Midweek Miscellany: Nature Along Florida’s Gulf Coast (with pics & videy!)

Are any of you denizens of the internet residents of Florida?  Has anyone visited Florida or, if you’re a wanderer of the blogosphere from somewhere other than the U.S., have you even heard of Florida or have any idea of what it’s like?  To many, Florida is a sun-drenched version of the American dream, where summer is perpetual, the beach a block away and fresh orange juice as close as the tree in your back yard.  The Florida lifestyle, in fact, can be so pleasant that it’s easy to forget, or overlook, the complexities of America’s third most populous state (that’s right!  Only California and Texas have more people and New York — New York! — has less.  In American presidential politics, this makes Florida one big electoral prize).

Florida is literally the land of tomorrow and of yesterday; a place where you can watch a rocket launch at Cape Canaveral one day and on the next visit St. Augustine, the oldest city in the United States (founded by the Spanish in 1565, long before those English pilgrims showed up at Plymouth Rock).  Florida is a land of paradox and contradictions, with disparate elements often existing in close juxtaposition to each other:  a manicured golf course lies next to a mangrove swamp; Disney Land and tourist theme parks co-exist with Miami’s International Art Fair (the place to go for serious collectors of contemporary art); an alligator suns itself on a suburban driveway; egrets and herons fish alongside their human counterparts.  Florida wraps this package of self-contradictions in endless miles of beautiful beaches.  With the Atlantic Ocean on one side and the Gulf of Mexico on the other, Florida has more seacoast than any other continental state; its gorgeous white sand beaches and tropical waters have tempted generations of American college students south for spring break (note to anyone planning a mid-March Florida trip:  take care in booking your hotel, unless you think setting off fire alarms at 3 am is the height of humor.  Mr. Janakay does not and was very grumpy indeed after one of his spring Florida jaunts).   

Because Florida has so many pleasurable ways to pass the time (not least, dear reader, it offers numerous opportunities to lounge on one’s porch or patio with something white and chilly in hand), it’s very, very easy to overlook its fantastic natural attractions.  If you’ve wandered by my blog before, you know that I adore swamps, marshes, wildlife reserves, boardwalks, and parks; I’m basically a huge fan of any place where humanity has left even a sliver of room for non-human creatures.  (Nature along the Delaware Coast; Nature on the Move).  Although so many of Florida’s natural wonders have been lost to commercial development and population growth, there’s room for hope because so much still remains.  Of these surviving remnants of “natural” Florida my very favorite is Corkscrew Swamp, a 13,000 acre sanctuary (about 5300 hectares) located in the western Everglades and operated by the National Audubon Society.

You may find Corkscrew and its wonders about thirty miles inland and slightly north of Naples; find Naples in the map’s lower green quadrant, put your finger on the “a” and go up a bit and you’ll have a rough idea of Corkscrew’s location.

0-1.jpeg

Condominiums and beach playgrounds dominate much of the coast in this area; logging and agriculture have taken their toll.  Despite visiting this part of Florida many times, I still find it hard to believe that this:

10475-Gulf-Shore-Dr-Unit-151-large-024-7-10475-Gulf-Shore-Blvd-151-5-1500x843-72dpi
Naples, Florida

is only about 30 miles (approximately 48 kilometers) from this:

0-2
A portion of Florida’s last remaining Bald Cypress forest, visible from Corkscrew’s boardwalk.

Visiting Corkscrew and viewing its wonders is easy.  The sanctuary is open every day of the year; admission fees are minimal (fourteen American dollars; admission good for two consecutive days if you save your receipt) and the two miles of boardwalk provide easy access to Corkscrew’s different habitats (if you’re not up for two miles, there’s a shorter loop you can do).  Because Florida is hot, and birds and wildlife can be scarce when people are present, I always try to arrive as early in the morning as possible (the boardwalk opens at 7 am).

0-3
It’s always fun to check the “do it yourself” list of sightings left by previous visitors at the beginning of the boardwalk.  On this trip, I missed the “giant grasshopper” and “yellow rat snake” seen by others!
0-37
The boardwalk “loop” begins at the visitor center.  The first portion of the walk covers Florida prairie, marked by open space, palms and pine trees.
0-34
A Red-bellied Woodpecker, seen near the beginning of our walk.  It’s a common species in the eastern U.S. but always fun to see (and hear!  They drum and make lots of squeaky sounds).  The ones in Corkscrew appear darker to me than the birds found further north; this type of regional variation can be fairly common with birds.

