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This month's article should be
called "Weather Abuse". The tourists are unhappy, basically, but some
explore and feast their eyes when the fog lifts, for a moment. The fishermen
have been visiting their traps, relying on radar and wits to get them along.
Housekeepers have been swamped with soggy laundry and, well, soggy houses! Lawns
have been dew-laden and uncut; the growing craze of July has passed, so the
crisis doesn't seem so urgent-or is it that we just tell ourselves these little
lies, just to get through the misty misery?
Yes, there have been little windows
of light...very little windows in which washing
machines can be heard churning all over the island and clothes
lines hum with tautness as loads and loads go on up for their all too brief hour
in the sun. In the come the limp things when the window closes, again. Up they
go on racks or hanging from hangers in doorways and over chair backs while the
family weaves in and out Back to clothes lines. Over the years I have noticed
that my clothes line seems to have its own biome.
On the foggy days, these things are easy to notice because the eyes are not used
to looking into the distance. One year I found some sort of bee rasping away at
a clothes pin. As I looked up and down the line, I noticed that several pins had
stripes of new wood showing on their weathered surfaces. I watched awhile as the
creature rasped up a supply before flying away to some hidden nest. Always
present, are at least a couple of species of spider which live in the clothes
pins with lengths of web lazily looped along the line. One spider edges up to
the woodshed or house to make large Charlotte's webs. Once in awhile I forget,
(in a sunny frenzy), and accidentally kill a spider, but mostly, I pick them up
and carry them to the tall grass nearby. I know that they are Clothes Line
Spiders and will have to make it back there, but maybe the wash will be dry by
then. The line itself is a haven for lichen which never stains the cloth, but
gives me an uneasy feeling anyway because it
reminds me that I read somewhere that our own skin is covered with such things.
On the other hand, the same knowledge is sometimes comforting: it is all part of
the natural process.
Well, the darn fog has been here for
YEARS! It is like when winter first comes on: you forget how to drive in the
stuff, but after a few days, you blunder out in it and continue for months on
end. It is the same with fog. The first week, you stay in, regretting all; the
next week the bikes come out and the walking shorts slither out of sticky bureau
drawers. Last week, my friend, nephew Ross and I
ventured out on a grand expedition into the foggy harbor where we explored four
islands and ate blueberries, huckleberries,
gooseberries and a blackberry or two. We made discoveries too awesome to mention
here and collected returnable cans to boot! Our red canoe slide quietly upon the
waters and made it home, just ahead of the changeable weather, which began to
stir and churn. Home after hours of adventuring in the foggy, mysterious Sunday,
the fact that our laundry was not going to be dry
in the near future seemed entirely too petty to fret over. August, 1989
The sound of summer's dry
weather crickets still rings in the air in mid-September. The meager rains have
done little to green the dead spots in yards around the island. Soon enough the
winter will drain the green from almost everything anyway; the green will return
in its season. And though there is a certain dread about the coming change,
there is relief too: the seasons cannot be swayed yet from their certain course,
not matter what man has done to the atmosphere to date and the winds from a
hurricane hundreds of miles away cause the seas to roar outside a black-glassy
harbor.
These last few weeks have been for
the owls and eagles. A great horned owl has been seen regularly on the island,
particularly near the Odd Fellow's Hall in Brad Ames's
field. One night, a large bird landed on the edge of the road next to my car as
I was driving by the I.O.O.F. It was a startling
moment! I hadn't seen the bird before, but after telling people about the
experience, I confirmed in my mind that it must have been the resident Bubo virginianus.
And then, I was to see Bubo in the light.
One early evening I saw the owl on
the roof of my neighbor's house on City Point. My friend and I stopped the car,
took out field glasses and watch it just a few feet away. When I tried to sneak
around to tell my neighbors about their house guest, it flew off a few hundred
yards and then perched on the top of a tall spruce. The Cheneys
brought out their excellent telescope and we spent a good fifteen minutes
excitedly observing. We laughed at how "owl-like" it looked with its
beautiful bright round yellow eyes and half-closed lids and especially with how
it moved its head.
And then there was an eagle morning.
Early one Friday, my neighbor Bill Cheney, called
to tell me that there were two eagles on the mussel shoal in front of the house.
I could see one as we talked on the phone, so I struck out running too see more.
