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Saturday, June 9, 2018


I have recently returned from Cape Cod. I am not a native there, no, not even a "wash-ashore," which is what natives call those who move to the Cape. But Pining Lover From Afar...alas! That is what I am.

And this beloved place - can I venture to say my beloved Cape? - is changing so, so fast. Three huge nor'easter storms pounded the coast this past March and the Nauset shoreline in Orleans bore the brunt of the damage. I learned that about 2.5 feet of dune erosion is expected each year, but this year the storms took out a staggering 80 feet of shoreline and dunes in a few short days.

There is now no more long boardwalk nor windswept dune fence winding and lining the way to the shore on dear Nauset Beach. What a relief those cool slats were to small feet burned by the return trek through hot sand. No more friendly gazebo where little me shook out sandy shoes, oh, how many times? No more fried clams and curly, curly fries - the best lunch! - at Liam's, which (unlike the rescued gazebo, now situated safely behind the former beachside motel) had to be demolished. Goodbye, childhood!

My writer-friend who I traveled with said something beautiful, though: the beaches and dunes may be sweeping away here, but they will help form another shoreline somewhere else.

And there, at that "somewhere else," a child will be so happily unaware of how their little beach came to be.

Dorothy Sterling says in her natural history guide The Outer Lands, "for today, tomorrow, next week - the beach is never the same." I forget this all the time. That soothing and constant and expected pulse of crashing waves day-in, day-out is deceiving! The coastline will always be that ever-changing place. 

What do they say, that change is the only constant? So reassuring, so bittersweet.

Early on the first morning, further north in Wellfleet, I followed the wooded trail to Marconi Beach (dotted red line above). It hadn't rained the night before but there was a lingering mist that tinged the edges of the shrubs and made the pine needles glint in the sunlight coming up. 

So many textures and colors! The lichen and moss and tiny flowers all seem delicate but they are amazingly hardy. Storms and salt water and whipping winds and harsh sand and sun...and they keep on going.

And I thought of this part in Rachel Carson's The Sense of Wonder:
And then there is the world of little things, seen all too seldom. Many children, perhaps because they themselves are small and closer to the ground than we, notice and delight in the small and inconspicuous. With this beginning, it is easy to share with them the beauties we usually miss because we look too hastily, seeing the whole and not its parts. Some of nature's most exquisite handiwork is on a miniature scale, as anyone knows who has applied a magnifying glass to a snowflake. 
An investment of a few dollars in a good hand lens or magnifying glass will bring a new world into being. With your child, look at objects you take for granted as commonplace or uninteresting. A sprinkling of sand grains may appear as gleaming jewels of rose or crystal hue, or as glittering jet beads, or as a melange of Lilliputian rocks, spines of sea urchins and bits of snail shells.
Lichen and moss, pitch pine blossoms, and starflowers
Nauset rose! Rosa rugosa or salt-spray rose
And Mary Oliver, too:

Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable.
I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours.

Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.
 If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

Later in the week we spent some time at Nauset Light, in Eastham...

Nauset Light and old French cable cabin

...and came back at night to see her running! It hit me that I had seen many lighthouses, but never at night nor when at work. Can something be eerie and comforting at the same time? The long white arm of the light, sweeping out over the sand and sea, hitting the clouds, trees, back and forth, silently, silently...

And later still and further north, in Truro, to see the Highland Light which, unlike Nauset (which is run by the Nauset Light Preservation Society), is still a functioning lighthouse that is managed and maintained today by the Coast Guard. 

View from the east side of Highland Light
We learned that you can estimate a lighthouse's age by its paint scheme. The simpler the pattern, the older it is, generally. Highland Light was the Cape's first Light, appointed by George Washington in 1797. 

We discovered it now has an LED! It was on and blinking when we were there...hard to imagine this little guy can be seen as far as 18 miles away.

I guess in looks it's a little underwhelming compared to the old Fresnel lens, but at least there's no more need to haul buckets of hot whale oil or lard up rickety wooden ladders or later, kerosene up tiny iron stairs in the dead of a freezing winter night to keep that flame burning.... Or worse...the enormous vat of mercury that was used at one point as a float for the revolving lens. Mad as a lighthouse keeper...yes?

We also learned that Highland Light was the first to have a mechanical eclipser, which was used to create its own unique "blinking" signal of 1 second on, 4 seconds off in a 5-second rotation pattern.

And finally, at long last, and at the very end of our trip...

...I climbed up to see the wide expanse of the Provincelands dunes! These were once vast and mature forests but the trees were cleared away by early settlers for farming and animal grazing. I read that disturbing one (seemingly) small beachgrass plant could be enough to destabilize an entire area, which can ultimately lead to the dune "walking."

We crammed so much into the few days that we didn't manage to hike the full trails through the dunes to the ocean, sadly. But I'm telling myself I only came back so I can return again, and hopefully soon :)

Books mentioned in this post include:

Dorothy Sterling, The Outer Lands: A Natural History Guide to Cape Cod, Martha's Vineyard, Nantucket, Block Island, and Long Island (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 1978).