One wonderful thing about wetlands are the sounds, which are frequently as interesting and unusual as the sights.  Even though its sound recording isn’t great, this short video of Corkscrew’s prairie does give some idea of the cacophony of frogs, none of which were visible (the snuffling sound is the frogs; there’s also a bird in the background):

 

0-25
By this point, the boardwalk is traversing deep swamp.  Its very inaccessibility helped Corkscrew to survive:  bugs, snakes, water and no roads simply made logging too difficult, at least initially.

Once in the deep swamp I had one of those wonderful, unpredictable experiences that sometimes occur — a wildlife sighting!  This was my first view of a group of Corkscrew’s river otters:

0-22
Otter No. 1 is checking out the boardwalk, deciding whether it’s safe . . . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

0-28
Yup, it’s safe!
0-27
Another member of the gang appears  . . . . . .
0-21
Three otters are enough to begin a group wrestling match!  Ultimately, the pile included 6 or 7 animals . . . .
0-26
Another recruit . . . .

 

0-23
A head-on look.  The otters were totally unintimidated by human presence . . . .

This is a brief video of the otters’ appearance.  Because it was made towards the end of the wrestling match, several of the troupe had already moved along the boardwalk.  You can hear some swamp sounds and (alas) the click of someone else’s very high tech camera:

 

Although the otters were hard (well, impossible) to top, Corkscrew has more wonders:

0-16
One of Corkscrew’s “lettuce lakes;” it’s hard to believe there’s water under all that vegetation.  The lettuce lakes provide important habitat for all manner of creatures, including . . . . . .

 

0-11
baby alligators!  Can you spot this one, right in the center, on one of the leaves?  Don’t be fooled by the size; although this one is tiny, adults can range from 8 to 11 feet (2 to 4 meters) and weigh several hundred pounds.
0-10
More baby alligators, sunning themselves on the bank of the same lettuce lake.  On my last visit, about a year ago, I also saw a mother alligator with her brood; this time, however, I didn’t see an adult.
0-7
Another lettuce lake.  That I didn’t see any alligators doesn’t mean they weren’t there!

 

0-19
An Anhinga, one of Florida’s “specialty” birds.  They swim under water and stab fish with that long, nasty bill.  This one is drying its wings after taking a dip.

 

0-18
A profile view of the same Anhinga; this gives a better view of that nasty bill!

 

0-20
I’ve almost always seen a barred owl on my visits to Corkscrew; this one came late in my walk, when I had almost given up!
0-8
Red-Shouldered Hawks are also common Corkscrew residents . . . .

 

0-13
An immature Green Heron.  When this one grows up, he (or she! Hard to tell which) will lose those stripes . . . .

 

0-15
A very imperfect view of Aldo No. 3, one of Corkscrew’s great bald Cypress trees.  It was named after Aldo Leopold, one of the fathers of the modern conservation movement.  Aldo No. 3 is over 500 years old and stands 98 feet tall.  We’re lucky to still have Aldo, as logging activity was halted less than a mile away.
0-36
This is only one of Corkscrew’s many species of flowers. . . .

 

0-39
One of the swamp’s many dragonflies . . . .

You may have noticed, dear reader, that I have a tendency to preach, which I do attempt (not always very successfully) to keep under control.  Chalk it up to all that earnest, didactic Victorian literature I sometimes read (BTW I’m currently engrossed in Middlemarch, George Eliot’s wonderful doorstopper of a novel!).  So — skip this paragraph if you like, you’ve received your warning — but it’s impossible for me when discussing Corkscrew not to stress how incredibly difficult it’s been (and continues to be, actually) to preserve its wonders.  Have you ever heard of plume hunters or noticed the feathers in all those gorgeous women’s hats, so fashionable in the early part of the 20th century?  Well, those feathers had to come from somewhere and the rookeries of south Florida were easy pickings.  Plume hunters could make a fortune in one successful hunt and their activities almost wiped out Florida’s heron and egret population.  The trade was finally outlawed in the 1920s but even then official enforcement was lax.  Audubon hired its own wardens to protect Corkscrew’s nesting sites and launched a public relations campaign against wearing the plumes.  It was difficult and violent struggle — two of Audubon’s wardens were murdered in the line of duty —  but their efforts were successful and the egret/heron population was saved.

snowy-egret-in-breeding-plumage-morris-finkelstein
Snowy Egret in breeding plumage. A century ago, this guy would have ended up on someone’s hat.
0-1
The boardwalk ends, as it began, with a stretch of Florida prairie.

