Like Rain it sounded till it curved And then we knew ’twas Wind — It walked as wet as any Wave But swept as dry as Sand — When it had pushed itself away To some remotest Plain A coming as of Hosts was heard That was indeed the Rain — It filled the Wells, it pleased the Pools It warbled in the Road — It pulled the spigot from the Hills And let the Floods abroad — It loosened acres, lifted seas The sites of Centres stirred Then like Elijah rode away Opon a Wheel of Cloud — ~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1245)
We got 1.75″ of rain on Tuesday! Our drought status has moved from severe down to moderate.
On Tuesday we left early to vote in the Connecticut primary and then drove down to the pond by way of the road along the Thames River. Some of the river’s banks are covered with an unattractive cement ramp, but, I happened to notice a swamp rose mallow popping through it as we were driving by.
Fascinated, I asked Tim to stop the car so I could hop out and examine the wildflower up close. How could it be growing in such an inhospitable spot? It wasn’t that big yet, maybe 2 feet tall, and I wonder how high it might be able to grow there. (They can grow to 7 feet, and the flowers are 4-6 inches in diameter.)
As I was enjoying the close encounter I noticed another wildflower growing through another seam. I loved the shades of purple on its petals.
Back in the car and on to the pond. So sad to see even less water remaining in it. I’m surprised the shorebirds don’t do their fishing over at the beach but they must have their reasons for hanging out here still.
drought-stricken Beach Pond
lesser yellowlegs
Nature, like a loving mother, is ever trying to keep land and sea, mountain and valley, each in its place, to hush the angry winds and waves, balance the extremes of heat and cold, of rain and drought, that peace, harmony and beauty may reign supreme. ~ Elizabeth Cady Stanton (Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Feminist as Thinker: A Reader in Documents & Essays)
great egrets strolling by
snowy egret with lesser yellowlegs behind him
snowy egret
great egrets mingling with snowy egrets
swamp rose mallow, this one growing by the pond
We’re supposed to get a break from the heat and humidity this weekend, which will be nice, but we also need some rain!
The ghostly winter silence had given way to the great spring murmur of awakening life. This murmur arose from all the land, fraught with the joy of living. … Squirrels were chattering, birds singing, and overhead honked the wild-fowl driving up from the south in cunning wedges that split the air. ~ Jack London (The Call of the Wild)
It’s hard to believe after almost two years of walking outings during the pandemic we’re still finding open spaces we haven’t visited yet. Tim was reading about this one, Knox Preserve, in an editorial in the Sunday paper. The writer was frustrated because a fence had been put up between the nature preserve and the railroad tracks, keeping trespassers off the tracks, yes, but also obscuring the views of Long Island Sound.
Wednesday afternoon was finally “warm” enough to head out there, bundled up, of course. (We usually walk in the morning but decided it might be warmer after lunch!) I forgot to make note of the temperature. My new mittens did a fine job keeping my fingers warm. 🙂 We headed up a muddy path along a lovely stone wall with a rusty, golden salt meadow off to our right.
muddy path along salt meadow
What I see is mine. ~ Henry David Thoreau (A Week on the Concord & Merrimack Rivers)
At a break in the stone wall we took another very soggy path through the salt meadow, then leading up to a grassy knoll where we found a bench with a view.
While we enjoyed the view a little boy and his mother came along and sat down to wait for the next train. Mom had an app on her cell phone that let her know when the next train would be along. The little guy was very excited, even though he had done this many times before. We smiled, thinking of all the good memories they will have to look back on some day.
view of fence, Amtrak train tracks and Long Island Sound
Railroad iron is a magician’s rod, in its power to evoke the sleeping energies of land and water. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson (The Young American)
the controversial fence
Next we decided to follow a path into the woods and along the new fence. We heard the expected train approach and hoped the little boy was enjoying himself! It was probably a high-speed Acela train.
into the woods
train whizzing by
reindeer moss
When we came out of the woods we found ourselves at Quiambog Cove and walked along it until we came back to the salt meadow where we started. It was fun completing a loop instead of retracing our steps the way we usually do.
Quiambog Cove and railroad bridge
afternoon sun
Is not January alone pure winter? December belongs to the fall — is a wintery November — February to the spring — it is a snowy March. ~ Henry David Thoreau (Journal, February 9, 1854)
ice in the salt meadow
When we woke up this morning the wind chill was 0°F/-18°C. Needless to say, we did not take a walk. Instead, it was more yoga for me!
After peaking at 25% on January 7th, Connecticut’s covid positivity rate has slowly inched its way down to 13% yesterday. Baby steps in the right direction.