When I arrived, Bill had the excellent telescope trained on a duo of eagles with
their feet in the mud of a sliver of mussel bar. An adult eagle, in full
regalia, stood near the center of the scene and an immature bird was off to the
right. After a few minutes, the young one, which we saw had a red band on one
ankle, tried to land close by the adult, but was spurned and flew off to the
left where it landed nearby on the same mussel bar.
There the younger stood in the
advancing tide. It began to play with a loose mussel which it picked up and
dropped repeatedly. In the telescope I watched the young one's talons grasp the
shell and then put it in its mouth. Finally, it flew off, mussel in talon,
across the harbor where it landed in trees below Tom Lunt's house.
This left the adult, still standing
in the coming tide and looking about lazily. Suddenly, an osprey appeared in the
sky above it! This other bird of prey circled and then dove at the bald eagle!
The eagle stretched its head upward to watch the attack and then jumped up, with
mouth open, to meet the osprey! The osprey split the air with its sharp cry, but
repeated the attack twice more and was met each time with the mighty jump and
gaping mouth of a bird of prey much larger than itself. The osprey flew off.
After a few more minutes in the rising seas, the eagle rose and sailed to the
same trees the younger one had gone to. The tide soon took back the theater for
its own plays and we humans went to breakfast.
I have heard from another neighbor
across the harbor, that the eagle still visits behind my house and that the owl
too still can be seen. We speculate that the owl is feasting on rabbits...we
hope so: the Minturn rabbit population may soon resemble a real plague. And this
brings to mind that the deer population is a problem. Next month I will have a
report on a proposed deer survey to be conducted by the state...and
"hunting season" will soon be upon us. September. 1989
Weather Muse
October days and nights are with
birds. Geese stretch their necks that undulate with each wing beat. Quick ducks
in vee wedge through the silver air. Blue herons
still wade silently until night and then fly with an un-earthly
song in their throats. Nuthatches busy and noisy on tree trunks. A dead robin
along the edge of the road. Perfectly brown
pheasants scoot among the fall
grasses and then disappear. Eagles reel, Grackles
flock and fleet. Crows subtract red from black
alder.
Sharp temperatures
have prompted caretakers
to go from house to house turning off and draining
things. Antifreeze.
A few of us have storm windows
up and the house banked for the things to come. Summer cottons
have sadly been taken out of drawers and closets. And yet summer lingers:
tourists still ride the. roads and find the
lighthouse, the beaches, the restaurant, the gift
shop. Schooners still sail these waters and take anchor in Burnt
Coat and Mackerel Cove.
Part of the
wintering process involves the ferry, which shrinks this from 12 cars to 8.
This time she will keep the summer schedule until the 28th of October. It is already
dusk when the last boat in...before long, the
winter 4:15 last boat will deliver us to night time on Swan's Island.
Around the island life proceeds.
There are marriages, work of all kinds, politics, croquet games fiercely
fought on many fields. There is relief in the coming winter.
There is tension too, because sometimes winter can be hard for everyday living
and for the long dark days that keep you in. The strange beauty of seagulls
sitting on the frozen harbor will moderate the effects of temperature.
For now, the fall is perfect. Leaves color patches in the spruce and fir trees
forest and the air seems so clear… October, 1989
Weather Muse
November had been a dream of warm, clear days and crisp nights: perfect weather for forgetting winter. One night, the winds came chilly from the north and then, as planes humped up from the south and landed on wet and icy strips, Winter blew in and wrapped herself ground Maine.
Weather Muse
On New Year's Eve, the rains
began. By morning, yards and green grass appeared all over the island Some dirt
roads became even more dangerous with ice, but the
air took on the feel of a kind of spring; one is brave in spring.
While walking, I noticed that the
trees were alive with nosily flitting chickadees. The tiny birds stirred
the spruce branches and shook out seeds which drifted down onto the
softening earth. High in the sky some seagulls
circle while a pair mysterious hawks drift off toward Stanley
Point. Crows quietly scavenge along the shore. A decayed pheasant is exposed in
a neighbor's yard, its legs and feet recognizable
in the debris of its wilt feathers.
January's relief from the cold soon
followed by the horror of having to pay for December's fuel.
Kerosene is $1.41 a gallon and propane is $42.00 a bottle. The wood stove
still sits waiting to needed again. The cost of labor
to have wood cut and then having to deal with
it after: is it worth it? Certainty there is romance in burning of wood, indeed,
in keeping warm, but love is being tested.
