Don’t blow them up
Don’t string them up
Don’t dress them up
Pick them up
Give them up
And
BAN
Islanders have so much to share and talk about these days-after all with Summer folks pouring off the extra ferry boats and weekend guests touching down on the runway, there’s a lot of unfamiliar amidst the familiar.
I feel sometimes like someone shook my "Etch A Sketch" very vigorously. Like I have drawn this detailed map in my thoughts- memorized all the neighborhoods or ecosystems; tidal pools and beaches are community centers, even wrack lines; like little busy streets with the bustle of pipers, plovers, and peeps. I’m not surprised I have become genuinely attached and concerned for my wildlife neighbors. Add to this a bit of rhythm: of tides, ferry schedules, noon whistles, summer store hours, which family is renting what house; I’m not surprised I am so grateful for local traditional knowledge either.
So when friend and neighbor Lisa Eiriksson shared that she had spotted a delicate and “Oh” unbelievably discreet Killdeer nest I quickly hopped on my bicycle and rode across to South Beach.
There was mama Killdeer (perhaps the same pullover plover !) standing alert between rosehip bushes by the back pond there. I snuck up as not to disturb, happy I can now map out and post a few “tread lightly” signs here next year.
Ok, I admit it. I love the idea of someday spying a River Otter over maybe happening upon a Muskrat here on Island. And despite the exciting news shared last winter that a River Otter was spotted crossing a snow dusted Castle road, and webbed tracks and dragging tail prints were photographed in deeper snow mid Island, even tell- tale fishy smelling scat documented by yours truly; I am learning to be equally loyal to any Muskrat sighting. Could be the rat thing; that scaly tail. Could be the rodent profile; those protruding teeth. It could though very well be I just need to embrace Muskrat love. While a secretive concealed telemetry device might someday let me follow a tagged and elusive River Otter over here-I enjoy being left to my own devices; local traditional knowledge.
At the very eastern tip of Fishers Island there is a very territorial Osprey that has a splendid view of Latimer Reef Light. Here she guards her brood atop the telephone pole between Mud and Money ponds. Legend has it there is sunken treasure in one. As for me and my muddy map quest for Muskrat love, this is where I found it – in a treasured moment.
You were there in Mackerel Sky
On thermal uplift under Osprey’s eye
The droplet dew on dangling web
The unfurling fern
Wave’s surge the ebb
The clang of bell as buoy tilts
The crickets cheer
Autumn olive wilts
And long tawny grasses-they whisper and wave
And short shadows remain still but for a moment
In Mackerel Sky
One of the best seats in the house for the Naturalist in all of us is Race Point. Walk southwest from the runway and find a warm rock to lean on, or better still a salty, soft “ berm” of kelps, sea lettuce, with mixed greens and reds to squish your toes through. Watch the Orient Point ferry returning to New London, listen to the eerie pulsating of a passing submarine dipping through chop behind the lighthouse.
These afternoons the Tree swallows are swooping and nipping at insects, Red-winged blackbirds clinging to swaying cattails.
The last few years I have looked forward to meeting Ruddy turnstones in this ecosystem specifically in early June. Island “locals”- larger sandpipers sometimes wading, wearing breeding plumage; hungry slender bills poking, sifting and leaving no stone unturned.
I had never considered myself a birder, only because growing up I looked to the sea more often than skyward. Fins, flippers and pelage caught my eye and intrigued me rather than plumage. Songs of the Humpback whale were to me more hummable than say whistling songs of the Warbler.
I have felt wobbly these past years on Fishers Island, getting to know the vast variety of native and migratory song birds out here. But I figure it’s never too late -even to begin to learn to identify them; so I am a “beginner” -a fledgling. I haven’t though let the fact that there are 54 species of Wood Warbler stop me from getting my wings; though it’s daunting to factor in, add to that, it appears there is a full spectrum of 54 shades of yellow that each type can exhibit a bit of…
For me, staying out in the field a little longer each season is like staying after class for extra help-Nature being the best teacher. Sitting on a lichen covered rock in the evening with my weighty deluxe edition bird guide by Sibley, I am listening more for distinct, audible sweet chirps, and focusing binoculars towards preferred habitat. The spring Peepers are peeping, and the sun is calling it a day. Then the camera shutter clicks and so does everything for me –just clicks.
The Island is just bursting at its seams…with new LIFE.
From dawn to dusk the vitality of its truest nature is just palpable.
And as I pedal forth through Fort Wright the orchestra of songbirds announces the new day.
The greens and pinks of eager buds start to crowd and push their way towards bloom then prominent shadow.
Barred owl sounding from just up the hill by Duck Pond echoes in agreement.
By noon whistle time, Muskrat grabs lunch; grazing just across my path.
Wrinkles in Island time appear ever slowly rising out of Oyster Pond-Snapping turtle must have some historic tales to tell me but it’s getting late in this evening.
I coast past the Library, listening to a newcomer Osprey in that neighborhood.
With long dangling branch in talons, it ascends over the treetops and then over church steeples.
The sun itself descends off Race Point Light.
Racing now with dusk I take a shortcut home,
Baby Squirrel is chattering above me- both of us remarking about all of this new LIFE.
You took the fierce from a squall and marched forth
I chased after through sea spray and the rain lashed
I turned and it stung.
But I eventually caught up
With rainbow’s glow and overflow.
You added a hint of tint to hues imbued with radiance.
All with such ease;
Oh Nature, you make me blush
You’re a natural at all you do…..
Today the rain was whipping sideways from the east with wind gusts of 35mph.
It was quiet up Island. Except for a few Harbor seal heads poking through the chop off Hungry Point, most shore birds stayed hunkered down-small flocks of gulls on both golf courses.
Along with this Great Egret, I found a bit of calm down west by the Duck Pond.
Despite displaying breeding plumage under the drenched and tousled “look; this heron seemed to display some natural sense of confidence (sure footed).
While the Egret’s greatness led to the bird becoming Audubon’s iconic symbol-I find that its simple “walk into deeper waters without fear” quality observed by Native Americans is for me most agreeable…
Fast lane along Driving Range-
Osprey sits with fresh fish at drive thru
At a standstill on Hungry Point-
Seals bumper to bumper
Round the bending reeds pondside and eastbound-
Swan makes her bed
Stop.
For slow moving vehicles and curious passerby