Rachel Carson, The Sense of Wonder (New York: Harper & Row Publishers, 1965).

Mary Oliver, Swan: Poems and Prose Poems (Boston: Beacon Press, 2010).

Tuesday, May 8, 2018

How, then, am I mad? Hearken!

I have been house- and pet-sitting for a friend on and off these past few months. There is a Springer Spaniel, an eternally hungry Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, and a sometimes-angelic but a many-more-times-imperious tabby, who (obviously) rules the house.

They are very sweet and lovable, you know what it is liked to be watched continuously? To have your every move scrutinized? To be followed everywhere? To not even be able to un-cross and re-cross your legs without... WHAT? Are you moving? You are moving! You picked up a pencil! Does that mean we can PLAY? It means we can PLAY! OH YES, LET'S PLAY! OH PLAY PLAY PLAY! Or eat. Yes! Let's EAT! Can we EAT EAT EAT? Pant pant pant...

So we go outside, and, thinking they want to play catch, I throw the ball. But.... No, we don't want to play, silly! We want you to watch us run run RUN! You can't catch us! Watch us run run RUN! Yes, yes, YES! Wait, what! You're going inside? NOOO! We will stop running and sit at the window, staring at you for HOURS until you come out out OUT! 

[Meanwhile, the cat is glaring the most withering of all glares from high up on his perch.]

But now it's getting late and dark out and they need to be inside and I need to work and I've fed them already but they're pacing and panting and I can't concentrate because now they're both sitting behind me watching and waiting and panting still. It's just all of these short stories I've been reading lately, they're all swirling around in my head, and the panting -- hark! louder! louder! louder! louder


I promise I am not going to tell-tail-heart these dogs, but they definitely can drive a cat person mad, that's for sure ;)

Saturday, April 7, 2018


Tra-la! Posting at last, though short. Spring is taking its time to get here, but that's alright because there's something about the very bare and washed-out look the earth has this time of year that I like so much. The grass is yellowed and matted flat and almost surprised to meet the sky again. You can see the skeletal shapes of the trees as their branches twist weirdly, out and over, growing-growing-growing-this-way-and-then-suddenly-UP-UP-UP!-this-way-and-now-over-THAT-way-and-whooo!-out-into-a-hundred-different-directions.

But it is all so quiet. And lately, that is the most soothing sound of all.

Saturday, December 2, 2017

Holiday postcards

Happy December!
Here are some cheery gumdrop Christmas cards I made recently.

I tried something new and had them printed as postcards this year. A baby step attempt to create a little less waste out there in the world. It's hard. I do love decorating envelopes and all the wrapping up...

As I posted here, there's no chance of a personal message with a postcard, so send me your address and I'll send you a cryptic, coded Christmasgram!

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Happy Halloween!

I took today off because 1) it is my favorite holiday; 2) I never do; 3) this is payback for being too old, too tall, and too awkward to go trick-or-treating; and 4) I strongly feel this day should be a national holiday, especially if you live in the northeast, and I don't know why it isn't. I think these are all excellent reasons to take a day off.

For this year's jack o'lantern, I used one of Leo Lionni's illustrations from his charming story "Frederick" as a reference:

"And when they saw Frederick sitting there, staring at the meadow, they said, 'And now, Frederick?'
'I gather colors,' answered Frederick simply. 'For winter is grey.'" 

Here also is an October-y moon-cat, painted for my mom's birthday earlier this month. Oh there are days when I still expect to see my two funny little monsters running around the house -- especially on Halloween, when Pepper looked particularly spectacular (and most mischievous) against the pumpkin orange. 

I had never tried a tempera-like medium before and I say "tempera-like" because instead of pure pigments, I just ground up some of my pastels and mixed them with the egg yolk. I love being able to pile on layers (aka make mistakes and be able to cover them up) but I'm not sure how I feel about the egg part. I sort of badly mixed up part of the yolk with one of the green colors and I couldn't help but think that it looked like some weird rancid-but-not egg paste...glgughhh. (Sorry mom!) It did get better, though, and I hope to try this out again. 

Also this month I participated in the Inktober 2017 challenge on Instagram. A few posts were pretty darn banal but here are two fall-y ones from near the end that I quite like:

After initially being completely daunted (and momentarily forgetful that inks do in fact come in other colors besides black), I discovered that I really enjoyed testing out different ways of using the ink: wet on wet, mixing colors, letting the ink almost dry and then bleeding out the edges with water, and so on. On one of the posts Beth Garnett commented (we were talking about different media): "I love the bleed and the bloom [of ink] too much" ... that sums it up for me too!

You can see the rest of the posts here
In the meantime, and to all of those lucky ducks who can still go out tonight, have a wonderful and safe time, and stay warm!