Tag Archives: Water

Tiny and partial

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On the last day of 2024, Margy and I went to Kettle Cove beach. I saw this tiny partial sunbow in the sky, bursts of color hanging on either side of a bright sun. Tiny and partial are the words for today. There is so much suffering in the world, so much violence and evil. I can’t stop the devastation of Gaza, or the cruelty of the Israeli army continuing to kill scores of people even after a ceasefire has just been signed, to take affect on Sunday. Why not stop the killing today? All I can do is bear witness, share posts on Facebook. Tiny and partial.

What can we do to bring good to the world? I think about my visit to my friend at the nursing home yesterday. He was happy to see me–I went to wish him happy birthday and we had a good visit. But immediately afterward I felt a sense of guilt that I can’t visit more often than every months or so. What I can offer him is tiny and partial. But perhaps it is important, especially in the face of large and unrelenting troubles, to honor the tiny and partial acts of goodness we do? And what can he offer now, my old friend, after years of activism and kindness? Perhaps merely to receive with cheerfulness the help he now needs. We each bring goodness in the tiny and partial ways that we are able.

Each morning I take a walk. I have been able to take a little walk most days, after a message a year ago that “walking will be needed.” I have been able, ever so slowly, to increase my walk to about 20 minutes, no longer going directly to the brook and back, but making a little circle around the neighborhood, on my way there. It feeds my spirit, and reminds me to be in love with the earth, the sun, the water, the place where I live. It is a tiny walk as walks go, but by tiny increments, a little more.

Before I walk, I empty and refill the water that we have in a heated tray for the birds. Perhaps that is my tiny gift to the creatures who live here with us on this land. It feels like a prayer each morning. It reminds me of the importance of giving what we are able to this wider community of life. The other day I saw the crows laughing and jostling each other as they perched on the edge and dipped their beaks in.

We are living in very troubled times. Some will be called to wise analysis, and great acts of heroism, and energetically building the systems that honor our deepest values. But all of us, no matter how tiny, must still cling to kindness, cling to our interconnected earth community, and give what we can, no matter how partial. And I hope I remember to celebrate the brightness of the colors revealed in those gifts.

Life in the Yard

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Mallard duck visiting the pond.

Life continues to be abundant in the yard. We’ve had visits by a duck couple, who land on the pond, sometimes walk around the yard looking for food, and then take off again. When I was cleaning up old plants from the pond, I discovered strings of toad spawn, and now we have toad tadpoles swimming around.

I am suspicious that the three bullfrogs who’ve taken up residence might be eating them sometimes, but so far the tadpoles continue to survive. We’ll see.

I don’t seem to have much energy this year, so projects in the yard are moving slow. We finished stacking our firewood, and I cleaned up weeds and refreshed the wood chips around the fire circle. I resonated with something that was mentioned on television at the Chelsea flower show in Britain–gardening is often a lesson in failures. The cherry tree has some problem that causes spots on the leaves and cherries and I don’t think we’ll get any cherries despite our earlier blossoms. Probably the black cherry aphids, but I don’t have the energy to sort it out. So I am appreciating the plants that seem to take care of themselves.

The irises by our deck are thriving this year, so happy and abundant. That sort of makes up for the lack of blue Siberian irises in our front patch–hardly any at all this year. The plants seem to move around, and I am not sure why the blue ones are not doing well. Happily, our neighbor’s are doing great, and I see them out our kitchen window.

Meanwhile, the wild strawberries were blossoming and spreading everywhere, which is great–good food for birds and bugs. It is an excellent native ground cover. That makes me happy.

Snowy morning

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Snow coats every branch as the sun rises through the trees.

What a beautiful morning today! I took a little walk to the end of the block, where these photos are from. The road was icy, and I have a strange new pain in my ankle, so I didn’t want to try to get all the way to the brook near the school. But the brook also runs by the end of our street, and so that is where I saw it today. We are surrounded by various branches of Capisic Brook in our neighborhood, and it shapes the roads and layout and character of our neighborhood.