The fishermen have been taking
up traps. Carlton Joyce's boat came into Burnt
Coat Harbor laden with one hundred traps. Like the other fishermen, he'll spend
the next month or so repairing gear and getting ready for another
season. This is the time of year that the fishing is slow. Gear needs to be
repaired anyway, so it works out well. A couple of the fishermen are scalloping.
These will taste good come summer if you are lucky
enough to get some for the freezer!
On the 11th, the tide reached
way up onto the shore and left weed necklaces prettily arranged
under the chin of the land. these high tides I always note some boulder on
the other shore disappears.
These high tides can be more
interesting if there is a storm behind it that pushes it even higher. The
wharves seem different when the sea is nearly
level to them; memories of other moon tides whipped
by winds stir and one is for the calm of a
kinder January 1990. There will be other storms,
but for now, let's rest. January. 1990
Hans Borei Gathers Swan's Island Weather Data
Hans Borei, ever the fact gatherer, handed me data of weather measurements taken in the harbor that he compiled over the five years. He noted such things as first day of winter, length of winter, days of snowfall and so forth. He calculated averages and found the following facts:
Caterpillers & Frostheaves
The big snowfall
of early February was defeated slowly by warm temperatures and then by rain that
fall one day. Yards revealed heaps of broken
branches and flotsam from these months of winter. A child'
s kite reel finally
fell to earth from electric lines
where It had been for the better part of a year. It rolled off Into the dead high
grassy the side of the road. My laziness
tells me to leave it for some other child to find in the new season's green
grasses. The road crew has been exploring the island for bumps and dents to fill.
The roads are cracking and heaving
and drivers are learning where to slow and where
to swerve. Dirt roads and driveways
look as if Spring has visited:
great muddy ruts alternately deepen and harden as
the weather works its will. The island roads are still in better shape than many
off island...and
more interesting....
On a Sunday I walked from
City Point to the
Valley down harbor. Just a few steps up on the eleventh of February, winter
in Maine, there should really be a little caterpillar walking
across the road. It looked as if it may have crossed the full width
of the road and only had a few more feet to go to safety. I picked it up and
felt that its body was very cold. I put it off the road so that the next car
wouldn't blot out the little larva. As I left it,
I wondered how it ever came to be in winter and if
it would survive. The roadsides were piled with
crusty snow and the woods beyond looked no safer, but such is life, for caterpillars
and people too. February, 1990
Weather Muse
The dog's grave was some two and
one half feet deep and the earth was pretty dry down there. Hard pan was struck,
the edges smoothed and scooped out. The dog got kissed,
wrapped in an old torn pink single sheet (nicely fitted the dog), and laid in
where we guessed she'd be forever after, until the bugs and things got after her
and spread her around again. Her body kind of shook a bit as the first bits of
earth went down. Rocks were carefully fitted around her until the dirt was deep
enough so that we guessed it wouldn't hurt to throw stones. Near the top, the
earth was firmed with feet and then the sod refitted.
Three large flatish stones were brought up from the shore and these became a
sort of triangle grave. We both sat and cried over the dog, felt sorry that such
a thing had to be done to a dog that could still wag her tail.
Just two weeks before she had
struggled to keep up on a small journey of exploration. She walked by Spring's
first skunk cabbage and sniffed thin blades of greening grasses by the side of
the road. She finally just sat to wait and then followed us back to the car and
home where she could sleep and dream her dog dreams.
One very cold night, the temperature
around 15, she didn't come back from her toilet. I
couldn't find the black beagle In the dark and she wasn't giving any clues away.
I knew then that she had an agenda of her own. Sometimes she had refused to eat
or drink. I would get It into her somehow, but was scared. Her legs began to
wobble, her toes to turn under; movement an effort. She spent more than 6 hours
in the cold that night. I found her next morning, after a long search, curled
up, in the sunlight, under a tree. She was alive and followed me home.
Four days have now gone by since the
dog died. I bring offerings to gulls and crows and place them on the stones of
her grave. The seagulls are at their Annual Scale Worm Festival just below as
they have done for many years when the harbor warms. Ducks and crows compete
quietly. There are more signs of Spring to help us
feel better about our lives. Just today I saw a sparrow hawk perched on the
wires above the road. Its spotted breast beautiful against the just-cleared-blue
sky. Files are buzzing
in every house, winging
at windows. Water Is rushing down from unfrozen
streams, ponds and bogs in the Interior. Culverts
sometimes thunder, and foam with the power of the
melt; the flats bathed and diluted. (Is there some
tiny miracle that
takes place during just this time?) show many
courses where small rivers have gone. Robins have
been back for awhile and starlings
and crows are carrying straw and sticks to make this
year's nests. In April I miss the dog and I
wonder about the caterpillar I saw in February. February, 1990
Weather Muse
How can it be that I've cut the
lawn twice and haven't yet put away my long johns?
