Ringing 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.
12/21/16
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.
A blustery day with Bufflehead noted deep inside Hay Harbor, Fishers Island. These energetic ducks bob and preen, dive and feed again and again…
Tens 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”!
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?
Hungry Point seals somehow seem to exude quietude this calm moment captured within Fishers Island Sound…
Safe 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.
9/4/16
In a blink of an eye, that’s how summer has gone by so far. For me especially on a 9 by 1 mile stretch that is Fishers Island, where the human element swells and surges and by Labor Day, you just want to sit in the froth of that mountainous wave and ask “Wow, did I just ride that?”
The Island’s so small that you can truly believe in asking it for a Do-over and have one too. Like the other evening I spied a Ruby-throated Hummingbird hovering in and out of Hosta beds searching for something sweet.
“Wait just a second while I get my camera” I whispered.
But that was actually on my back porch – 2 minutes down the lane and 2 minutes back. Of course upon returning, the sweet bird had already buzzed by for the night. I have also asked myself for Do-overs. To be more patient with seasonal bicyclists that aren’t paying attention – after all I have pedaled in those shoes. And rather than imagining there is an “only catered to” atmosphere sweeping me under again; this August morning I smiled at a simple but rarely seen box of Familia Swiss Muesli on a store shelf and was grateful for all the other “delicacies” the market carries these days. Another feature of this small stage set of an Island is that certain qualities – nice ones – will resonate bigger and brighter if you’re observing closely.
As naturalist here I often find expressions of “family”; both with wildlife and the human in unique places out in the field and they find me!
Yesterday, a longtime friend Carl (he and my brothers grew up fishing for King Mackerel from the Ferry dock back in the day) took the time to stop by my neck of the woods on Silver Eel Cove.
“I found the most unbelievable Hummingbird nest!” He then started to give me directions up Island by the Driving Range before I blurted enthusiastically.
“Wait! I’ll get my camera”.
“Grab a ladder if you have one”.
I dashed inside for the camera and threw an old rusty hinged wooden ladder in back of the beach car.
Carl sat in his truck waiting for me patiently; I then followed close behind 20 minutes up east.
I remember thinking this is my wonderful get to Do-over in real time on a real tiny Island.
The afternoon’s west wind had picked up but the sun’s foggy swelter stayed its course while branches swayed and bobbed up and down.
It was nearly impossible to figure how this minuscule lichen covered nest designed with such precision was discovered. Then I remembered how tall Carl is. I started laughing when he offered to catch and bend the tree’s limb for a perfect shot.
“No, this is like National Geographic” I jested. “We can’t just interfere with nature’s rhythm and timing”.
Propping the old ladder, he agreed.
I climbed to the wobbly top step. “This is right up there with the Snowy owl’s great spirit – that moment! I whispered excitedly.
And it is.
These balmy September mornings I find a returning Green Heron either resting dockside or sneaking in and out of walled crevices on Tennis Racquet Island with plenty of fishing in between flights.
8/22/16
I dubbed him Admiral Bering (pun intended) and quite honestly I knew better when someone insisted “every naturalist should have a stuffed bear”. It’s just not me. But even this unpleasant thought of taxidermy didn’t stop my heart from persuading my head that I would rescue him from probably some smoke – filled bar or a boring life in some overly decorated “den” stacked with volumes of books – even if it did have a spinning globe that lit up. So the Admiral wrapped snuggly in a gray moving blanket set sail on his maiden voyage; disembarking from an antique dealer’s dusty display across choppy Fishers Island Sound aboard the ferry Munnatawket.
We have kept an eye on each other during long quiet winters. A perfectly gnarled piece of driftwood props the Black bear just high enough for his gaze to continue to encourage me to write.
I have felt though that there might be some other reason or purpose for us both – together. Then quite appropriately one morning it dawned on me: Educational Outreach and public awareness.
The idea and commitment of recording observations and trends of this marine environment and its unique ecosystems should not be done singlehandedly. We need each other – ok, and a bear! Much of my work on Fishers Island would not be possible without the support and efforts of the community. I am grateful to recognize that together we can bridge local traditional knowledge with Science; helping to preserve natural history while nurturing stewardship for all generations.
So this summer, keep a look out for bear crossings on a boat’s bow: and a poster that encourages ferry captains and commuters to continue to remark on unusual wildlife sightings and marine debris across our Fishers Island Sound.
And Admiral “I salute you!”