You can see the brook at the bottom of this photo, deep in the ravine.

I am grateful for the beauty of the snow on branches. I am grateful for the flowing of the brook. I am grateful for a new morning. I am grateful for a little walk. I am grateful for a neighbor who plows our driveway. I am grateful for the sun shining on white snow.

Happy Solstice!

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Santa at Kettle Cove Beach.

For a Solstice treat, Margy and I went to Kettle Cove beach a little before sunset. Santa was gathering seaweed for the garden. Now you might not think Santa would be out on Solstice, but the ancient European pagans laid claim to this gentle gift-giver from the north much before St. Nicholas. In fact, in the old old days, they say Santa was female. I think they might be right.

A group of hikers passed by and seaweed-gathering Santa was a big hit, with many photos taken. Job done, it was time for a little rest. Thankfully, there was a handy log nearby to sit on.

Oh look, who is that with Santa? It’s me! I was also sitting on that log. It’s a Santa selfie. The setting sun was bright upon our faces and we gave thanks for all the sun brings to us.

And then we had another surprise treat. The local mermaids came to the beach for a Solstice swim in the cold ocean. We did not join them but we had fun watching them brave the waves.

May all the blessings of this Solstice day be upon you! May the darkness be fruitful, and peace return with the lengthening days, peace upon Gaza, upon Ukraine, upon Sudan, and all the hidden sorrowful places.

Everyone needs water

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If you look closely you can see 8 white-throated sparrows visiting the pond.

This week we’ve had a flock of dozens of white-throated sparrows in our back yard and the field and trees next to it. I love their little striped heads and loud chirping. They are drawn by the water of the pond, and I’ve seen them drinking and bathing there. It is such a blessing to feel the yard full of birds. If I am sitting right next to the pond, they are a bit timid, but yesterday I took the photo above from a little further away so as not to spook them. A few days before, one sparrow kept peering out from the nine-bark branches, but wouldn’t come any closer.

Then a couple days ago, when I sat quietly for a long while, a few began to venture near to drink even with my presence on the other side of the pond.

Every living being needs water. A human being can only survive for about 3 days without water. I am thinking about water in relation to the people in Gaza under siege, where Israel has cut off water and the electricity needed to pump and purify the water for drinking. The killing of innocents is always wrong, I believe that what Hamas did was wrong. But I also believe that the government of Israel is wrong to attack the civilians of Gaza, or cut off their access to water, food, and fuel. I am not unaware of the long history that is the context for these attacks. I have been following Jewish Voice for Peace for information and guidance in the midst of this deeply sad time. As someone who is neither Jewish nor Palestinian I can’t begin to grasp the depth and complexity of it all, but I trust the deep values of the Jewish Voice for Peace.

In the midst of this larger sadness, about which I can do nothing really, except to bear witness, I find peace with wild things gathering at the water. Everyone needs water. We are all relatives in this, whether large or small, near or far.

Chipmunk drinking water at the pond.

Pond lily surfacing

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Pond, with stone edges, ninebark bush in back, spiky green blue flag leaves in front, and on surface of pond, two round red leaves of a pond lily.
The pond lily leaves have reached the surface of the water.

Last fall, I moved my pond lily plant, pot and all, to the bottom of the pond, from where it had been positioned on a step about 18 inches down. This was to help it survive freezing temperatures in winter. I wasn’t sure what would happen, but I was delighted to see red leaves starting to form around April 22, when I took the following blurry photo through the water.

blurry all over, through water, faint sign of red leaves forming in pot.
Red pond leaves seen through the water.

Thursday, the first leaf reached the surface on a tall thin stem, and others are following. They are red and round, but I imagine that they will turn green as the sun shines on them, since last year they were green. In the up and down world of gardening, it is thrilling when the perennial plants thrive on their own.

Red round leaves on surface of water.

The sweet flags I planted this year are also doing well–you can see them in the top photo near the stones. The blue flag irises are also coming back strong–their leaves are in the foreground. Meanwhile, the green frogs are happy–I’ve seen three so far. The bees are happy, and the tadpoles are still around. The maple trees scattered their seeds all over the yard, and many fell into the pond, but I didn’t scoop them out.

