Button Up Cottage created by Chris Blackshaw and Justine Lavigne 10.12.12 ~ Old Lyme, Connecticut
Button Bella and her family have nestled their home in this thick green ivy patch. Button fairies are a rarity and to view a button faerie dwelling is an uncommon gift! Button Bella and her family have scooped up scores of buttons, some most likely from the artists, to adorn their home.
~ Wee Faerie Village: Land of Picture Making
Last October, Janet and I went to see a temporary outdoor exhibit at the Florence Griswold Museum in Old Lyme. This year we visited the museum’s gardens again to see a new and different installation, Wee Faerie Village: Land of Picture Making. Janet’s mom, Liz, joined us this time around and treated us to a delightful lunch at Café Flo, where we were seated with lovely views of the Lieutenant River.
This year there were thirty-three whimsical creations to enjoy, and at least five extra fairy dwellings not on the map, marked with an FF flag. The FF stands for “fringe fairie.” We were enchanted!
In the garden we found this fruit (below) and have no idea what it could be. Can anyone possibly identify it?
10.12.12 ~ Old Lyme, Connecticut
Liz asked me to take this lovely picture for her, of raindrops on the underside of a leaf lying on the grass…
There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October. The sunshine is peculiarly genial; and in sheltered places, as on the side of a bank, or of a barn or house, one becomes acquainted and friendly with the sunshine. It seems to be of a kindly and homely nature. And the green grass, strewn with a few withered leaves, looks the more green and beautiful for them. In summer or spring, Nature is farther from one’s sympathies. ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne (The American Note-books)
“Leif Erikson Discovers America” by Christian Krohg
At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be infinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because unfathomable. We can never have enough of nature. We must be refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and titanic features, the sea-coast with its wrecks, the wilderness with its living and its decaying trees, the thunder-cloud, and the rain which lasts three weeks and produces freshets. We need to witness our own limits transgressed, and some life pasturing freely where we never wander. ~ Henry David Thoreau (Walden)
Janet (left) and Nancy (right) 4.2.12 ~ Alewife Cove, Ocean Beach, New London, Connecticut
Well, I finally figured out how to use the latest version of PhotoShop – I have no idea how many versions there were between my old one and this one, but I was totally lost… Now I can post some pictures of things from the last six months. In April Janet’s sister Nancy was visiting and the three of us spent a lovely afternoon on the reclaimed dune area at Ocean Beach. I love the shoreline in the off-season. Enjoy!
a well-hidden praying mantis egg case
4.2.12 ~ New London, Connecticut
4.2.12 ~ New London, Connecticut
4.2.12 ~ New London, Connecticut
4.2.12 ~ New London, Connecticut
All walking is discovery. On foot we take the time to see things whole. ~ Hal Borland (Stopping: How to Be Still When You Have to Keep Going)
“Autumn Trees – Chestnut Tree” by Georgia O’Keeffe
The ancestral viewpoint is formative to the way society subtly changes over the generations. It helps codify the protocols, procedures, and customs that the present establishment upholds; it also forms a norm against which reactionary and reforming spirits can rebel. These two notions of conformity and rebellion, like two intertwining shoots about a sapling, define the growth of the trunk. The influence of our descendants is a more subtle one. We need inheritors to guard what we have established, but we cannot entirely dictate and mold them to our desires. Our descendants will modify and change what we leave them. The continuity of society is woven from many generational needs and influences. Only when we stand at the hub of time, as ancestor, self, and descendant concurrently, do we become fully aware of the contract that our partnership involves. ~ Caitlín Matthews (The Celtic Spirit: Daily Meditations for the Turning Year)
New London Ledge Light, at the mouth of the Thames River Long Island Sound
Saturday was an overcast day. “Welcome aboard the Jessica W,” our captain’s voice came over the sound system. “We have rough seas today so please stay seated.” And we were off! Our very first high-speed ferry ride! We zoomed past the red lighthouse (above) and, a short time later, the lighthouse with solar panels on the deck (below). We kept our eyes on the horizon so we wouldn’t get sea-sick and a little over an hour later we docked at Old Harbor and set foot on a very picturesque Block Island for the first time in our lives.
Race Rock Light, off the coast of Fishers Island, Long Island Sound
“What took you so long?” quipped our taxi-driver/tour-guide, when he found out we lived just over the sound in Connecticut and had never been to Block Island before. He was a gregarious old salt with many a tale to tell about the heroes and villains of the island’s history. And we were amused by his frequent references to the historical society, which he called the “hysterical” society, presumably because of its overly zealous efforts to keep the island “as-is” for future generations.
Rebecca-at-the-Well? Sophrosyne?
One story was about the woman portrayed in the above statue. Apparently the temperance movement was quite active during Prohibition on Block Island and to pacify its members this monument was erected by the town to honor the biblical Rebecca-at-the-Well. Because of the grape clusters hanging from the woman’s ears, though, it is thought that the woman is actually Sophrosyne, the Greek goddess of moderation, self-control, restraint, and discretion. In other words, Temperance.
Look, stranger, on this island now The leaping light for your delight discovers, Stand stable here And silent be, That through the channels of the ear May wander like a river The swaying sound of the sea. ~ W. H. Auden
Our new friend took us to Payne Overlook where we could look 182 feet down the bluff to the beach below. Next time we go, we plan to bring a picnic lunch and spend some time at Mohegan Bluffs. There are 152 wooden steps down to the beach below, so we can do some beach combing and then climb back up the steps at a snail’s pace with time for lots of rest stops.
When I inquired about the Block Island National Wildlife Refuge I was told there were lots of them. (Later on I bought a trail guide and found that there are indeed ten wildlife areas on this small island.)
Picking up on my interest in nature, our guide then asked if we had ever seen a great black-backed gull. It is the largest of all the seagulls. As he described it I began to think that perhaps he had helped us solve a mystery about a pair of gigantic seagulls that were visiting our beach in Groton (left) for a few days near the end of August. They were so much larger than the regular gulls, but were speckled like immature gulls. After we got home I did a little more research and found a picture of an immature great black-backed gull which does very much look like the ones we saw here in Groton. Larus marinus
Later on, we visited Southeast Lighthouse. The following picture I took looking up the five-story stairway in the light tower.
Southeast Light, on Mohegan Bluffs, Block Island
It was a delightful day trip we had, something we’ve been meaning to do for many years. There are many more things to explore on Block Island. A cemetery that may be the resting place of some of my newly discovered Littlefield ancestors. A labyrinth… Below is the Jessica W, high-speed ferry, waiting to take us home.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures, And now my heart is sore. All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight, The first time on this shore, The bell-beat of their wings above my head, Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover, They paddle in the cold Companionable streams or climb the air; Their hearts have not grown old; Passion or conquest, wander where they will, Attend upon them still.
If I imagine my soul, as I do when I pray, it’s shaped like Stapafel. No change of place or religion can alter that. I lived beneath Stapafel from the hour I was born until I was sixteen. I’ve never seen it since, but that doesn’t matter. My soul is in the likeness of a jagged peak with a rock like a man standing on its summit, and snags of rock shaped like trolls along its spine. Screes defend it, although it’s not quite inaccessible if you know the way up. ~ Margaret Elphinstone (The Sea Road)