People are saying, "What spring?."
Indeed. The slow progression of time
tears away the days: the trees have sent out their
group of this year's leaves, but all is
quiet on the warm front. Spring
is silent save for our chattering teeth and the
sound of winter coats zipping. Did we do this last
year? I can't remember. I do remember the pleasure of the daffodils on Buckle
Island. This year the daffodils came up but weakly.
Summer's flowers, trying to grow,
have been eaten by deer all over the island. Day lilies are repeatedly chomped
just by the door. Lists of green things are on the deer's menu and we shall not
feast with our eyes on these things this year.
But, my uncle's cherry bloomed! Those
dally pink blossoms stayed on the tree for a week. Chilly bees and humming birds
came by to sup; people made special trips to see it. One day, the sky was
blue-bird and the pink cherry was spectacular! The
petals are falling now. I will wait for the sound
of poplars leaves rustling In the wind: I guess it won't matter how cold it is,
because there are many pleasures other than warmth to be had on an island.
May, 1990
Weather Muse
Does anyone remember last year's mosquitos?
Forget it.
Lilacs, narcissus,
bluets. Crows walking wet yards cocking their
heads to listen. An osprey
seen flying towards Roderick's
Head with a branch twice
its own length. Pollen wafting in the air
like a yellow mist. Hatching
insects. Sprouting seeds. Mowing
lawns. Evening fires
in the woodstove to cut the damp and chill.
Dinner with friends and talk about the summer ahead. Rearranging.
Cleaning up. Change. Flowers again, (Welcome! So good to see you again!).
Another June, still at home by the sea watching
things come and go; ebb and flow, the way it
should be. June, 1990
Suddenly, one day, it is really
summer. Painting the house, the wind is warm and
the paint dries quickly
and the laundry goes up and down in a few hours.
That moment is perfect and you think that it would
be a perfect thing to have the weather just like
that forever, even if there are mosquitoes. The harbor is
glassy and quiet and when the sun sets, rose
colors bloom in the clouds and fall onto the black mirror
of the water. Even the cannon fire of a skin boat
cannot disturb us. We slide out for an evening
after dinner canoe trip and explore the familiar
shore and go to see how things are going
at the new lobster pound.
Before, we have
been able to navigate between the piers
there, but this last time,
two nights ago, the walls were too complex for
this adventure. We pushed by a few logs and headed back to City
Point, passing under the stern of the "Harvey
Gamage" and saying
hello to some on board. This afternoon we are waiting
for some rain, but if it comes it
won't be enough to help some who have already run out of well water. You just
can't defy nature with modern thought: no amount of wishful
thinking can raise
water where there isn't any. The well driller said,
"Might as well burn a house down that has no
water." Upon reflection, the old idea of a cistern
might seem a better thing
to do. A friend at Island Retreat has just had one
built, a hedge against dry times and a generally
smart act of conservation. A few things are different
this year: I can't mow my lawn because of a bad foot and have to limp
around trying to do the things
that I do, and there are actually more than a handful of cherries on my little
tree out back. Now if I could only get to them before the crows do! Oh well,
they will most likely win,
again. July, 1990
Weather Muse
For the first time in five
years, Columbus Day weekend was warm. Two years ago. snow fell and the
electricity went out. I remember five years running
because I have been going to Haystack Mountain
School for their Open Door session, always that
same weekend. This time I packed very little to
take to Deer Isle: this time only heavy socks and a couple of warm shirts.
On the sixth of October the temperatures climbed
to the mid-seventies and I was trapped, looking
with envy at the silly ones who actually brought
shorts and sleeveless shirts to wear! Ah, Maine!
October,
October. The next morning,
again beautiful and warmish,
we heard geese honking down from the north, winging over Jericho
Bay and Deer Isle Thoroughfare to parts unknown to us. We all glanced at their
lazy wedges strung out, ebbing and flowing
in the autumn air,
but returned to breakfast and another day of trying
to be like geese: free and easy within
the constraints of earth.