Because you’re observing a living biome, every trip to Corkscrew is different.  For example, if you’re lucky enough to visit during October to February, you have a very good chance of seeing:

male-painted-bunting
a Painted Bunting, which spends the winter “down south.”  Wouldn’t you think that something so unbelievably colorful would love to show off its plumage?  Nothing could be further from the truth!  These birds are very shy and are normally quite hard to see.  Corkscrew, however, has bird feeders located where they like to hang out (deep brush), making for fairly easy viewing if you visit during the right season.

And then, if you’re incredibly lucky (not ordinary luck, but the kind where you’d win the powerball lottery), you might see — a Florida panther!

panther_remote_camera
Needless to say, this is NOT my photo!  Despite being quite willing to trade several years of my life for the experience, I’ve never seen on of these beautiful animals.

I can’t resist using this great video, lifted directly from YouTube.  There’s a naughty expression at the end, so if you’re sensitive to such things you may want to turn off the sound.  I’ve left it in, as it so exactly expresses how I would have felt!

 

Florida Panther

 

Audubon calls Florida panthers an “umbrella species,” i.e., if they survive, so do lots of other things that use the same habitat.  Once they were found over the entire southeastern U.S.; now there are about 100–150 left in a few spots in southern Florida.  Cause for despair or reason to hope?  Because the numbers have grown since 1995, when the population was down to only 20-30, you decide.

 

Summer Reading: The Beauty of Lists

Do you ever have nights when the internet is calling your name, in a voice not to be denied?  When you just can’t stop clicking, going from website to website?  When it happens to me, it’s a bit akin to Odysseus and the sirens, except that I don’t have the magic ear plugs or whatever to protect me, so I just keep clicking away.  I can’t explain the phenomenon but I’ve noticed (oddly enough) that it always seems to occur when I’m facing a day filled with tasks I don’t want to do or appointments I don’t want to keep!

Today my clicking compulsion centered on summer reading lists, which abound this time of year.  I adore lists of summer reading recommendations!  Although I don’t really change my reading selections by the season, it’s always fun to see what other people are reading, or what they think you should be reading; I’m a bit lazy and checking out lists of reading recommendations is also an easy way for me to stay somewhat current with new books, as many summer reading lists heavily feature newly published work.  Since I’d hate to keep the fruit of my “labor” to myself, I’m listing the lists my clicking has uncovered!

Tibout_Regters_-_De_belastinginner_-_2252_-_Rijksmuseum_Twenthe
This 18th century fellow is, I believe, actually doing a tax tally. I like to think, however, that he’s doing a booklist!

I rely pretty heavily for my reading recommendations on the book section contained in The Guardian.  Although it can be a little frustrating when there’s a lag in the U.S. edition (I’ve sometimes waited for months before a particular title becamse available in the U.S.), the Guardian covers numerous U.S. as well as U.K. authors and its reviews are truly excellent.  For 2019 it’s published an excellent “Summer Reading Guide,” with a hundred recommended fiction and non-fiction titles.  The guide lists relatively recent books, covers a wide variety of genres (such as “Modern Life” and “Page Turners,”which are thoughtfully listed with the title) and encompasses non-fiction as well as fiction.  I found some interesting fiction recommendations here, of books I had either forgotten (Tom Rachman’s The Italian Teacher) or didn’t know about, such as Halle Butler’s The New Me.  The Guardian doesn’t have a pay wall (an increasingly rare occurrence), so no problem with access.  I really love The Guardian’s book section.

