of news from a record high tide. First of all, the river has once again become a pond or actually more like a lake. The amount of open water is astonishing. Very little marsh grass can be seen above the water line. The sky, reflected by the water, is a steely gray, making the water many shades of silver, charcoal, and here and there, a few patches of dark green.

The Quackson Five have been out and about, although the number five now appears to have been overly optimistic. Still, it is lovely to see that at least three of the ducklings are still with us and they are just so darn cute. Ronny, the mallard, hangs out mostly with the geese, who promenade up and down the river continuously on the opposite shore.

It is interesting to see how geese change formation. The goose in the lead will suddenly turn and start swimming in the opposite direction. This leaves goose number two looking confused and not sure what to do next. Continue swimming forward as it had been or turn to follow the lead goose? Then goose number three also seems baffled and the whole gang gets all bollixed up. It is quite comical to watch. the way they try to right themselves to an orderly flow once again.

There is definitely a pecking order with a senior goose in charge of his gaggle. It's just quite challenging for the other geese to keep track of what he expects them to do. Sometimes, because I have hours to contemplate such things, I wonder whether the other geese resent their boss and wish they could spend a little more time doing what they pleased instead of having to drop everything and follow the leader. But probably I wonder about this mainly because of my own distaste for having my own life micromanaged.

These days especially, I long for a greater independence and mobility and the capacity to plan my own hours. The people who love and care for me are incredibly sensitive and I know they bend over backwards trying to make sure I have as much say in what goes on around here as possible. But still, I can sympathize with goose number two when a sudden change in direction throws me for a loop and I'm not sure which way to swim.

Bats!

The other night three bats flew by at dusk. I couldn't hear them, which was really too bad. When we lived in Haverhill, the neighborhood was filled with bats and I had found quite a variety of bat houses I was hoping to order off the internet. Alas, we didn't live there long enough for me to establish the bat village I imagined for our back yard. Plus, Marty hated the whole idea.

Bats really freak me out but I also find them fascinating. When I lived in a third story apartment in Grand Rapids in my 20's, a bat got into the living room. We tried to get it out by taking screens off windows and using brooms to chase it away. Mostly it flew about frantically and then hung upside down from the draperies. I was sharing the apartment with a guy at the time who was just as unglued by bats as I was but he didn't want to ask for help because of looking like a wuss. So I called the police. The dispatcher was very sympathetic and said she would send someone right over but wouldn't tell him why. That, she said, would be my job. When I asked her how come, she said cops are terrified of bats like everyone else, and she wouldn't be able to get them to do it if they knew ahead of time.

So, when this car pulled up in front of the house, I went down to the sidewalk to introduce myself. I tried to be as flattering and helpless as possible and coax him by implying he must be a very courageous officer of the law. He said he was calling for back-up and they would give it five minutes. If they weren't successful, they were going to leave.

It was quite a show once they got into it. They couldn't bear to fail, plus having another guy around ramped up their macho factor substantially. I had hoped throughout this ordeal that the bat would glide peacefully out the window into the dark of the night never to return. Instead, we eventually heard a loud thump made by a broom and one of the officers asked for a brown paper bag and where the outside trash can was. I have always felt vaguely guilty about the little critter's demise. As they were leaving, they asked me how I had gotten dispatch to send them and I confessed that I had participated in some duplicity to get them there. "Well, it's a good thing you did", one of them said. "I'd rather face a guy with a gun anytime." I lavished them with praise and offered them a beer but they were too honor-bound to accept.

My only other up-close bat experience took place with my little niece, Mary Elizabeth. We were on a church retreat, sharing a bunk bed and she threw up on me and all over the bed at 2 in the morning. I still can't believe no one else in the cabin, all adults, offered to help. It's not like they couldn't hear or smell us. I lugged her and all the stuff up to the bathhouse and cleaned her up as best I could. Then, not sure if she was contagious, I remembered one of the buildings with a vacant floor so we hiked over there and tucked ourselves in.

Our room was right under the eves of an old barny-style lodge and in between the ceiling and the roof there must have been at least three thousand bats carrying on. I could hear every one of them scratching, squealing, and fluttering in and out throughout the night. I finally fell asleep at day break when they quieted down and went to sleep themselves.

For some reason, I am glad to know that we have bat neighbors in Sheepscot Village. It makes the place seem more natural, and more eerie. And thankfully we have plenty of room for bat houses.

Acorn storms on the Vineyard

I thought you might enjoy hearing about my cousin Diane's first year of retirement on Martha's Vineyard with her husband Brad and their dog Max:

After reading Mary's blog, I started to look around with new eyes on the Vineyard. This is our very first year living here full time. We have been here to close things up for winter, but never for the whole transition from summer to winter.

Mostly, I had been thinking about the human transition, as the island slowed down and emptied out -- moving from its summertime population of 105,000 to its year-round population of 15,000! What a dramatic shift. Parking spots appear on Main Street. Most of our immediate neighbors are gone. Our dog Max and I walked on the beach that is barred to us all summer. It's lovely and very dramatically different from summer.

We live in the woods on this island, not the water, so we don't see the kinds of changes you do. Several times we have turned onto our road and had to stop suddenly because of deer. They were as surprised to see us as we were to see them! The hummers seem to have gone (now that I learned from Mary that they migrate, difficult as that is to imagine). The leaves are not changing yet; I don't know if they get colorful or not. Our woods are mostly populated with what people call "scrub oak" trees, and on our quick visits in the past we saw only brown.

A couple of days ago, the acorns began falling. They come down violently, as if someone were sitting in the trees throwing them at us. Even the porches aren't safe, as acorns bounce around there, hitting the walls and anything else in range. Brad suggested we get padded hats. Since we have few squirrels, this must be the woods repopulating itself. I wonder if other animals eat the acorns. I know that, come spring, I will be pulling many tiny oak trees out of the garden.

When Max and I walked up to the point of West Chop, the white caps were coming in at a sharp angle, one right after the other. It felt so clean, as if the air, the water, and the land had all been scoured. It is so very wonderful to be here. Much love, Diane

Little Journeys XI

as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives.as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives.