4.20.21 ~ red maple seeds Connecticut College Arboretum, New London, Connecticut
Yesterday we took an amazing walk at the arboretum! A long one, for an hour and a half. We concentrated on the wildflower garden and the bog, both bubbling with the delightful signs of springtime.
the world’s emergence
The person who practices this exercise of concentration sees the universe with new eyes, as if he were seeing it for the first and the last time. In his enjoyment of the present, he discovers the splendor and mystery of existence and of the world’s emergence; at the same time, he achieves serenity by experiencing how relative are the things which provoke anxiety and worry. ~ Pierre Hadot (What is Ancient Philosophy?)
skyscape
red maple
Edgerton & Stengel Memorial Wildflower Garden
striped maple
Canadian white violet
yellow trout lily
Virginia bluebells before opening
bloodroot
Can words describe the fragrance of the very breath of spring — that delicious commingling of the perfume of arbutus, the odor of pines, and the snow-soaked soil just warming into life? ~ Neltje Blanchan (Wild Flowers: An Aid to Knowledge of Our Wild Flowers & Their Insect Visitors)
Virginia bluebells
Glenn Dreyer Bog
moss covered hunk of something
underwater art
tadpoles!
Glenn Dreyer Bog
tadpole and tadpole shadow
red maple
tree scars
peaceful pond
Canada geese
In the light shed by the best science and scientists, everything is fascinating, and the more so the more that is known of its reality. To science, not even the bark of a tree or a drop of pond water is dull or a handful of dirt banal. They all arouse awe and wonder. ~ Jane Jacobs (Dark Age Ahead)
His Mansion in the Pool The Frog forsakes — He rises on a Log And statements makes — His Auditors two Worlds Deducting me — The Orator of April Is hoarse Today — His Mittens at his Feet No Hand hath he — His eloquence a Bubble As Fame should be — Applaud him to discover To your chagrin Demosthenes has vanished In Waters Green — ~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1355)
Demosthenes (Δημοσθένης) (384 BC – 322 BC) was a prominent Greek statesman and orator of ancient Athens, generally considered the greatest of the Greek orators. ~ Wikipedia
As we continue to carve out a new life for ourselves in quarantine, we have started referring to “our bubble.” Stay safe, stay home. We are wary of popping our bubble by some careless slip of protocol. We care for our safe zone (our bubble) and speak of it fondly sometimes, as we tend to it like one would a houseplant or a pet.
4.14.20 ~ Elm Grove Cemetery, Mystic, Connecticut
Yesterday we went for an early morning walk at Elm Grove Cemetery in Mystic. It’s a large scenic resting place along the Mystic River, just north of Mystic Seaport. The seaport is closed for the pandemic and many (most?) of its employees have been laid off. We parked at the south end of the graveyard where we could see the dockyard across the water and also explore the fascinating carvings on the gravestones of past sailors.
4.14.20 ~ Mystic Seaport from a distance
4.14.20 ~ sailing poetry on a headstone
4.14.20 ~ Mystic Seaport buildings
We’re going to renew our membership to Mystic Seaport anyway. Even though we have no idea when it will be safe to visit again.
4.14.20 ~ looking across the Mystic River
I’m pretty sure that cliff and house (above) are part of the Peace Sanctuary, where Janet, her mom and I took a lady slippers nature walk back in 2013. See lady slippers.
4.14.20 ~ Draken Harald Hårfagre, still covered for winter
Will the Viking ship have any adventures this year? I have my doubts there will be a Viking Days festival this June…
4.14.20 ~ a soggy stuffed bunny hiding
4.14.20 ~ New London Ledge Lighthouse
4.14.20 ~ one of the cemetery’s peaceful ponds
4.14.20 ~ a lighthouse for a monument
4.14.20 ~ a small decorative well that Tim loved
4.14.20 ~ another peaceful pond
And we finally came around back to our car. Can’t believe it’s six years old! In some places folks aren’t permitted to drive somewhere to take a walk but we are, thankfully. Tim says it isn’t good for cars to sit without running for long periods of time. Our car is an important part of our bubble!
This was our first walk where we did not encounter a single person! Not sure if it was the location or the time of day that did the trick. I suspect there will be more cooler early morning walks as the warmer summer days come along. As long as we can manage to stay safe in our bubble.
We now have 21 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our town.
Water, is taught by thirst. Land — by the Oceans passed. Transport — by throe — Peace, by its battles told — Love, by memorial mold — Birds, by the snow. ~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #93)
The Things that never can come back, are several — Childhood — some forms of Hope — the Dead — Though Joys — like Men — may sometimes make a Journey — And still abide — We do not mourn for Traveler, or Sailor, Their Routes are fair — But think enlarged of all that they will tell us Returning here — “Here”! There are typic “Heres” — Foretold Locations — The Spirit does not stand — Himself — at whatsoever Fathom His Native Land — ~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1564)