The New York Times has also compiled a Summer List of seventy-five titles from a similarly wide variety of genres such as “Thrillers,” “Travel,” “Crime,” Horror,” “Outdoors” and so on.  Unlike The Guardian’s more traditional format, the Times’ list is more of an interactive affair, so more clicking is required.  Also unlike The Guardian, the Times has a paywall, so if you’ve exceeded your monthly quota of free clicks, you may have to wait until next month to see the list.

The Washington Post has given a slightly different twist to its summer recommendations, coming up with “100 Books for the Ages.”   Want to know what to read when you’re 43 years old?  Why, Claire Messud’s The Woman Upstairs, of course!  Dodie Smith’s I Capture the Castle is for the 24 year olds, while Alex Comfort’s The Joy of Sex is recommended for the age 30 set.  O.k., o.k., I know it’s gimmicky but it is kind of fun!  And it’s quite encouraging to see Herman Wouk’s Reflections of a 100-Year-Old Author recommended for the centenarians among us.  The Post has also a more conventional “20 Books to Read This Summer,” which is a bit heavy (for my taste) on non-fiction, such as Steven Gillon’s biography of John F. Kennedy Jr. (The Reluctant Prince) and Evan Thomas’ bio of Sandra Day O’Connor (First).  Although pretty conventional, the fiction choices are of all the latest & trendiest, so you’ll be well able to impress the other lawyers when you’re standing around the water cooler.  And there is one piece of exciting news:  Colson Whitehead has a new novel, The Nickel Boys, which will be available on July 16th.   The Washington Post, like the NY Times, has a paywall; if you’ve only one free click left I’d go for “100 Books for the Ages.”

Bustle’s “30 New Books Coming Out in June 2019 To Look Forward To Reading This Summer” is worth a glance.  Each title has a brief descriptive paragraph, which is a nice feature.  The article also contains internal links to additional recommendations for different genres such as graphic novels and rom-coms.

Just as a reminder that tastes differ, and that mine differ quite a bit from the terminally esoteric, I usually check out the seasonal reading recommendations from contributors to the Times Literary Supplement.  Each contributor offers a chatty little paragraph discussing his or her reading choices, which can be particularly interesting if you have a thing for a particular contributor, such as the great classicist Mary Beard.  On a somewhat less elevated level, the New Yorker’s writers have compiled a “What We’re Reading This Summer” feature, which, as you might expect, covers a select but quite broad range of fiction, memoir, and non-fiction.  Both publications are picky about subscriptions so your access ability may be limited if you’re a non-subscriber who browses them on a frequent basis.

To find some recommendations that offer different perspectives on race and gender, NPR’s Code Switch Book Club has some interesting selections drawn from its listeners’ recommendations.   These include Kwame Appiah’s The Lies That Bind: Rethinking Identity and Uzma Jalaluddin’s Ayesha at Last, a modern take on Austen’s Pride and Prejudice set in Toronto’s Muslim community.

Well, I could keep going but I’m sure you’ll agree that enough is enough, at least from me!  Do you have any great lists or recommendations you’d like to share?  If so, I’d love to see them.

Oh — before I forget — the painting at the beginning of this post is called The Tax Collector and is by Tibout Regters, an 18th century Dutch artist.

Miscellaneous Monday: Summer Weekends

Are you, dear reader, a worshiper of the weekend?  On Monday mornings do those two precious days glimmer like a mirage on the far horizon; a heavenly vision that gets you through those nasty mid-week blues?  I must admit that I’m more tolerant of weekdays and less reverent about weekends since I’ve left the 9 to 5 routine but — they do remain special.  Weekends are little breaks from the mundanity of everyday routine, with even the most ordinary non-special-occasion weekend offering its own little serendipities.  The greatest, of course, is the weekend read.  An entire afternoon, with no chores or commitments, and nothing, absolutely nothing, between you and the book of your choice.  A treat of this caliber is rare, even on weekends, but there are lesser delights to savor.  On weekends, the morning’s hasty bagel breakfast can expand to include a friendly  interchange with the bagel chomper at the next table, or the harried trip to the grocery store can become leisurely enough to notice (finally) that nice patch of flowers along your route.  Or — hang on to your hat, Magellan! — you might feel relaxed and adventurous enough to explore a different route to a familiar destination; or even to try a different activity — a new store, an unfamiliar park or museum or that obscure cafe you’ve being hearing about.  Even the domestic routine mellows out — weekends are for trying new recipes, or looking at forgotten photos, or giving the cat an extra tummy tickle along with his/her’s Little Friskies Gravy Lovers’ Treat (a huge favorite in my household).  In short, weekends are for doing all those little things that are actually very big things.