Our trek to the gardens was greeted with the arrival of Art Prize exhibits in certain areas of the grounds. Art Prize, which you can google, is a second year phenomenon that brings in artists from around the city, state, country and world to freely exhibit their works, with the winner receiving $250,000. It has over 1,700 artists entered with 190 venues around the city.

The majority of the art works are in downtown Grand Rapids but the venues such as Meijer Gardens add to the breadth of the event. It is quite a site to behold and has brought thousands of visitors and even us home bodies out and about the city. Worth a look at the Art Prize web site. The evenings here are definitely bringing the autumn feel as well. The cranes were still in the pond trees, the geese were moving around ever so slightly, and other than a few raccoons rummaging around the walk ways it was very quiet and peaceful. Love, John

rainy grainy day

i always say, no matter the weather or season, the marsh is beautiful. and so it is. and still today, i am feeling peevish with the view, the gray sky, the chill, and all of the browns which abound. i suppose perfection comes in many forms and one might appreciate some of those more than others. the trees across the water look tall and stately, fully bushed out with their elegant boughs reaching greenly toward each other. so that is a little slice of perfection. off to the left in the range of my view is a golden carpet of marsh grass that goes on and on northerly along the river. this golden blanket too has its perfection. finally only one tree in my entire marsh view has broken forth with some colorful leaves, the first i can see so far this fall. to me this is another perfect illustration of what makes my heart sing-green trees staying green as long as possible. time for all those fall colors will come soon enough.

i keep hearing reports from friends and neighbors about the changing colors of autumn, but the only changes here are on the ground, going from mostly green to mostly brown, and i confess i'm kind of sick of it. it has a dullness and a sogginess that make me feel melancholy. so today i have snippets of perfection rather than the whole vista of the river valley, when my heart is really in the mood for sunshine, high tide and blue water.

summer never lasts long enough for me. i admire people when they tell me that fall is their season, but i don't really believe them. i have always been a summer girl with a lot of spring thrown in since it's a lead-up to the best season. I know there will be more warm and sunny days ahead, but for today i am battening down the hatches, fluffing up the blankets, drinking hot sweet tea, and driving marty crazy with how many times i ask him to put my therapeutic bean bag into the microwave. i hope you find some cozy ways to enjoy this day as well - relaxing, restful, and healing.

p.s. an eagle just flew by. the marsh earns at least a hundred perfection points if such things can be quantified. plus the sun just came out and the little bird who lives in the shrub right next to our bedroom began singing. my melancholy is fading fast.

Sweet Summer Days

by Dennis Caraher

The summer sun is nearly done
Frost will follow soon
Asters and chrysanthemums
Light up the afternoon

The dew is on long after dawn
Mornings are a haze
One swallow's song is holding on
In these fading sweet summer days.

We flew across the ocean
Some fell into the sea
God will choose what we will lose
Though we may disagree

We come here to be mended
That we may find our way
We pray that there's redemption
In these fading sweet summer days

Summer months comfort us
The sun comes with sustenance
We live for its lingering light

Days slip away from us
Katydids and crickets hush
We drift into lengthening night.

We were once our children
Too soon they will be us
All they ask, a simple task:
"Remember how it was".

We hold them close, we let them go
We watch them fly away
And if we trust, they'll come to us
In these fading sweet summer days

Stars they are innumerable
We'll never know them all
But nature's not immutable
Every star will fall

And one day, I'll return to thee
And all that will remain
Is the beauty and the certainty
of these fading sweet summer day.

Cozy

So here we sit, my beloved friend Susan and I, enjoying our view of the river. Today it is quite blue since the sky is a clear, pale blue with nary a cloud in sight. Much of the spartina has shifted in color from a mainly green palette, to a largely tan one. There is a little island covered with one type of spartina that looks like yellow and green goldenrod.

There is goldenrod outside our house but not in the marsh itself. I have had the lifelong dispute with goldenrod. I guess I think it's pretty but what it does to my runny nose and my itchy eyes dims its beauty considerably. When I was a kid, I needed allergy shots every week in the summer, which I despised. I don't even think they helped very much either. I was also diagnosed with allergies to dust mites, mold, and mildew. Tell me where could a person possibly live and avoid these intrepid pests? Knowing I was allergic was supposed to help me feel better about all of the sneezing, in that there was a medical basis for it. I wish instead of the medical model, my parents had been to receptive to homeopathy, which I would guess has a better track record. In any case, when I got to college, it was too inconvenient to go to the infirmary for allergy shots so I declared myself cured and really, truly, since that day, my allergies have, by and large, disappeared.

Back to "cozy": I am snuggled up in bed with one of those microwave bean bags of rice, which right now is toasting my shoulder. It comes in handy on a daily basis for some aching joint or muscle. I am also wearing my fuzzy bed socks, which are the very definition of comfort. And Susan is splayed out on Marty's bed so that she can type this post, and so we can talk and giggle and cry and talk some more. I ask you, "What more could a person want" When it comes to dear friends, my cup runneth over.

Scribes

Dear Readers,

As my ability to type is greatly impaired, I now have the assistance of three wonderful scribes: my beloved Marty, my fabulous daughter Julia, and Annabel, a wonderful hospice volunteer, who is a retired children's librarian. Please be assured, however, that every single word has been, and will always be, my own. Yours truly, Rev. Mary

Ephemeral Great Heron Pond

GREAT HERON POND, HALF-WAY FILLED BY TIDE

For the past four days, the entire river basin has filled to the brim during high tide, creating a large pond or even a small lake. Left floating on the surface are several pieces of driftwood and two bouquets of gorgeous yellow flowers, looking for all the world like daffodils, even though that would be impossible, of course. I've been pondering what to name this beautiful pond, for it is definitely is its own thing. I thought of Driftwood Pond or Daffodil Lake, or South Dyer Inlet. But it was decided for me when on Day 3, a spectacular great blue heron landed on one of the tiny remaining islands, christening the little lake, "Great Heron Pond," with its presence.

