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

my old jalopy

earlier today looking out on the marsh, dripping in fog, i thought of Kipling's "The Elephant's Child" and "the great grey-green greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees". the river water looked as if it were made of oobleck, slimy and gooey, straight from Dr. Seuss - like if you stuck a giant wooden spoon in it, it would be hard to stir as the batter in Mickey's Night Kitchen. (i might not be as literate and well-read as some, but i do know my children's literature.)

i remember my favorite camp counselor miss annie reading "The Elephant's Child" every night after taps and lights out. i was enthralled. i adored all the voices of the animals - the high, stuffy squeak of the elephant's child before he got his trunk, the bossy broad aunt hippopotamus, the snide hairy baboon uncle, the shriek of the kolokolo bird and very best of all, the sly, hypnotic deep growl of the crocodile.

i still don't know after 45 years whether i loved or hated camp. i loved miss annie and most of my counselors. i loved hearing the elephant's child. i loved canoeing. i loved campfires, musicals, the camp store. i loved getting mail every single day. i hated how cold the lake was and how we had to go in no matter the weather. i was terrified of the spiders. i hated the dusty hikes. the food wasn't that great. i never finished a single lanyard even though i tried every summer to make one. i hated how homesick i felt. it really was about 50-50, equal parts love and hate, and i mean love and hate, not like and dislike. it might be the truest ambivalence i've ever experienced.

all six of us went to camp every summer, it was the same as church for my mom, you just did it because that's what children do in the summer. i went to camp kewano (campfire girls, of which i was one for 10 years) and newaygo (girl scouts, where i felt like a traitor but the food and activities were better). my brother doug went to a fabulous camp in wisconsin. and right this very minute i am wearing a camp manitou-lin t-shirt i borrowed from my brother john, a soft, ancient gray. i loved the silly camp songs, did i mention that? "two blue pigeons, one was black and white - POOM!" maybe that tips the balance the tiniest bit to the love side of the summer camp equation.

my beautiful friend

In memory and in honor of Carla Zilbersmith, age 47, actor, singer, performer, writer, comedian, mother, sister, daughter, friend, who died from ALS on May 17, 2010. Carla was my only comrade and kindred spirit with ALS who I knew personally. Her blog inspired mine. Her life made me glad. Her illness made me, and makes me heart sick, outraged and despairing. Still I know the greatest tribute to Carla, her valiant living and passionate loving, is simply holding her in peace and tenderness.

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

-Jane Kenyon

you gotta move when the spirit says move

my dear friend bettegail who still hails from grand rabbits, where we grew up and then worked together as young adults, has kids same ages as mine, who all liked each other (i know i did) on visits . she and daughter meg were recently in washington making plans for meg's wedding, and she sent this yesterday. i so love the idea of my friends appreciating their health, mobility and good times - not exactly on my behalf but more like including me as bettegail describes:

D.C. was so sunny and beautiful, I just love that city. I had never stayed in the Willard, an historic hotel near the White House. In the end this is where Meg decided to have her wedding. We did lots of walking both during the day and at night. The monuments are so beautiful at night. I was thinking of you as I was walking around, trying to use my eyes to their fullest and to appreciate my mobility to the fullest, having been made aware as the days go by of your feelings and grieving over the lack of mobility. I try to honor your spirit in your bed as I walk through my day, hoping to "move" your spirit.

une famille de renards

marty forgot the camera again but he was very sorry especially since there aren't two baby foxes, there are three! he has been pocketing his camera faithfully since. and he found this photo to tide me over. he's really into the kits and did a little research:

I've been reading all about "canids" since we have a family in the neighborhood. This morning at dawn (foxes are crepuscular, which means they're active at dawn and twilight), the fox mom stared at Francie and me as we went by. Then the kits flew across the street towards her. The two who act like twins and are always together disappeared with the mom. The odd one, who is bigger and slower, lost track of where they had gone. So he (I'm sure, somehow, he's male) just good-naturally sat down on the lawn across the street and watched us.

They are the talk of the village. Especially how the arrival of the famille de renards has coincided with a drop in the goose census...no one mourns...

well, i do. i mean i agree there are a lot of geese, and i'd like more ducks. but i don't think there's too many geese here, just plenty. they are variously elegant, obnoxious, cranky and amusing, but aren't we all?

with three baby foxes, an additional name had to be found, so now it's kip, kit and kaboodle. i've always liked the name kip. i knew a kip in high school, from my church's youth group, an affable space cadet like the third kit marty describes. one night when we were being paid to usher for "gone with the wind" in the '60's - it was such a big deal then, there was reserved seating - kip nearly started a riot in the theatre when, for half an hour as he was collecting tickets, he told our patrons they could sit anywhere they wanted. this made those with less desirable seats delighted and not at all interested in moving when the rightful "owners" came along. especially since kip hadn't torn their tickets in half and they had no clue where else to go.

i was head usher that night and the manager was nearly apoplectic. still no matter how hard i tried to be all apologetic and polite, i just couldn't stop laughing - all that umbrage caused by kip's sweet, carefree ditziness somehow made me feel indulgent towards him rather than peeved. i remember us getting in a lot of trouble but not the getting fired type, more like the ferris bueller kind, where the adolescents know very well who prevailed.