Although weekends are pretty super any time of the year, summer weekends are really unbeatable.  One huge factor contributing to their charm — farmers’ markets!  Do any of you live near farmers’ markets and, if so, do you enjoy them as much as I do?  In my area, they’ve gone from being rather rare to being ubiquitous.  Although you may find, depending on location, a pop-up market on Friday, or even Thursday, Saturday morning markets tend to be the most popular.  Many of the markets also include much more than the usual fruits and veggies (although I tend to stick to the produce).  The Saturday morning farmer’s market is one of summer’s delights, combining exercise (well, sort of — you do have to walk past the stands), entertainment (if nothing else, there’s always people watching, or a clever dog chasing a frisbee) and really great food:

0-18
Very early morning at the local farmers’ market.  Not all the vendors have set up their stands and the street entertainers haven’t yet made their appearance. In an hour or two, this place will be mobbed ……
0-19
A few of the local offerings.   At this particular farmer’s market, items must be locally grown and preferably organic. As you can see, basil, greens and baby tomatoes are in season.  They will be followed later in the summer by local strawberries, cherries, peaches & corn.
0-22
It’s no mystery why this particular bakery does quite a lively business at the Saturday market!
0-37
If you’re ambitious, and unlike myself non-fatal to plants, you can even find things for your very own garden.
0-35
At last, an entertainer shows up!
0-1
A souvenir from the farmers’ market, to enjoy all week after the eatable goodies are gone.  Although I didn’t get photos of the stands, several of the vendors at my local market specialize in flowers, less expensive and far nicer than the greenhouse variety…

When you’ve had enough of the farmers’ market, or if you decide to skip it that week, not to worry!  Summer weekends have still more delightful possibilities for the dedicated hedonist!  Although my ideal physical exercise is ordinarily confined to turning a page, in the summer I actually like to walk.  One of my very favorite places for a summer’s stroll (quite accessible from where I live,  but, unfortunately, not terribly close) is Little Bennett, a gorgeous multi-use state park containing numerous paths and trails, natural wonders in the form of native plants and critters and some interesting historical sites.  Although Little Bennett is under increasing pressure from a growing population (it’s only a couple of miles from a recently developed “town center” that added approximately 20,000 people to this part of the state), it remains an incredible oasis of natural beauty.  Because Little Bennett is a large place (3700 acres or about 1497 hectares), quiet and solitude can be found there even on crowded weekends.  It has a variety of trails, suited to almost every energy level:

0-39
Little Bennett is hilly; this particular trail has lots of dips and ascents.
0-27
For a more sedate walk, you can use the remnants of an old road that once connected several of the farms whose acreage is now included in the park. This portion is relatively intact; the road disappears entirely further along.
0-24
One of my favorite things about the park is its large and meandering stream, which provides habitat for fish and birds, including …….
51035501
Louisiana Waterthrushes, a species of North American warbler.  These birds are regular summer residents of Little Bennett.
0-30
An area I call “the Bluebird meadow” (I have NO idea of its official name, if any). If you squint really hard at the center of the photo (behind the tree shadow extending from the left) you can see two Bluebird nesting boxes (small square shapes on a pole).  This portion of the park is — surprise! — a pretty good spot to see ….
eastern-bluebird-male-12-4-_0266
Eastern Bluebirds.  Bluebirds eat bugs, love meadows and need cavities for their nests. Without nesting boxes, they would probably be totally displaced by non-native European starlings, which are more aggressive and are also cavity nesters.
0-26
Wims Meadow, once part of a farm owned in the 1930s by Jim Wims, a prosperous African-American farmer. Mr. Wims donated the meadow as a baseball field for African-Americans, who had nowhere else to play in those segregated times.  The Wims teams became known for their excellence and a couple of the players went on to become professionals.