The first two days and the fourth, the water was mirroring the gray sky, all silvery and charcoal, with some green from the trees thrown in for good measure. On Day 3 however, with the sun bursting forth and the sky a brilliant blue, the lake turned a deep sapphire, making the two "bouquets" of yellow flowers hovering above the water's surface even more breathtaking.

Two of the longer pieces of driftwood resembled alligators, which was quite thrilling, and at one point a large silver fish jumped and splashed very close to our house. While Great Heron Pond assembles itself, it looks from my bed as if our entire house begins to float on water. I always wanted to live on a houseboat, so I guess this is my chance to experience something like that.

Once the tide starts to recede, the spartina left behind becomes ever more bleached out, going from initially a bright green on Day 1 into a silvery sandy shade, with just a few green highlights remaining.

Perhaps in the next few weeks we will see more birds headed south, but in the four days of my new lake, there have been very few birds to be seen. Marty did see Ronnie on one of his recent walks, so that was very reassuring. However, the Quackson Five have apparently relocated.

It will be good to get the hummingbird feeders refilled, since I missed the chirpy guys hovering about. I don't know where our hummers go during the long winter months, but I have my heart set on the back yard of our dear friends Dick and Kada Harris in Mandeville, LA. Their yard is an orchid and a hummingbird paradise, just as I hope ours is for osprey, gulls, eagles, herons, geese, ducks and hummers.

Water View From My Sister's Window

My lovely sister Terry lives in Traverse City, Michigan, on Long Lake. She was here for the summer and together we were mesmerized by the marsh outside the windows. The view out her windows on Long Lake is equally beautiful, though a very different habitat. Here is what she has to say as she observes summer morphing into autumn.

Dearest Mary,

I miss you terribly. Time needs to stand still in Maine while I deal with my Michigan chores. I can't wait to witness the fall changes with you. At one time, I saw the onset of fall as depressing until we lived on the water with windows. When I took the time to observe what was actually going on, it was heartening. I pride myself in determining which creatures, primarily fowl, are preparing to stay for the long winter and which are getting ready to leave. Those staying are frantically collecting supplies while those leaving are socializing as they organize groups for the departure. In my mind I hear their conversations and see this flurry of activity instead of decline. At the same time, the trees are ablaze with color, a signal of energy. Everyone seems to complete their tasks at about the same time.

When the migrators leave, those staying behind seem to enjoy a period of rest as leaves begin to fall. Peace returns to the water. Preparations are complete and there are easy days before the water freezes. I guess this is your first full time fall on the marsh, so I hope you can note these little changes not obvious to weekenders. It is fascinating and peaceful. The next phase, winter, is calm and quiet. Unlike fall, winter life is slow and pretty much the same everyday. No one is in a hurry or seems to have an agenda. It is a period of rest from the hectic fall in order to prepare for the stimulating spring to come. Enough ramblings about what you shall see for yourself. Since we are apart, we can share life out our windows!

Love, Terry

The Lush and the Harsh of Life on the Marsh

My husband Marty is my go-to person for virtually everything. Ever since we moved to this little house on the salt marsh, we have both been studying its life and its ways. He more so than I. I asked him to describe what is going on out there right now, as it is quite remarkable - the changes are coming quickly and dramatically as summer rolls into fall, and I thought you would enjoy this primer on what's going on out there.

This is my brief response to your request that I write down some of what I was saying about the changes in the marsh. Here are seven fun facts about our salt marsh:

1. This is the crucial time of year for the marsh. The marsh is literally created by the marsh grasses, mostly two type of spartina, and at this time of year, they're reproducing. That's the gold color you've been seeing.

2. The persistent and salt-tolerant spartina roots trap the mud as the tide flows in and out. This slows the water down so the muck stays and forms a marsh instead of a bay. The grasses literally create the marsh.

3. The grasses are just starting their die-back. This is also very important. The center of the food web here is not so much the lovely spartina of the summer as much as the dead spartina of the winter. This surface waste is eaten by detritavores - creatures that feed on dead things. Around here the detritavores are mostly tiny snails, also some small, specialized fish. All the more visible creatures like the dabbling ducks slurp up those protein-rich snails, while the sly herons hunt the fish.

4. The marsh here has two main kinds of spartina. The lovely wavy grass right in front of our house, that likes to be inundated twice a month at the highest tides, is called s. patens. The more prevalent grass that's kind of punk, all spiky, is s. alterniflora. It prefers a daily tidal wetting. In our marsh, spartina is very valuable and is protected. On the west coast it's considered a pest and authorities spent a lot of money killing it.

5. Spartina is superbly well suited to living here. Each root has a tiny tube, a snorkel, that it can use to breathe when the plant is under water. The plants are veritable chemical factories, absorbing toxic salts and metals and excreting them - they are prolific and efficient water cleaners.

6. Through a process that is a kind of slow-motion combustion, the detritus and mud turn to peat. You could dig the marsh up, dry it, and burn it - maybe to distill a little scotch......

7. In the previous few centuries, people right here and elsewhere cut the marsh hay - spartina - and used it for animal food. The basis for agriculture from the 1600s onwards around here was spartina. As recently as the start of the 21st century, people here cut the spartina like it was a lawn. Nowadays, the powers that be would frown on that practice, and neighbors would laugh.

Little Journeys X

as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives.

Our trek to the gardens was very pleasant - definitely a feeling of Fall upon us. The highlight of the night was "the duck bath". A large family was all lined along the shore of the pond. Two by two they would wade into the water, flick water onto their backs with their yappers and pick at things, all in a fast and furious way. Interesting to note how the water just rolled off their backs, i guess giving rise to "like water off a duck's back". Anyway, they continued this performance for 4 to 5 minutes, and with a rising up and great flap of the wings, sauntered back out of the water to be replaced with the next two. The rest would just stand at attention on the shore and continue to pick at whatever ducks pick from themselves.

