11/06/16
It was the “Autumn of our content” with foliage reminding me of the best of a preschooler’s sponge paintings; the coral, reds, and orange that blend together so magically. Nor did it appear an illusion, the season’s Hunter’s moon; the push and pull of superior tides finally exposing the hidden mystery behind those Hungry Point Harbor seals — lush eel grass meadows so near to shore and laden with fish. There was, indeed, such fullness this peculiar October.
And for me, the certainty of warmth captured within certain shifting shadows felt like an Indian summer for all times. For weeks I could not help but imagine the Pequot people here on Fishers Island those hundreds of autumns ago. I felt a sense of viewing island vistas as others might have centuries before. There were odd moments when I didn’t see a mansion in sight, when crickets out-chorused leaf blowers, calm lapping waves south-side drowned out even the thought of a cigarette boat and, of course, Mother Nature could not help but to chime in.
I shared that sense of time and space on a recent afternoon during a class with local third and fourth graders. As I encouraged their mastery of indigenous storytelling and stewardship of the earth, I drove home the message with added lore and lure of the seals.
“Island clans of Scotland tell of Selkie folk-seals in the sea, shifting shape to humans on land. The Aleuts in the Bering believe they too are people of the seal,” I told them. “Here on Fishers Island, a seal appeared before my very eyes in a place where I imagine it may have appeared to the summering Pequot tribe hundreds of years ago — the very same seal!”
There was a hush and then a circle of raised and waving hands.
“I counted 500 jellyfish on the ferry ride this morning,” said one student.
Another said, “It was getting dark and my Dad saw an old sweatshirt lying on the bike path — it turned out to be a growling fisher!”
And another: “I heard a whole bunch of baby coyotes. Oh, and we got a new kitten named Autumn.”
And there was time for one more: “I saw a unicorn in Silver Eel Cove,” a student reported.
The next morning while monitoring up east, it appeared the island was busy telling its own story. Houses being winterized with plumbing drained, drapes drawn, and gardens still in bloom, all so hesitant to be tucked in so soon.
And the Big Club beach was shifting scenery too. Umbrellas furled and stowed, patio planks disassembled and stacked, windows boarded up, with herds of golf carts rounded up and corralled for storage.
Wait a second, I thought. The ending to this Indian summer can’t be so predictable; it was too special, too different. Besides it’s been around for hundreds of years, and I’m not done enjoying it!
Just then Islander Trudi Edwards stopped me; not coincidentally we spoke of islands — this one and another in Bahamian waters.
Suddenly, another voice — a loud “cr-r-ruck” as two ravens swooped over our heads, so close I could hear feathers rustle. Their echoing gurgle and croak startled Trudi sitting in her car.
“What was that?! Were those just ravens?” she asked.
I nodded, equally amazed as I knelt down to pick up a tiny gifted cedar twig that one of the talking birds had dropped in front of me.
I stared in awe and watched the ravens veer south, leaving enough anthropological (even biblical!) symbolism for winter.
I realized this was the perfect ending to the “Autumn of our content” but not before I ran down the beach and snapped a photo for my third- and fourth-grade tribe.
Oh, and the unicorn?
How could I not believe it?
A Little Bird Told Me
Field Notes, From the Field– Field Note by Justine Kibbe January 14, 2017.
I agree it’s not an image that would have made the cover of Audubon and there is not even enough flashing of chimney for Sweeping Magazine. But there it perched; this bright blue harbinger waiting to crown this Happy New Year.
Fishers Island has not seen the Eastern Bluebird in quite some time and for me these past six years- it is a first. Oh, there are though many vacant bluebird boxes standing within dense grass fields alongside empty estates waiting and waiting for a sign of its return at long last.
I was winding and rounding my way towards West Harbor across from the Softball field when four vibrant visitors flitted across the hood of the old beach car and darted upward.
Startled by brilliance of blue and of course smiling, I was “invited” to capture this one moment; these Bluebirds of happiness accomplishing their mission with such finesse. And while we humans are at it –giving wildlife our own attributes-this happy “subject” even appears stalwart.
The Island’s got a very different even unusual feel these days- and not just of winter. The Big Club up east has been razed; torn down, newly designed to be rebuilt and raised up again. Out with the old, in with the new this 2017.
With all the construction activities, the gate house which for decades has delineated Town of Southold from Private-remains manned which is also a first for winter. To me, still monitoring by bicycle in January, there is no feel of east meets west- ask any Bluebird!
I continue to record remarks on this change of climate, these moments of renewal and we Islanders resolve that happiness doesn’t come and go-but remains a constant for all.
Young Northern Harrier
From the Field, Video SnippetsI sighted this juvenile Harrier on January 5th across from the Driving Range, middle Fishers Island.
Tribe & Atukan Akun Update January 2017
Audio Clips, From the FieldStudents out in the field observe the rhythm of nature on Fishers Island.