The entire next week was just
like a summer week. Every day was clouded, foggy,
damp, cold...one afternoon the fog lifted and I
saw people rushing to the shore to photograph the
mussel shoals nicely black against the dull gray
of the water and that set against the houses on
the other shore. The other shore! A wondrous sight!
Hurricane Lilli sent us humidity galore, but sailed
elsewhere to blow herself out. Other high winds
shook leaves off of trees, but not before we had a chance to revel In gorgeous
scenery In little pockets on the island
where maples grow. Long brown needles from red pines pelted my windows
In one high wind and
the yard looked like a pin cushion
after. But. now daintily
growing up through the dangerous carpet are
mushrooms of many different sorts. The tiny
fungi are another announcement of the things
to come. They know nothing of storm windows
and plastic banking.
We both go about the business of living
the seasons out, each in our own way. I have to
haul out the storm windows. The fungus has to play its part in
breaking summer down. The geese, the
storm windows, the fungi...I have been here before.
My October poem is a song to my struggle with
Nature. Luckily, I can laugh about it! October,
1990
Weather Muse
The early days of November still
sheltered blue heron which fed in Long Cove. Burnt Coat filled with loons and
old squaws which floated and made their funny noises along the edges of the
harbor. In other waters, great masses of sea birds gathered and fed in the
chilling seas. One day the leaves fell off the trees and these swirled around
the yards and roads in a great brown and yellow tide. Windrows piled up along
stonewalls and foundations, a few made it into the compost heap.
Another day I woke to frozen pipes!
My usual skirting of plastic had not been put up and the wind, knowing this,
reached under the bathroom and staunched toilet
and shower. By 7 AM I had hammered up the plastic,
balanced a room heater on the granite ledge under the bathroom and opened the
faucets. By nine, the water was flowing again and no damage was done, except
that I missed the ferry and an eye examine in Ellsworth.
The winds has blown relentlessly for
two solid days. Storm. It is this wind that froze
the pipes. The sun shines as fiercely as the wind blows today. The blindingly
silver harbor streaks to the east and the grasses lay down too in that
direction. Soon there will be snow in this, but that can wait. Now the grass is
still green though it grows so slowly that it will have a cut in the spring. The
lawn mower is actually done up for the winter: this was exchanged for the snow
shovel a few weeks ago. Green grass, please stay
awhile!
November, 1990 Democrat Maili Bailey
carries Republican Swan's Island & Frenchboro Republican Maine spoke once
again this last November 6 by reelecting several Republican representatives.
Though Swan's Island and Frenchboro are indeed Republican, the two communities
voted for their candidate, Maili Bailey. a Democrat, for Registrar of Deeds, 121
and 14 respectively. These were the only two towns in the county that she won.
This must prove something about name recognition. She got 6,407 votes in Hancock
County, but the Republican incumbent got 12,966. Maili says, "The bright
side is that I don't have to move to Ellsworth and the file I kept called
"I was the 1990 Democrat Candidate for Registrar of Deeds", will be
amusing stuff to look through in the years to come. November 1990
Weather Muse
How can we keep warm this
winter? The price of oil is scary. But I remember
friends I visited in France years ago who heated
their apartment with a small, roll-around
electric heater: It was cold! You live differently there. You expert the cold
and think nothing of it, I guess. Wear lots of
clothes and don't bathe too often. This
year I have a woodshed full of hard wood that I will
(convert into BTUs
come next heating season. This heating season finds
me rationing dollars
for energy. I compress my living
space in winter, so
heating is within
reason. In summer I expand upstairs
onto the second floor which is unfinished.
I like, perversely I suppose,
the fact that winter tries to come in for the season. On the coldest night,
you can hear and feel her quietly filtering
in though the smallest pinholes in
the old house. Upon entry, she skitters
under the chairs and beds where she grabs your
ankles and holds on when you go by. More socks and
thicker slippers
sends her to the cats and. under the sink where
she will convert warmth to cold by some process of
elimination.
These December days have been wonderful
so far. The spectacular effects of lunar/
solar/global alignment
were mostly an interesting occasion on the island.
Nothing was damaged so far
as I know, but the sea did come up and visit
places it hadn't been in many years. Below me, the
water came up completely over the old wharf and advanced about a foot onto the
terrestrial grasses. At the ferry dock, the town float had to be moved again to
higher ground. With the high tides
of November 6, the float did a lot of moving
and was tied, but it had to be really secured this
time. With the extreme high tides, the harbor
looked smaller somehow. The line of rocks usually
seen at normal high tide
were almost completely covered. I like that we
cannot control it. I also know that we are lucky this
time that the wind
was from a favorable direction.