There was also a large contingent of white cranes chasing each other around the pond, as though they each had their own little plot that was not to be disturbed. No blue herons spotted - do they go south for the winter? The rest of the walk was quiet and for the first time this season, the lights of the gardens came on before we left. I guess the change is upon us but with it brings the burst of color and activity not seen at any other time of year. Sounds like fall has definitely found its way to the marsh in Sheepscot.

Love, John

reluctance

autumn is sneaking in with its beautiful golden fingers. even though summer is my favorite season and i am relishing each and every warm day, it's hard not to be touched by the small changes underway everywhere. the operative word is golden. the way the light radiates over the grasses, the way the grasses themselves are shifting from mostly green to more and more gold.

by now i have lost track of the number of flocks of canadian geese heading south. they would be hard to miss as they fly on their journey because many of them seem to come down the dyer river and glide right over our rooftop on their way. sometimes silent, sometimes having wild and raucous conversations where i would dearly love to know what they are talking about.

reports of fox sightings continue; the kits are nearly full grown. i need to find out what they do during the winter around here. i know they don't hibernate, i just don't know if they live here year round.

thankfully i haven't seen any changes in the colors of the leaves. i hope this autumn takes a long time to settle in and pushes summer out of the way slowly.

From Robert Frost's poem, "Reluctance":

Ah, when to anyone's heart
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season.

hazy lazy daze of summer

day after day of hot, sun-filled mornings and afternoons--all people can talk about is the heat. this summer has been the clearest, the bluest, the hottest one that people can remember. i don't like air conditioners, but there have been a few sultry afternoons when i would have succumbed.

my cousin diane heard the loons last night, or so she thought. she said it was this beautiful call, a long melancholy calling, so marty grabbed his laptop and found loon calls on the internet and as he played them diane was so excited. "yes!" she kept saying, "that's exactly what i heard. i never heard a loon before."

the other big news on the marsh is the ducklings. on his morning walk with francie, marty came upon a mallard with five new hatchlings which he said were totally adorable. this is a late hatch but a most welcome one. when it came to naming them, i suggested the name needed to include the number five, like the jackson five. marty said, "or the dave clark five." but julia won the day with "the quackson five." welcome to the neighborhood, little quackers.

Little Journeys IX

as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives.

The Tuesday night Garden Party was alive and kick'in. Delilah DeWylde and the Lost Boys were the featured band, a good ole hoe down and country spunk quintet. Delilah ended the show by standing on and balancing her stand up bass. All the while continuing to play. Of course we took our normal stroll through the gardens during the show - a nice peaceful, almost fall like evening. The main pond has a fine green layer over top as it's been dry, warm and little rain. But it makes for a new vision of the pond, especially with the ice blue Chihully blocks still firmly anchored about.

The little frogs are everywhere and make for a fun game of tag - of course we had to wiggle all the rocks they dove for just to make sure they were OK. It's fun to people watch, especially those new to the gardens - so many different expressions, observations and assessments. Love, John

sunshine at low tide

SHEEPSCOT VILLAGE

it was supposed to rain today but instead the sky is baby blue and cloud free. everything on the ground is radiant with a golden glow. there's quite a breeze out there so the windows are still closed. nice and fresh, like i feel myself after a bath and getting my hair washed and brushed out. it was like a mini-spa here earlier.

i have so many loving (and often hilarious) people taking care of me, opening the world to me, keeping me their prayers, starting with marty and expanding out from there to include my children, dear friends, cousins, sibs, my therapist, my acupuncturist - and many beloved members of the churches i served. now added to that are hospice staff who've been with us since mid-march - they are extraordinary. i was director of one of the first hospice programs in the country, in Sonoma County CA in the early 80's. it's terrible having this monster illness at 58, but thank god they're there for all of us and i can have life and love in this little paradise. along with ronny foxy baby, i'm a lucky duck too.

gray day on the marsh

I know I say that every season and every day outside is beautiful, and it's true, each in its own way. But recently, it has been extraordinarily so. Right outside the window in the little garden there are butterflies and hummers eating from the feeders and the flowers. Just down the berm the spartina begins, first in green waves where the grass falls over on itself and looks like an emerald version of a choppy sea. Then there is a band of taupe-ish grass that has already dried out, like all of it will be by December. Behind that rises up more spartina that looks kind of like corn, with green stalks and golden toppers. Then there is a little island with more of the tall grass, but all green. Then you come to the river, which today is a sparkling silver. The tide is receding, and the water going out reflects the green trees and the gray skies.

Two loons appeared earlier, followed by a flock of gulls on the river, followed by a visit from a bright lemony finch close to the house. Everywhere I look is peace and softness. I am having a really good day myself; maybe I am mirroring the marsh, the way the river mirrors the sky.

Little Journeys VIII

as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives.

Our Tuesday night garden party was held on Sunday night when we attended the George Thorogood and his Destroyers concert at Meijer Gardens. George is an old blues rocker from way back (ok, not so far back - he's our age) whose hits include Bad to the Bone; One Bourbon, One Scotch and One Beer; I Drink Alone; Haircut; Move it on Over and other assorted intellectual classics. Aside from his deeply meaningful lyrics, he is an incredible blues/rock guitarist and high energy performer. Had a great time on a beautiful summer's evening. Love, john

love letter

this is a love letter to my sister terry who just spent two months making life on the salt marsh paradisial. (thank you, wendell berry, for that exotic word.) terry spent two months caring for me, marty, the pets, the house, and the gardens. she installed two hummingbird feeders which are visited daily by several cantankerous ruby-throated hummers. the transformation of our home and life here has been nothing short of miraculous. i am especially grateful to my nephew scott and brother-in-law lloyd for loaning her to us in such a good natured way.

every closet and cupboard got sorted out, the two upstairs bedrooms we redecorated together, and putting in the gardens with her was a blast. she used a little movie camera called a flicker to film the upstairs rooms which i have never seen in person, to show me how she had arranged the furniture and elicit my suggestions. we ordered butterfly quilts for julia's bedroom and quilts with moose, mallards, and other marsh wildlife for sam's room. when it came to the gardens she tore out all the weeds and undergrowth and together we chose what plants to put in and where they should go. it was a project that still makes my heart sing.

most of all she was attentive to me in such a completely loving and devoted way; truly unbelievable. there's the life on the marsh happening outside and the life happening inside. she made our inside life a work of peace and beauty. she may be able to return in september after my nephew starts high school. this would be over-the-top fabulous!