– Justine Kibbe with FI School Teacher Jen Burns
Eastern Bluebirds Sighted West!
From the Field, Video SnippetsRinging in the “Happy” New Year here on Fishers Island, rare sightings of Bluebirds have been noted between Hay Harbor Mansion Cottages and the Softball field-even more rare for January.
I’ll Have a Blue Heron Christmas*
Field Notes, From the Field12/21/16
Without you
I’ll be so blue just thinking about you
Decorations of red on a tall Pepperidge tree
Won’t be the same dear, if you’re not here with me
And when those bluefish start migrating
That’s when those blue-jays start calling
You’ll be doin all right with your Christmas of white
But I’ll have a blue, blue, blue, blue Christmas
* From an Island Naturalist who hasn’t sighted and documented Elvis – yet.
Bobbing Bufflehead
From the Field, Video SnippetsA blustery day with Bufflehead noted deep inside Hay Harbor, Fishers Island. These energetic ducks bob and preen, dive and feed again and again…
Spider Crab Molting Season
From the Field, Video SnippetsTens of Thousands of crustacean shells shed from the Common Spider crab wash ashore on the south western tip of Fishers Island and Naturalist discovers the “motherload”!
Seeing beyond exclusive, catching the elusive
Field Notes, From the Field11/06/16
It was the “Autumn of our content” with foliage reminding me of the best of a preschooler’s sponge paintings; the coral, reds, and orange that blend together so magically. Nor did it appear an illusion, the season’s Hunter’s moon; the push and pull of superior tides finally exposing the hidden mystery behind those Hungry Point Harbor seals — lush eel grass meadows so near to shore and laden with fish. There was, indeed, such fullness this peculiar October.
And for me, the certainty of warmth captured within certain shifting shadows felt like an Indian summer for all times. For weeks I could not help but imagine the Pequot people here on Fishers Island those hundreds of autumns ago. I felt a sense of viewing island vistas as others might have centuries before. There were odd moments when I didn’t see a mansion in sight, when crickets out-chorused leaf blowers, calm lapping waves south-side drowned out even the thought of a cigarette boat and, of course, Mother Nature could not help but to chime in.
I shared that sense of time and space on a recent afternoon during a class with local third and fourth graders. As I encouraged their mastery of indigenous storytelling and stewardship of the earth, I drove home the message with added lore and lure of the seals.
“Island clans of Scotland tell of Selkie folk-seals in the sea, shifting shape to humans on land. The Aleuts in the Bering believe they too are people of the seal,” I told them. “Here on Fishers Island, a seal appeared before my very eyes in a place where I imagine it may have appeared to the summering Pequot tribe hundreds of years ago — the very same seal!”
There was a hush and then a circle of raised and waving hands.
“I counted 500 jellyfish on the ferry ride this morning,” said one student.
Another said, “It was getting dark and my Dad saw an old sweatshirt lying on the bike path — it turned out to be a growling fisher!”
And another: “I heard a whole bunch of baby coyotes. Oh, and we got a new kitten named Autumn.”
And there was time for one more: “I saw a unicorn in Silver Eel Cove,” a student reported.
The next morning while monitoring up east, it appeared the island was busy telling its own story. Houses being winterized with plumbing drained, drapes drawn, and gardens still in bloom, all so hesitant to be tucked in so soon.
And the Big Club beach was shifting scenery too. Umbrellas furled and stowed, patio planks disassembled and stacked, windows boarded up, with herds of golf carts rounded up and corralled for storage.
Wait a second, I thought. The ending to this Indian summer can’t be so predictable; it was too special, too different. Besides it’s been around for hundreds of years, and I’m not done enjoying it!
Just then Islander Trudi Edwards stopped me; not coincidentally we spoke of islands — this one and another in Bahamian waters.
Suddenly, another voice — a loud “cr-r-ruck” as two ravens swooped over our heads, so close I could hear feathers rustle. Their echoing gurgle and croak startled Trudi sitting in her car.
“What was that?! Were those just ravens?” she asked.
I nodded, equally amazed as I knelt down to pick up a tiny gifted cedar twig that one of the talking birds had dropped in front of me.
I stared in awe and watched the ravens veer south, leaving enough anthropological (even biblical!) symbolism for winter.
I realized this was the perfect ending to the “Autumn of our content” but not before I ran down the beach and snapped a photo for my third- and fourth-grade tribe.
Oh, and the unicorn?
How could I not believe it?
Autumn of Our Content
From the Field, Video SnippetsHungry Point seals somehow seem to exude quietude this calm moment captured within Fishers Island Sound…
Along Came a Spider
Field Notes, From the FieldSafe within your eye of storm no tangled web here to weave.
Where shade and lichen have drawn the line
Here, morning’s ray can’t deceive;
October’s feel is more August real.
So deep within the pitch of dark and pines
Autumn’s Jay just can’t believe.