Outside the harbor, the little
Islands were awash nonetheless. And good things
float in! Lumber of all sorts comes and goes on all the shores. Enough timber
to build something
really useful ... I never know what, but I haul up what I can and store it. I will
make a couple of new sitting
areas to replace rotted ones I built 15 years ago.
Jim and Elsie GilIespie
who live in deep water in Atlantic
tell me that after the high tides
and heavy seas, the Otter Ponds beach was littered
with thousands of dead starfish and sea cucumbers.
They watched about 200 sea gulls feast on the bounty.
I wonder what plants will
sprout in new and interesting places where seeds
were seaborne or where the earth rearranged itself. It will
be fun to look when things begin to warm again,
come spring. December, 1990
Weather Muse
On the first day of
February, the bitter bright day had people rushing about, spending as little
time as possible in the outdoors. Other inland places in Maine lay under a foot
of snow. Swan's Island lay almost bare and icy under a bright sun that hung low
in the sky. Some of us were able to have a few skiing days since Christmas, but
the earth now seemed ready for spring.
It smelled like spring one day
in January. The earthy moss smells of damp thawing forests filled the air.
Seagulls placidly made their livings on the mussel bars and at the dump and a
few gathered near the edge of a thin ice sheet that materialized on the harbor.
Out in quiet waters, large floats of sea birds floated and bounced in and out of
the sea.
Skaters have been partying at
Malleye's Pond and those athletes pray that there will be no snow to mess up the
smooth surface of the Ice. While the snow lasted, kids enjoyed sliding on Root's
Hill, Finney's Hill and various tracks famous among the children. The family
from Tasmania enjoyed the snow to the fullest while it lasted.
The price of heating oil was $1.40 on
the last refill. Sweaters and blankets are close at hand to temper a chilly
house. Fishermen and their families have found the winter especially frigid
because the price offered for their lobster catch is around $2.10, half of what
lobsters fetched at market last year. Some are holding them in lobster cars,
hoping that the price will go up; some have sold and taken what profit they
could from the long months of work. Better to plan for another season, and hope
that the economy and the war in the Middle East will bring better news as time
goes by. January/February, 1991
Weather Muse
Before the clocks
changed Time during World War I, I suppose Time hung around lazy people who
stayed in bed all day. But science and governments decided to make Time civil
time". What an idea. There go humans again, trying to tame things. What an
idea: taming Time. I have heard of people and even places, like Hawaii, who
don't do "civil time". But here on this island, we tame Time and lose
sleep too. Let's see: if it says 6:30 it is really 5:30...like a little kid.
sometimes I get overwhelmed with the intricate way things work.
But never mind. The skunk
cabbage is up and has been for a few weeks now. Rows of them grow alongside wet
roads. Their deep maroon spathes harbor smelly secrets best left untold. From a
distance the mystery is amusing enough.
Oh! that morning when I noticed that
the gulls had gathered below my house! That was on March 22, but I had noticed
that gulls had been busy in Atlantic days before. It is time for the Annual
Scale Worm Festival. That time of year when millions of scale worms somehow
manage to spawn in the first seconds they writhe
to the surface of the mud flats before they are eaten by half a million gulls.
Scale Worm Day is a milestone day for me. It means real spring is here. The sea
is warming. Alder and such begin to swell at the leaf nodes and I can't resist
cutting forsythia and a sprig or two from my uncle's cherry to bring indoors.
After being away for a few days.
homecoming was especially nice.
In the quiet, gray corner of the room, the forsythia
bloomed! And on the table, the cherry began to
show edges of deep rose. In a few more days, the
delicate petals began unwinding
into the room. It is nice to be able to watch the
slow rhythm of it because the dance itself, the splash of extravagant flowers,
lasts for such a short time.
Other plants are coming.
Bachelor buttons and dwarf day lilies
are doing well by the doorway. The deer will
chop some of the lilies
down, but others will make it. And the grass. Yes,
the grass is pushing up between the dry blades of
last year's lawn and I'll have to fuss about it. But it looks so well when it is
cut and tamed. I admit
to taming things
myself: the mowing of
a lawn growing wild in the height
of the season or the pulling
of a troublesome stone
from the path. I feel satisfied that Time really
cannot be tamed by a convention of scientists and
governments. What an idea, taming,
Time. April, 1991
Weather Muse
Suddenly my yard needs mowing. The
prediction that even the deer couldn't keep up with it proved true after all.