Little Journeys VII

as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives.

Pam is on her way home from Ethiopia - arrives late tomorrow. So Pauline, friend Sami and I went to the gardens to make sure nobody was messing with our Tuesday. Being August, they have live bands on Tuesday nights so we were able to take in the gardens and got a free show on top of it. It was a gorgeous night - people everywhere. It's really nice as you can stroll around and groove to the music or sit in the grass amphitheatre and watch all the old fuddyduddies trying to reenact their youth.. The highlight of the night was watching Pauline sail her little boat through the entire chain of Great Lakes in the children's area (it's really a cool replica of the all the Great Lakes) - she was quite proud of her accomplishment.

Sami kinda looked on - humored of course on how Pauline had taken her little plastic boat and so artfully navigated the varying levels between the lakes, wondering how real boats would navigate abrupt drops in water levels without crashing into oblivion. But together they figured out the real world used locks and therefore the end of the earth doesn't occur at the connecting points of each lake. Pretty impressive conclusions for a couple juniors in high school. But we had a wonderful evening and while we missed Pam it was fun to just hang out with daughter and friend. Love, John

duck fusion

when we got this lovely little house last summer, it came with a family of mallards, one drake, his mate, and their one surviving offspring. i said to marty, we need names for them, ending with "and baby makes three". he immediately responded, "ronny, foxy and baby". instant accord between us and here's why.

shortly after i moved to san francisco in 1979 to be with marty, we read an article in the SF Chronicle about a muni bus driver who had stolen a bus and had gotten as far as san luis obispo before being stopped. he told police he had commandeered the empty bus because he'd "never been to L.A. before and needed a break". the paper also mentioned that the bus driver went by the name "Ronny Foxy Baby". we were charmed. ten or maybe 15 years later, still living in california, we heard a breaking news story on the radio that someone from sacramento had stolen a city bus from the lot where he worked and was caught driving south, allegedly to L.A. - and just as we turned to look at each other, the announcer added, "the thief told police he prefers to be called by the name 'Ronny Foxy Baby'." we were smitten.

so much so that we named my power wheel chair after this superhero.

and then the 3 ducks. but since foxy and baby both eloped with new drakes this spring, our faithful remaining mallard is now bestowed with all 3 names for himself, the lucky duck.

bright (bright) bright (bright) sunshiny day

it's a sticky, damp, peaceful and noisy day depending on what gets your attention . work is being done on the leaky skylights at last, men climbing up and down ladders, hammering up a storm. a weed whip and a silly little speedboat compete for loudest contraption. shouts from the bridge, followed by shrieks and splashing. every now and then those cranky geese explode into "i want it all for me"outbursts.

there's a great breeze. water rolls in in long streams of deep blue satin. summer in full swing.

the tiny garden just outside my windows is glittering and glimmering with butterflies and hummers. a lovely serene place to rest your eyes. and i know if i could get closer i'd be able to hear the whir of their wings and their sharp little territorial chirps.

Little Journeys VI

as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives. this week includes photos of john's gorgeous children- my nephew and niece alex and pauline, also of grand rapids.

After a few no shows of the past few weeks Pam and I were able to make our journey around the gardens tonight. Like most people we haven't seen it quite some time - it was a beautiful evening and people seemed to enjoy the night and the Chihullys. Not much in the exhibits has changed but we met a young volunteer who was taking short surveys of those wandering the park. Learned after bantering with him that he is an intern from Aquinas College. After discovering you can get people to work for you for free, I decided I needed an intern for my work as well.

So now I have to find a school creative or crazy enough to let me have one. I think i could put them to great use doing research on how many gas station/convenience store were sold in Michigan in the last 5 years, how much they sold for and who the buyer was. Important stuff like that. Or I could find out how many electric motors are in use that run the ventilation and cooling systems for all the nuclear power plants in the US. Then I could sit back or play golf while billing my clients megabucks for all this high value information. Probably not but Chihully gets my creative juices flowing.

Anyway, we had a nice visit and told the volunteer we tried to be there every week and other assorted trivia.

Can't wait to arrive on Sunday and looking forward to having most all the Harrington siblings together. Pretty awesome! Love, John

p.s. -john, you got derailed my man from covering the gardens to how to swindle interns. so i'm posting a couple of Chihullys even though you don't prefer them. back to nature writing, please.

mutual regard

every morning at dawn or even earlier marty and our australian shepherd francie go trotting out the front door and down the road to greet the day. an important part of this ritual takes place hours later with marty telling me in great detail about that day's walk, as i am just waking up and sipping a steaming cafe au lait from a tiny ceramic cup banded with a parade of geese. his report today was so especially special i asked if he would write it up and he graciously obliged.

This morning Francie and I went down the road, framed by two celestial events. Over the blazing east hills, the sun was just about to come up. To the southwest, a huge full moon was starting to go down. It was quite chilly but crystal clear with nice high pressure and lower humidity than we've had in weeks. As we neared the fox house, Francie began a continual nose-down snuffling that could mean only one thing: foxes are close by.

No sign of them at the fox house, though, so we turned onto South Dyer Neck Road to go over the short bridge and partway up the hill on the other side. As we neared the bridge two crows started shrieking alarm calls from the big old oak along the road beyond the bridge. Sure enough, sitting in the road under the oak like he owned the place, was Mr. Fox, staring at us. As we kept heading directly towards him, he sauntered across the road towards the Sheepscot River, and when he went out of sight in the trees, we could track him by the hysterical hovering of the two crows. Francie, of course, never looked up from her sniffing of the dry dirt on the road shoulders.