A third summer delight for those less outdoorsy moments is taking a bit more time to savor the cultural offerings that come with the season.  This year I hit the jackpot, as there’s a wonderful June-August exhibition at the National Gallery on:

0-4
The exhibition, the first of its kind, covers 17 centuries and animals real and imaginary. Many of the objects, which include sculpture and ceramics as well as paintings, have rarely if ever left Japan.
0-23
The wall banners are located outside and to the left of the exhibition’s entrance.  As I recall, the banners portray animals associated with the Japanese zodiac.

(in the first exhibition photo, you can see that this digital display is located to the right of the entrance; as you can tell from the sound — you may want to use mute — its animated  animals are quite popular with the kids).

Since summer is my time for exploring, I usually visit the Gallery’s east wing, devoted to modern art, more often than I do at other times of the year.  The east wing has recently reopened after a five-years renovation.  Its totally gorgeous galleries are expansive, roomy and filled with light.

0-14
Although this photo shows only a portion of the East Building’s atrium, it does give you an idea of its size. If you like Alexander Calder’s mobiles, it doesn’t get any better than this!
0-19
A gallery devoted to Calder’s smaller works.  My favorite is the glitter fish in the upper right.
0-13
See what I mean about the gorgeous display spaces? I’m embarrassed to say I’ve forgotten the names of the artists whose works you see here — help anyone?
0-16
I love Giorgio Morandi’s paintings .  My significant other finds his work dull; I find it deeply spiritual and contemplative. When I’m in the East Building, I NEVER skip these paintings!
0-17
One of the very nicest features of the renovated East Building was the addition of a roof top terrace, an ideal “break” spot for the summer time art lover! Pay close attention to that hint of blue underneath the left-most tree …….
0-18
. . . which is the bottom half of this huge plastic sculpture by the German artist Katharina Fritsch.   Just LOOK at its size (use the door to the left and the tree in the preceding photo for scale). Are you surprised to learn this is a popular spot for selfies?

Although this post is growing dangerously long, in the spirit of Miscellaneous Monday I’m throwing in some miscellaneous video, also from the National Gallery (as you’ve probably guessed by now, I’m learning how to use video on my website!)  One of my favorite parts of the museum is its “people mover,” part of an underground concourse that connects the older West Building to the Gallery’s newer East Wing.  The lights you see in the video are part of the  Multiverse light sculpture created by the American artist Leo Villarreal:

Immediately preceeding the people-mover/light sculpture is the National Gallery’s “waterfall,” which is visible from the underground cafeteria and bookstore and provides a source of natural light to these spaces:

Finally, if all this activity is just too energy consuming, nothing is better on a summer weekend than just plain taking it easy in a favorite spot:

0-23
Farmers’ markets, hiking and museum exhibitions are all very well and good, but Percy knows the best way to pass a summer weekend . . . . on a nice cushion underneath an air conditioning vent!

 

Monday Miscellany: Nature along the Delaware Coast in May

0-1
Although it’s hard to make out, the rocks and beach are covered with shorebirds, stopping to feast on horseshoe crab eggs before heading to the arctic ….

I am consumed with shame (well, figuratively if not literally) when I realize how little I’ve posted lately.  I can’t say I have any reason for my sloth, except that I’ve been enjoying the incredible luxury of unscheduled time; in other words, I’ve been slothful because I’m slothful!  I’ve read a few books (but not written any reviews — too analytical, for my present mood); done a little museum hopping (not nearly as exciting to normal people as pub crawling); and made a half-hearted attempt to clean up a closet or two.  The closet cleaning has been quite distracting, as I’ve uncovered a number of lost or forgotten treasures —  a great old paperweight (I warn you, I adore paperweights, so you probably have a Monday Miscellany on this subject headed your way); a wonderful glass fish that’s only got a slightly broken tail — it’s got to be good for something; and a lifetime supply of yellow sticky notes!  Have any of you wanderers on the internet discovered similar wonders in your closets or cupboards?