And suddenly, despite my feeling that winter hasn't really finished with us. the
violets and bluets were blooming on the shore path. Everywhere I could recognize
familiar flowers and weeds reaching up and out of the dried winter field and
woods around my house. At The Carrying Place, beach peas were at least five
inches high and growing father back into the parking area where the sea had gone
a couple of times this winter under the influence of moon and wind.
One day. in the first of May, the
island was bursting with THINGS HAPPENING. The sky above the harbor was busy
with eagles singing to each other and circling higher and higher. The four of
them whirled in the blue sky while from the south. I watched a group of five
birds, also flying very high, coming in the direction of the eagles. These five
changed direction slightly, going around them and headed north again. Meanwhile,
a hawk flew just over my head and made its way across the cove. Later that day I
saw a crow fly up from the road with a snake looped in its feet. The black bird
alighted in a locust tree and stayed a long while as I slowed my walk so that I
might get a good look at the diner and the dinner. The poor snake must have been
basking in the first warm day as I had been. ..thank goodness pterodactyls are
an extinct species!
I had such a day that day! While
walking I had seen a large red insect flying very fast at knee height. I watched
it, hoping that it would land so that I could get a good look, but away it went
over the alder field and towards the ocean. Rats! I really wanted to see it! I
contented myself with more ordinary creatures like slugs, rabbits, seagulls,
loons, and old squaws making silly noises on the water. While watching sea
birds, I saw the season's first sail appear around the head and float into the
harbor where its mast added its vertical line to the posts of the lobster pound
below the valley.
Oh gosh, the ferry wasn't working for
about 24 hours and our mail came to us by lobster boat and schedules were messed
up and the electricity kept going off and on and there was a lot of rain and
more high winds that took more trees down all over the island and...oh gosh, I
had a very nice day that the sun came out and the grass grew so fast that the
deer couldn't keep up. May, 1991
Weather Muse
Oh, to be on Swan's Island when it
is summertime! That feeling that winter wasn't quite over has left me now', now
that the heat and beat of summer have really taken over. Extraordinarily
picture-perfect days have distracted us from the fact that rain is an essential
ingredient.
Day after beautiful day, from June to
date. the sun has shone with one day and night of rain. Dry patches in yards are
growing, Valiant little wild plants that grew in the crevices of ledges have
died. Small streams are moist muddy paths. Mosquitoes are practically rare. The
little cherry in my back yard is close to triumph this year! I suppose the fact
that one morning the crows will get to the bounty before I do, really has no
meaning to the cherry. Hundreds of small,
wonderfully tart cherries are getting redder by the hour. The cherry tree has
done its job and the crows will do theirs. I hope to have a taste,
remember those foggy springs when the bees could
not do their work?
The summer is
full of fretful work. The scenery sometimes is
hard to see for the racing with phones and water systems that stop working and
the knock on the door to answer this or that concern and that disaster.
Fishermen are doing their best at
lobstering, but the catch will not be caught this year. The price is down. The
larder in freezers is being whittled away. Little jobs are sometimes the main
ingredient in the week's wages. A day on the beach with all the kids is a relief
from the worry in the house. The children still
play for hours in the freezing cove. Horse flies manage a bite or two and all
seems right with the world.
The hard edge of living sometimes dissolves
in an instant. A friend of mine was driving home down a dirt road one night a
few weeks ago and suddenly saw in his headlights a
swarm of moths. He stopped, got out, walked into the light and became completely
surrounded and covered with luna moths! Thus he was transported from his worries
for a few; moments. Later he drove home and when he returned to the spot to show
his friend, the moths had disappeared into the night.... into the moon?
Sometimes I forget my telephone and
slip away in the canoe somewhere one thousand miles away. Crows continue to
quarrel in the trees, eagles hunt in the harbor, osprey gather and whirl high up
in the cloudless sky. We below who measure everything are yet perplexed. Spiders
live among my papers and out on the clothes line. At the edge of the yard, the
birds clean out my rice pot while the cats hunt along the drive for mice and
grasshoppers. Away from home for a few hours, exploring other little
wildernesses, gives me rest. If the tide is right when we return to the point, I
won't even get my feet wet. July, 1991