The fox trotted across the bottom of the open pasture where the geese often hang out and disappeared into the trees on the other side. Once we reached the big oak, I looked across the pasture and sure enough, there was friend fox, just at the edge of the tree line, watching us intently.

This afternoon, I decided to return to the same spot, even though there was no chance of a fox staying in one area nearly that long. Just where the fox had been in the pasture this morning, were the geese, standing still with their heads pointed up. Knowing the culinary predispositions of foxes, I thought it would be a good time for a beak count. It came out at 11. How could that be, since there used to be 13 and 3 got eaten? I counted again, and as I came again to 11, I noticed, standing in the middle of the flock with his neck straight up like a vigilant goose, was Ronny Foxy Baby! Now a bachelor, our fave duck seems to have found a new gang to hang out with, and although the geese never seem particularly happy to be in each other's company, nobody was bothering Ronny.

bed with a view

here is what i see whenever i open my eyes. there's a flower pot right inside with the blue morning glory - a tiny garden in a clay pot made for me by my helper amber and her family with a tripod of drumsticks from her musician spouse for the vine.

just on the other side of the screens are two long window boxes brimming with annuals, lots of cosmos and snapdragons and all sorts of other beauties, created by wishes from me and mainly terry with her super-duper green thumb, behind which are two well-used hummer feeders thanks to terry and sarah my other sister. a little glimpse of paradise all day long, not even counting the whole salt marsh and river beyond.

they're back!

foxes! several sightings over the past few days at the grange and vacant house, which suggest they've been around all along. they sit like a dog does and casually watch marty or terry with francie. the kits are growing. excitement ripples through the 'hood again.

l'oies avec arbres

here are four of the five majestic firs across the river from our house with tide coming in, about half way so far. it was overcast when marty took this picture but of course it is gorgeous and sunny now as i write. all the geese are present, 8 or 9, but you can't see most of them. so all in all not a great photo but i insisted he take it anyway. better ones to follow. the pile of dried grass you can see is one of several on our spartina "lawn", where kingbirds and red-winged blackbirds nest and sleep.

annuals and perennials

there has been magnificent gardening going on at our house, a real team effort of full support from marty, wishes and plans expressed by me, and shopping, planting and care - the real bulk of the work - coming from terry. because it is all so gorgeous and new, visitors, friends and caregivers have shared a lot of thoughts and preferences when it comes to gardening. i have especially been tuned in to people's opinions about annuals vs. perennials.

all of this conversation has been going on around my bed in the context of the new garden - it is a knock-out, if i do say so myself. everyone involved in the gardening buzz knows about my illness and prognosis. yet the only people who really seem to get it are terry and marty (julia and sam don't count because while they ooh and aah over the pretty flowers, they're not into plants). there is a prevailing view that perennials are superior to annuals because of course they last longer, returning year after year, whereas annuals, no matter how beautiful, have only a season.

like me, in all probability.

a few times i have wanted to call out, do you know who you're talking to? or more likely, talkng over or around. is it such a sin, such an awful waste of money, to buy something that can only be enjoyed a few months? because there are some exquisite flowers, annuals, that can't be topped by perennials for beauty, cheer and color. some friends go on to point out that there are perennial varieties that don't bloom the first year or more, but no worries, they're worth waiting for, dropping in this factoid with no apparent awareness of what i'm facing.

i have always loved and planted annuals, decades before ALS. my favorite flowers are perennials - hydrangea, peonies, lilacs, and in california, calla lilies, poppies and fuchsia. and we're not gardening only for me - i want perennials for marty to enjoy for years to come and whenever he sees them, be reminded of me and that i was - and am - thinking of him and his future whenever they bloom. but still.

what i really mind is not the miserliness in some of the comments people make, nor even their insensitivity to all the conversational implications about me they seem to miss - but what seems to be missing most is a penchant for short-lived beauty, ingredients for a fuller life - indulgent pleasures, dripping joy - flowers that bloom for a summer, the singular night of the full moon, the small season of a firefly.

Little Journeys V

as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives, followed by some observations from sister-in-law pam, always welcome, in which john is busted - i mean, really, john:

We had a lovely but hot walk through the gardens last night. After having so much rain a few weeks back, the dry season must be upon us. Has been in the 90's since last week and no rain. So the ponds are growing green stuff but the ducks and geese don't seem to mind. The Chihully blocks in the large pond are getting a good coating of the "gunk" - maybe that was planned. I'm sure it will be a challenge to the volunteers who have to remove it all. Even in the heat there were many people out mozzing around. Kids playing in the fountains and the great lakes exhibit. We actually dipped our own hands and feet in to find refreshment. The flowers are all in bloom amid the sculptures and natural growth. There is also a miniature replica of your favorite work in the Gallery - I must get back and send you a picture- looks really cool up close where it can be easily viewed and touched. Love, John
***
Since it is Tuesday , John and I went to Meijer Gardens tonight. It was hot, but there was a nicebreeze and it was worth it. Some of the flowers are in their glorious summer prime, and the little ducklings have all become teenagers already. John had to terrorize the frogs- I imagine he did this as a child, and also, perhaps to his sisters. This side of him rarely comes out as he is such a kind and gentle soul in his heart. Love, Pam

sweet williams, jasmine, cosmos

Many years ago I went to hear a talk by Stephen Levine, who has written many books on death and dying, including “Meetings at the Edge” and “Who Dies?” When I went to hear him speak, he told a story about a Zen Master, and this is how I remember it. The teacher was confronted by a fierce young student who demanded to know, “What is the point in living, since sooner or later we all die? Isn’t this life just a cruel trick, since no matter what we do, no matter how good we try to be, no matter how much we learn or how wise we become, still, we will die. So what is the point, what is the purpose of life?”

The teacher picked up a glass and held it out to the student. “Look at this glass. Right now it is whole and useful, you can drink water from it, it is lovely to see. If I tap it with a spoon, it makes a wonderful sound. But at some point it will no longer exist, it cannot last forever; at some point someone will drop it and it will break, and that will be the end of it. We don’t know when, but we know for certain that this will happen. So you could say, it is broken already. It is smashed and gone already.”

