Mama Wood Duck

This afternoon of the three day weekend beginning, there was an eerie lack of the usual heavy traffic. I ran several errands to pick up things we might need by the next time I leave the perimeter, and suddenly, on my next to last stop, I saw a movement on the sidewalk by the side of the road. A female wood duck, unmistakeable, was heading out onto the main road, and three chicks were following her. I stopped the car at the same moment that she decided not to go into the road. I put on my flashers and hopped out of the car. She turned back toward the woods. I ran into the road. Her ducklings wavered and then followed their mother, just a half second before they decided to flee from my entreaties to go back into the woods with their mother. As they disappeared into the brush, I heard honking... a black Mercedes sedan in a hurry to get home, with nine other cars behind her going back to their houses.

Yachtageddon

The clean up continues. The seat cushions that go on the benches in the cockpit filled up with water during the rainstorm. They are still sopping wet inside, draining but not drying out. Extreme measures are called for to prevent mold. I'm going to take out the foam and rinse it and let it dry, then turn the covers inside out and rinse and dry them too.

The boat is the cleanest it has ever been, and the cushions deserve to be rescued too.

Shipocalypse

We went sailing on Saturday with friends on board. They were a good crew. Winds at launch were 18 gusting to 20 knots and we had an exciting ride to North Key with the main sail reefed. Because the wind was kicking up, the fish were down and so were the turtles. After lunch we sailed around to Gomez Key and the wind died down and the fishing began. At Gomez Key there were a couple of dozen oystercatchers flying around the island calling, apparently disturbed by boaters landing on the other side of the island. Usually oystercatchers are standing and not talking much, but these had a lot to say.

We sailed back to the other side of North Key and the fishing turned into catching. We were hove to and the current carried us perfectly and slowly past the oyster bars and grass where the fish were. Bob caught two trout on his new reel, one of them a fine large fellow with rose and gold tints on his sides. We could see a raccoon making his circuit of the shoreline of North Key, looking for snacks. A dolphin came to play at the bow of the boat and finally a really large green turtle surfaced near us. Then we began sailing again, and looking at the time we realized it had passed quite pleasantly and quickly and it was time to head back to the dock. Thanks to Bob's skillful maneuvering, we anchored next to the beach by the bridge and took down the sails and mast.

Our friends helped us trailer the boat and headed home, while we cleaned ourselves up reasonably well at the public shower, donned on our Hawaiian threads, and headed to dinner at the Island Hotel restaurant. It was our anniversary dinner, with the celebration to be continued the next day with an anniversary brunch on Mother's Day. All was proceeding well. We had engaged our pet sitter to feed the cats dinner at a decent time, and we arrived home at 10pm pretty much on the dot of when we expected to be there.

The next morning we gave the boat a thorough cleaning, hoisting the sails and removing all the cushions from the cabin for cleaning. They were wet and sandy, more than is usual, partly because of our sandy friends and partly because of the choppy waters kicked up by the wind. We backed the sailboat to the sunny part of the driveway that is out from under the oak trees, and that is when Shipocalypse began. We were cleaning up for brunch when we heard thunder in the distance. It was raining already when we left for lunch, thinking it was just popcorn rain that would blow by.

When we returned home, the skies were dark and the rain was coming down in sheets. It was windy, but the sails were just blowing back and forth a little. The sun never really came out and so we pulled everything down and brought it inside to dry, hanging the mainsail on a ladder and the jib on the stair railing. It was a slippery affair taking down the sails and mast on a wet boat, but we managed with only minor injuries. We were both stiff and sore and still tired from the athletic business of sailing in 18-20 knots the day before.

Seeing the popcorn rain turn into a major downpour, I catastrophized about Shipocalypse to lighten the mood. The mast is a lightning rod, Bob told me. What's the worst that can happen while are at brunch, I asked, lightning will strike the mast and the boat will explode and burn in the driveway? The wind will knock the boat over and break the neighbor's fence? Hmm... Shipocalypse!

Things are dry now and the best part is our enthusiasm for sailing is undampened. Plus, the cats had fun chasing each other around the ladder under the sail. We are already planning for a vacation together in a few weeks, and we are thinking the sailboat may figure prominently.

bird song and a lost tongue

The four note bird is a Carolina chickadee. I was pretty sure it was. The pitch and tone are the same as the call I am familiar with. What had me wondering was that it was that the notes were in a different order and the song was always coming from high in a tree. When I hear the call I already knew, they are always in the bushes and low tree branches around the house. I finally got out the old Dover 33rpm birdsong recording and found it right away.

Last night I had an elaborate dream that may have resulted from reading the T magazine on minimalism in interior design from a couple of weeks ago. I was in a cozy corner of the lobby of a nice hotel with a couple of other women who clearly knew things about style. I was wearing a short-sleeved blue velvet dress. I was feeling pretty good and we were chatting pleasantly. All of a sudden something started coming up from inside me and spilling over into my lap, about the thickness of custard and the bright green color of matcha tea. My lap filled up and then the flow stopped and out came a small pink object, a ball of flesh, about the size and shape of a fist. It was not my heart. As I thought about the dream today I came to the conclusion that it was my tongue. I can't remember talking after that happened, but I remember trying to clean myself up and having little success.

Later in the dream I was walking around town with a stack of boxy white porcelain serving dishes with little dents and knobs all over them, and that was really awkward. I had to shift them around and put them down any time I needed to do something with my hands. But everywhere I went, people said, "Oh, (name of the designer), nice." That episode of the dream trailed off into something else, as is often the case, before I reached wherever I was going with the dishes. Perhaps the object was just to carry them around, like a designer handbag, but it felt more like I was trying to accomplish something else and had to take them with me. This dream deserves more thought, perhaps when I get around to thinking more about the lighthouse dream.

and then there was one

Today when I looked up at the pileated woodpecker nest, there was only one head sticking out. One of the nestlings was much larger and I think she may have fledged. Even if the eggs hatched just a few days apart, the older hatchling gets bigger very fast.

One of the parents was feeding the remaining nestling. The other is probably watching over the one who fledged. I would take pictures but it would just be a pine tree with a distant hole in it. I don't have the fancy zoom lens needed for that shot.

Red, white, and black

It was a quiet Sunday morning, except for Frida's singing-- watching the Cornell red-tailed hawk cam and reading the New York Times. After lunch I went out to pull some poison ivy in three places where we walk. Back by the compost bin there is a dead pine tree. I heard the most amazing noises coming from it. I looked up and saw pileated woodpecker nestlings sticking their heads out of a hole in the tree. One of the parents was feeding them. I had not noticed the hole at all before, and I spend a lot of time looking up at that tree to see how its crumbling down is coming along. What a sight they were. I'll be watching for them now. They look big enough to fledge soon.