Green frog with stripey green and brown body sitting in water, with honey bee nearby on rock, drinking, and small tadpoles swimming.
Green frog, bee, and tadpoles in the pond.

Certified Wildlife Habitat

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Small sign saying Certified Wildlife Habitat on metal post, near raised bed, and steps to front door of house.

It’s official. We’ve been designated by the National Wildlife Federation as a Certified Wildlife Habitat. This means that our garden “provides natural sources of food, water, cover, and places to raise young, and is maintained in a sustainable way that incorporates native plants, conserves water and doesn’t rely on pesticides.” We posted our sign in our front yard. We are one of over 227,000 such gardens in the United States, and they are hoping to reach 300,000 this year.

In order to be certified, you fill out a form at https://www.nwf.org/CertifiedWildlifeHabitat and give a donation to the organization. It’s on the honor system–you tell them the sources of habitat in your yard, in several categories. For food in our yard we have native plants, berry bushes, and fruit trees, as well as our bird feeder, and the pond. One of my favorites is evening primrose that grows wild. We keep several, only cutting in places that don’t work to have a tall plant–last year there were goldfinches all over this plant, and hopefully more this year.

Goldfinches eating seed on round plant head.

We provide water especially with the pond. The pond serves so many purposes–food, water, a place to raise young (the tadpoles!), cover for frogs. When I walk in the morning, I see birds bathing, bees taking a drink, frogs sunning and snatching flies. But any kind of water brings wildlife to a yard–small or large. We also have a bird bath near our patio, and see birds and squirrels getting drinks there.

Cover is used to protect from bad weather, hide from predators, or hunt prey. Around the edges of our yard there are trees and bushes, and piles of branches that provide cover for small critters, and places to raise young. Ever since the orchard trees and hazelnut bushes have grown up, birds are always perching there, sometimes on their way to the bird feeder, sometimes eating insects. I’ve posted about the robins raising young in a nest on our back porch. But we’ve also seen young squirrels in trees, and chipmunks coming from underground.

As for sustainable practices, we never use pesticides, and we compost our food waste and leaves. We conserve water with our rain barrels, and if the pond needs topping up, that comes from the rain barrels too. We try to incorporate native plants wherever we can–mostly by not pulling the weeds that emerge on their own: violets, pansies, daisies, wild strawberry, goldenrod among many others. I use an app to identify plants that come up. We do also have invasive plants that we are trying to get rid of.

The official designation and sign were a gift to ourselves, and to make our intentions more visible in the neighborhood. Most of the actual habitat is in the back and side yards. Have any of you participated in this program? Maybe you might like to check it out. There are little things that each of us can do to care for the earth community, and foster habitat for wildlife.

Frogs and tadpoles in the pond

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Green frog, with green head and brown body, perched on gray stone facing the pond water.
Green frog on stone at the edge of the pond.

The green frogs are back in the pond. I saw one about a week ago, but yesterday I managed to get a photo. As I got near, another frog dove down to the bottom–so there are two. Once again it is lovely to sit by the pond quietly, watching them sit quietly. And we now have the added pleasure of hundred of little tadpoles. I stopped scooping out algae to avoid scooping out the babies, so the pond isn’t so “pretty” to human view, but the frogs, tadpoles and honey bees seem to really like the algae. The frogs like to hide under it, the bees land on it to drink, and apparently it is good food for the tadpoles.

I was also happy to receive three new plants of sweet flag–or kiwhoswasq, as I learned in Passamaquoddy class. That means “muskrat root”, since apparently muskrats eat it, and it is also a useful medicinal root. It should do well in the pond, and multiply itself there. It doesn’t look like much yet, so I will wait to post photos. Meanwhile the ferns are coming back on their own.

Green ferns in water with algae on surface.

Finally, one more picture of the frog, after it jumped down to the water, sitting on a white rock, surrounded by the tadpoles. They are all over the pond now, especially around the edges.