The teacher went on. “What will I do? I can admire this glass and drink from it, make use of it while I have it, or I could just get it over with, throw it to the ground, since I know its ultimate fate.

“And here you are, young and vibrant and full of questions, but someday you will die and decompose and return to the earth. In that sense you are dead already. Already dead, what will you do with your life?”

I think of this story as I ponder the coming months; I could focus mainly on that I'm already gone, or about to be. As I look around my beautiful rooms, I could dwell on what I'll be leaving behind, and the fear, sorrow and heartache. I think of this story as I look at everyone I love; we are gone from each other already? Already gone from each other, what will we do with our time together?

When we were packing to leave California and move to Houston, I realized I had already left our house. So I decided to plant flowers. On the deck and front porch were all sorts of hanging baskets and wine barrels and large pots and planter boxes which I filled every spring with fuchsia and bougainvillea, jasmine and gardenias, Sweet Williams and cosmos. They were all empty except for the dirt and a few broken twigs and lots of spider webs. When I mentioned to Marty that I was going to fill them all with plantings, he clearly thought I was a bit crazy. “Why do that when we’re moving in a few months?” It could be seen as a waste of time and money, if you go on the assumption that we were gone already. On the other hand, we’d have months of being surrounded by all that beauty and the scent of those white flowers. While we were living in our house, we were living in our house.

And so it is with my people, my animals, the marsh. and all the ways my friends bring me the world in their writing and visits. While we are together, we are together. I want to savor every moment, before it really is over. And who knows what that means, anyway? The longer I live and dream and contemplate, the more curious I get about what's on the other side. I can't believe I will lose all the powerful chances I have now to touch and love and be touched by beings and the world. William James, Huston Smith, Carolyn Bourgeault, Kaya Mclaren and colleagues are reminding and reassuring me that love never dies.

mysteries solved

i apologize if you've been on the edge of your seat since june 13 , wondering and worrying whether the GBH (great blue heron) landed outside my windows so it could munch on baby birds or their eggs nesting in the spartina. in the course of my research i learned herons feast on fishes, frogs, salamanders, lizards, snakes, small mammals, shrimps, crabs, insects -and birds. Yikes! but i still think my first guess was right, that the june 13 heron stopped off out of curiosity, to check out theo our resident parrot, rather than to raid nests. the heron's also made a second fly-by since then to case our joint and parrot further.

and through my version of extensive research (we have approximately 4,000 books on birds to skim), i discovered we do have two avian families occupying the tidal meadow on our side of the river: red winged blackbirds and eastern kingbirds. they are of similar size, both mostly black. obviously the well-known blackbirds are trimmed in red and yellow at the base of the wing, while the kingbirds wear tuxedos with black backs, white undersides and a white band across the base of their tail that looks like ric-rac in flight. they all dart about quickly which is why it took a while to ID the kingbirds - they're fast and not so binocular friendly, and i of course must rely on others with swift feet to dash to the windows when i shriek it's the right time to get a closer look at somebody.

kingbirds compete with GBH's for food a little, eating frogs, small fish and aquatic insects, while their marsh meadow neighbors the red winged blackbirds live on seeds, grain and insects like dragonflies and mayflies. when nesting they both do their utmost to ward off GBH's. maybe that's where theo comes in handy, a loud, colorful, exotic distraction, unintentionally protecting the marsh nestlings by distracting the GBH so artfully from his perch inside.

geese in grass, in wind

i'm kind of flattered that the neighboring farm geese have been spending most mornings out in front of our house, a sort of petit dejeuner sur l'herbe. the geese spread out on the grass at the water's edge where it's thick and mostly quite tall now, with shorter patches here and there which allow you to see more of the whole goose. mostly all you can see is someone's gray head, long neck and vivid orange beak checking things out like a periscope on a submarine.

these guys are so comical - busy, sociable, irascible. and noisy! i try to imagine what they're saying to each other with all the squabbling and wing thrashing; it must make for some pretty gaggling good gossip. who insulted aunt rhody. who ate more than his fair share of wonder bread on the bridge yesterday. who's keen on elegant eliza. (only two have names so far.) who had a close brush with a marten last night.

who decides where they stop off on their daily outings? how is it determined when they return to the water? though there are a few stragglers, eventually everyone follows suit. why does no one hang back if they're enjoying the snails or their sunbath? maybe you'd be more likely to become foxfood.

in high school i babysat for the same family at their cottage at a resort on lake michigan. after early tennis matches, lessons, or play group, all the women, children and sitters were on the beach by 11. i had 4 children in my clan, under age 6 or 7, a lot to keep an eye on. but it was worth it because i had definitely scored one of the coolest, if not the coolest, mother to work for. all lined up in beach chairs, spread out towels for the children, my job was to keep the kids safe, let them show off for me in the water, build sand castles, play - all so "my" mother didn't need to get wet or sandy, have time to read and tan - and most of all gossip.

i quickly learned to camouflage myself amidst the all pervasive gossiping ladies, and pretend i was enthralled with little sarah's swimmies or little christopher's bucket and shovel, instead of madly eavesdropping. whenever i could i would sit invisibly in my little folding chair and listen to the surrounding buzz as my employer held forth - she was a consummate pro and it was wicked cool to be part of her coterie. her cache rubbed off on me with the other babysitters ("nanny" and "au pair" weren't in midwestern lexicon yet). i had huge beach cred. among the teen set.

i picked up just enough outsider buzz to share with her later in the day while the twins napped and we started dinner to tantalize her and get her going and feel the need to fill me in on the whole story, after story, after story. for a while i was convinced i could write a pot boiler best seller about their dozens of secrets, intrigues and occasionally a genuine scandal. but as it is with all cotton candy gossiping or gaggling, i soon forgot, everything - names, situations, details, those key ingredients to candace bushnell or vanity fair . but i adored "my" mother, practically worshipped her, especially how she took me under her wing, made me her confidante and feel so important and well-informed.

