The Aleut tribes of the Pribilof Islands sing a song: Atukan Akun or “We are one”. From summer 2004 till winter 2009, I had the opportunity to live as an active community member in the village of Saint Paul, to be one of the one.

During this unique time of my life I was eager to learn every Unungan word and dance step to the drumbeat’s rhythm of Atukan Akun, but more importantly I recognized the privilege to embrace its message of unity in my daily life

In January 2013, still gleaning my naturalist skills, I walked and monitored the shores of another Island.

Counting Harbor seals out at Hungry Point, here on Fishers had become routine but with the same stillness and even remote sense as in The Pribilofs-I cherished many sacred moments of “oneness” with nature, with the universe, with myself.

Just like the moment I spied a tiny piece of white fabric in a sand drift and unearthed a sailor’s shirt from WW ll.

I was eager to ride home and warm my feet, but that stillness and oneness had nudged me and declared to back track and return to a small spit of beach  and scrub line before leaving.

Later in May, while gently hanging the shirt that had probably been buried for nearly 70 years, some encrusted sand fell away from its hemline and I discovered a last name: Kushigian.

Somehow in their own precise way, these “Atukan Akun” moments led me to find Julia Kushigian, daughter of First Class Officer Jack P. Kushigian all these years later.

The other week I invited Julia to Fishers Island, back to Hungry Point where even this time with a Connecticut newspaper jotting notes and a Long Island television film crew looking on, there was indeed a still sacred moment reminding me that we are indeed all One.

With a simple exchange of gifts I presented her with a long lost shirt and in return I received a stronger sense of family and a unique friendship.

I was just doing my job.

Zipping to and fro, clocking endless miles repeatedly between West end at Race Point and the East end’s Big Club Beach,pedaling speedily past the Parade Ground at Fort Wright…

“Remember to put together that field note about invasive plant species”

I meditate on this thought-especially the “remember” part even with the heavy luscious scents I love but should learn to identify….

Treking by bicycle diligently and cautiously around the old Boroleum Factory across from Hay Harbor Golf Course…..

“Remember to SLOW down with the morning ferry’s truck traffic around this curve!”

“And don’t forget to look up the types of migrating hawks”. I see them swooping over the putting greens…

I reach my starting line at the Gate House, always waved on by gracious smiles, and I’m off!

“Remember to check on Osprey nests, remark on autumnal sights-the sky blues of Jays and Kingfishers, and  remember the sounds-chirping crickets, zipping dragonflies, look up tidal chart for Chocomount, pack clicker to count Hungry Point seals, photograph and document plastic debris covering area ponds, examine Mussels and Knotted Wrack at Hooverness, remember to slow down for tiny baby Snapping turtles finding their way and Praying Mantis sunning themselves….”

I’m coasting now down carved twists and turns hugging the Oyster Pond.

“Remember to STOP and smell the roses.”

“What?”

I tightly grip my hand brakes and hop off my bike and for the very first time stand quietly upon the newly erected Scenic Lookout.

I am grateful that simple sights fill me with awe (remember this).

A welcoming bench, two Swans with their three gorgeous ugly ducklings(cygnets)grazing on thick algae, an egret balancing on a rock, rows of oyster beds floating in symmetry,  tree leaves hanging so still you can only imagine that you see them changing hue right here- right now.

A large, heavy duty dump truck barrels by behind me, a window rolls down, motor revved, an unfamiliar face …

“What are you seeing?”

“You wouldn’t believe the size of this Blue Claw crab! Quick come look!”

The gigantic truck pulls over and stops with the same ease of putting a kickstand down.

Poking out from under the thick algae, there is a crab with size worth noting (remember to jot this down).

“Wow, look at that, that’s a beauty”.

“This is the first time I have stopped here!”I exclaim this like I can’t believe it, like it's history…..

“Me too”. The driver walks back to  the truck and drives off to his job.

I pedal standing up, continuing on the path with purpose.

“Remember to post a field note about being grateful today” myself reminds me.

For an Island, and a recreational path, a sturdy bench, sharing wonder with a stranger, a chattering Kingfisher…..

  Just for starters.

 

Nature’s Design

Spider’s Domain

Bird’s Browser

Flies, hits..

Morning’s temporary Under Construction page.

There are more sightings of helium balloon debris on and around Fishers Island then than I care to count,but I count them.

I see them entangled in shrubs or seaweed, deflated under coastal rocks, collapsed and buried under tidal sands, and bobbing eerily across both Island Sounds.

I used to be curious about their decorative messages or how far they had traveled.

I am not curious any more.

The endangered Leatherback Sea Turtle subsists largely on a jellyfish diet.

More and more of these sea turtles are mistaking floating helium balloon debris for jellyfish and fatally ingesting them.

Common Terns are a more common sight these summer weeks, especially on both west and east ends of the Island.
Step lightly along well worn boulders at Race Point, and bring your binoculars to watch these sea birds hover across rip tides and then dive- plunge to feed on small fish.

Observing Common Terns “working” usually hints at bigger fish stories waiting to be told by fishermen off shore.

Terns aren’t too picky when it comes to nesting on the ground-a pile of dead vegetation or nothing at all, but islands, marshes even lake shores are desirable habitats.

Breeding adults are “brighter” to spot with black cap, orange-red legs and a red bill. Juvenile birds display a dull and duskier plumage of brown, ginger and gray.

  Note the Tern’s long fork-like tail that had ancient sailors calling the Common Tern a “Sea Swallow”.