Green frog with brown stripey body, sitting on white rock in water, with tiny dark tadpoles swimming nearby.

The Beach in Winter

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Ocean waves coming in against rocks bright with sunshine. In the distance, island trees, clouds and blue sky.
Ocean, rocks, sky, sun, clouds

I needed this winter afternoon at the beach. We went to Kettle Cove, where it was windy, sunny, and warm–well, in the forties anyway. So now my heart is calmed and refreshed. There is a quiet that comes from the sound of waves and wind, the feeling of our feet walking on sand. We always say we should go more often, but it takes some push, some energy to get ourselves there. Funny that, because it always feels so good once we arrive.

Even though I am retired, I’ve been doing too many days of projects–still plugging away at the boxes for the archive, among other things. Don’t we need this other rhythm? The one of being in the presence of all that is bigger than we are?

And there was evidence that the wind and the waves had been bigger than the beach recently, maybe when the recent huge storm came through. The wooden walkway was broken apart, and there was erosion in parts of the shore. We are so small, and what we can build is so puny. But all of that is okay–it’s part of what brings the feeling of magic to our walks on the beach.

Broken wooden walkway with brush behind and a stream of water underneath, through the sand.
Broken walkway

So we come home again, and the great quiet is within, the mysterious gratitude for life, in the midst of all its challenges. Can you feel it? How does it come to you?

Lunar Eclipse

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I woke at 3 a.m. and saw the bright full moon through my window. I woke again at 5:30 a.m., but could not see the eclipsed red moon because it was hiding low in the sky behind the many trees and buildings around our house. Still, I dreamt about the lunar eclipse all through the night. First I saw it like a giant pale cookie with a bite taken out. Then I was talking about it with others, and talking about other lunar eclipses. In my dream, I told someone about the memorable total eclipse on the night when the Red Sox were winning the world series for the first time in 86 years. That was October, 2004. We lived on Cape Cod. We were watching the baseball game, and periodically, I’d go out the front door to watch the eclipse. In my dream, I talked about how one of the effects of being old was that I remembered other lunar eclipses, and didn’t have as great a need to see this one. In a later dream, a group of people were getting ready to create a ritual to honor the moon–children, adults of all ages–and I was getting a drink of water, and then, trying to find a mug to hold more water to bring to the ritual, but everything in the cupboard was plastic or otherwise weird. Random people, both known and unknown to me. When I woke up, my cat Billie was at the window looking outside, but neither of us could see the moon. Still, we were feeling it I think. Yesterday, Margy and I filled in and dropped off our election ballots at the City Hall dropbox, and then we drove to Kettle Cove to be with the ocean. The weather was warm, sunny. I took my shoes off and waded in the water on the shore, took some photos of rocks and seagulls. We gathered seaweed to bring back to the garden. But mostly, we just sat in chairs on the sand, and listened to the surf, felt the breeze on our skin.
Seagull standing on the sandy wet shore, with surf rolling in on the right side.
A lunar eclipse feels like a transition, an omen–but for good or ill? The 2004 eclipse was good news for the Red Sox. Undoing the reputed curse of the bambino. But election day is not like a sports game, despite the way the media often frame it. Lives are at stake. When I was quite young, I was a sort of anarchist, and I heard the Emma Goldman quote, “If voting changed anything, they would make it illegal.” I am less dismissive with age. Even if I am voting for the lesser of two evils, I will do so. And I think of the people who died to bring the vote to women and to black Americans. They knew it was that important. But perhaps the quote holds true now, because there are politicians who are trying to make voting illegal–at least for the people they are trying to exclude. Still, I don’t hold with fear-mongering. No matter what, we keep doing whatever we can do, with whatever energy we have, for justice, against oppression, for compassion and respect for all beings. We can’t see the future, we can’t know what wonders might emerge over the horizon. As Rebecca Solnit reminds us, that is a source for hope.
Dark gray huge boulders on a rocky shore with ocean water behind, fading out into the horizon.