as a result i sought to emulate her high standards of not only parenting (she was truly one of the greats and still is) but also training carefuly selected sitters with my own gossip acquiring skills. looking back on those halcyon days of 12 summers at the swim and tennis club with my own cherubs and mother's helper in tow, i think i did her proud.

a day of two's

the first two visits to the new hummingbird feeder by a ruby throated little guy.

two beautiful sisters zipping around, organizing all the closets, passing along excess furniture, stopping now and then to hang out.

my two fabulous children here lighting up my life.

sam and girlfriend heather catching me up on summer plans.

two heron sightings.

two kinds of daisies on the desk.

two favorite neighbors, who we haven't seen since last summer, stopping by with home grown salad mix and tiny white apple blossoms in a teeny tiny vase.

marty and i reading together and listening to dvorak.

lazy, lush day

the sky is filling with darkening clouds which make the water, slowly departing, a silver mirror. the air is saturated and feels close, not quite a steam bath because it's warm not hot. while i was looking out, in a muggy haze, a great blue heron landed right under the windows. it picked its legs up, stepping carefully through the marsh grass and seemed interested in our little parrot theo who by then was loudly freaking out. the heron stopped for a moment to examine theo, then kept going. when it got to the water's edge, it exchanged a lengthy glance with marty and then, next thing we knew, it was gone.

when i began this post i was going to write about an uneventful day on the salt marsh, but just then the heron appeared. i'm afraid it may have been raiding our resident family of redwing blackbirds but must do some research and more observation and hope i'm mistaken. to be continued.

early morning

my day started with this news from marty:

This morning on our 5 AM walk Francie and I kind of snuck around the corner of the grange just in case there was a fox, and I even had my camera ready. No foxes, but just on the other side of the grange on the nearest railing of the long bridge was the young eagle we've been seeing around here. I've never been so close to an eagle before. It was HUGE! It just turned its head and stared at us, fearless. I felt like prey.

a couple of days ago this youngster, still completely chocolate brown, was eating the remains of something white (gull? goose?) on the other side of the river at very low tide, right across from us. it tore into its meal for at least fifteen minutes, a really long time around here unless you're a heron, accompanied by a crow who hung around like its sidekick, trying to slip in closer for its own supper. they reminded me of batman and robin.

my problem with mother nature and the food chain is that i am rooting for everyone, except maybe mosquitoes and yellow jackets. the year we lived in houston i took the kids to the astrodome to see the rockets play the orlando magics. we were all disappointed that charles barkley was out with an injury that night. i know so little about the sport that i cheered wildly anytime someone made a basket regardless of which team they were on. i couldn't help it; i just got so excited for whoever scored and thought they deserved it. this was not the case however with my children, especially since we were surrounded by rockets' fans and orlando was winning by some ridiculous amount. i kept promising to behave but the dagger stares coming our way soon became too much for them and i found myself sitting alone for most of the game.

i don't know why foxy the duck has disappeared. ronny is still here and even though the books say mallards don't stay together after mating, they were a family of three for at least the past year. i hope she was fickle and left ronny for an even more dapper dabbler. although i miss her and worry that ronny is lonely, i would rather she be promiscuous than eaten. and once i know the eagle's gender it will be named for someone fearless, perhaps joan of arc or nelson mandela.

or batman.

lightening bugs

last night patty came running in, breathless, exclaiming there were fireflies in our side yard, where the lawn meets the berm that leads to the marsh. i was really excited but desperate to see them too. so we turned off all the lights, put anything that glowed like a phone under pillows - created a blackout. it was beautiful all by itself, the dark. then the first bright blink, then another and another, and the little light show was underway.

we sat in the quiet of deepening night and whispered like little kids, friend patty, cousin susie and me. patty said they were the first fireflies she'd ever seen!

all my summers on lake michigan growing up were filled with fireflies. they're not easy to catch but a few times i managed to trap several in mason jars and took them up to bed at the cottage to try and read by firefly. however two or three blinking bugs were more like mini strobe lights than lamps, and besides they slowed down pretty quickly and seemed sad. i always snuck back downstairs and let them go.

it seemed like there was a decade or two when fireflies almost disappeared. but about five years ago they happily appeared at the cottage on seal cove, and here they are on the river. the light they create is called bioluminescence, such a fittingly beautiful word for these little critters. there are photos, stories and ways to make your yard and neighborhood more lightening bug friendly at http://www.firefly.org/

luminescent, tiny white, bright sparkles, flashing off and on in the woods, over the meadows and right outside the cottage windows. summer is here.

make way for ducklings

while my true love is under the weather, i'm pre-occupied, so was very happy when marty's close friend richard wrote of spring as it unfolds in boston for him and his spouse and colleague, sandra - so i have something to share. you would not believe the eloquent, charming, beautifully written notes i receive from friends about spring in their part of the world and things they notice and appreciate. i have eyes and ears all over the country. and all the while the marsh goes on its way, greening up and being gorgeous.

We moved our office two months ago, to a lovely old building across the street from the Public Garden. We were feeling like there was nothing outside of Central Square in our lives.

So - every day now we take the Red Line from Central Square to Charles/MGH. The train crosses the Longfellow Bridge; we get to look out at the river with sail boats and kayaks and views of Boston and Cambridge and already the day is better, just being near the water for a few moments. Then we walk up Charles Street to Beacon. Charles Street is lovely, with little stores, lots of people, lots of dogs (I don't know why), and unfortunately, very uneven brick paving.

Having navigated up to Beacon, we turn right into the Public Garden. As you know, every day there are little changes in the trees and the flowers — I am trying to take the time every day to attend to that. Beyond the trees and the pond and the flowers, there is the "Make Way for Ducklings" statue.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Make_way_for_ducklings_statue.jpg

Since we moved in, almost every day there are one or more children sitting on the ducklings, parents with cameras in hand watching happily. Sometimes there are more children than ducklings. A few days ago I watched as an older sister (perhaps 9) arranged her two younger sisters and a large doll on three of the ducklings, and then she proudly sat on the mother duck and allowed her mother to take pictures.

love to you both, Richard