In addition to these rather domestic activities there’s always something interesting going on in the natural world.  Even casual birders such as myself have certain little rituals they observe, particularly in the spring when there are actually some birds to look at for those of us living in the (mostly) urban portion of the northern hemisphere.  One of these, which I posted about last month, is a trip to Magee Marsh, a wonderful natural area and major stopping off point for song birds migrating through the central United States.  Another, which comes a little later in May, is a short trip north to the shores of Delaware Bay, where every spring the horseshoe crabs come ashore to lay their eggs.  In one of those marvels of the natural world, the egg laying coincides with the arrival of hundreds of thousands of shorebirds trekking from South America to their far northern breeding grounds.  Unfortunately for the birds, horseshoe crabs are extremely useful in medical research and commonly used as bait, and are being heavily over-harvested, leaving the famished birds with nothing to eat.  This misuse by humans threatens to break yet another strand in nature’s great web of life.

First, for a little geographic orientation:

Delaware Bay, with the prime horseshoe crab areas marked in orange.
Mid-Atlantic_region_map
A very simplified map of the eastern United States. As you can see, Delaware is a small state with lots of sea coast; south of New Jersey and New York, it’s also a relatively short drive north of Washington, D.C.

Have any of you ever seen a horseshoe crab?  They’re actually not crabs.  Popularly referred to as “living fossils,” they belong to a far more primitive species closer akin to scorpions or anthropoids.  And — they’re big!  I believe there are only four species left on the planet; three are in the Indo-Pacific area and one is found in the coastal waters of North America.

Unknown-1
A single horseshoe crab.  You NEVER see just one — when the tide is right during their breeding season, these things come to shore by the thousands to lay their eggs.
4035246616_cdbff6b3a5_b
This gives you some idea of what the Delaware beaches are like when the horseshoe crabs show up to lay eggs.  The shorebirds, needless to say, are delighted.
IMG_1270-1200x800
A group of Red Knots, a type of sandpiper. They’re extremely dependent on horseshoe crab eggs to survive their incredibly long migration from southern South America to the Arctic.  Because humans are overharvesting the crabs the Red Knot population is in sharp decline.

Although Red Knots tend to be popular favorites, they’re only one among many bird species that feast on the crab eggs.  On a good day, you can also see Ruddy Turnstones, Dowitchers, Dunlins, Semipalmated and Least Sandpipers, and Yellowlegs.  One of the best viewing areas that I’ve found is:

0-17
The DuPont Nature Center has a great observation deck (the photo at the beginning of my post was taken from it) and lots of information about birds, horseshoe crabs and other critters.

In addition to all these attractions, the Nature Center even has art work:

0-18
Do you recognize this?  It’s a sculpture of a Red Knot, done by a local artist.  As you can tell by the human in the background, this is seriously NOT done to scale!

In addition to the Horseshoe Crab-shorebird spectacle, a trip to Delaware in the spring offers other delights.  You pass through several scenic little towns (but beware! many of them have speed traps!) with odd little bits of local history:

0-9
Leipsic, Kent County, Delaware.  Population: 183.
0-23
Bet you didn’t know that Jimmy Fox, one of baseball’s greats, was from Sudlersville, Delaware! Here’s the town’s monument to Jimmy ….

Delaware is surprisingly rural in spots, to be so close to so many east coast cities; in the spring many of the farm fields are gorgeous:

0-24
I love this view of the farm buildings at a distance.

 

0-16
Not a farm field, strictly speaking — more a border alongside the road — but with such gorgeous wild flowers, who cares?

 

0-20
It’s subtle, but if you look closely, you can see there are blue flowers throughout the field.

Delaware, like many other states, also has links to a darker past ….

0-19
Did you realize that in the 19th century areas as far north as Delaware had plantations, worked by enslaved labor?  This former plantation is now part of …
0-28
Bombay Hook is a major reason to visit Delaware.  Although it doesn’t have horseshoe crabs, it has lots of other interesting things, such as ….
0-25
boardwalk trails;

 

Unknown
Purple Martins (a large North American swallow) and
0-13
Purple Martin houses (they love to hang out together)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

0-2
Ospreys (here you see one on its nesting platform).
0-3
Bombay Hook provides a home to other creatures besides birds; it also has turtles (this one got a helping hand across the road, otherwise he might have been squashed) as well as ….

 

0-11
unspecified water rodents, with Red-winged Blackbirds, and ….
0-26
some very pretty marsh flowers!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Delicious Decadence in Belle Epoch Paris: Guy du Maupassant’s “Like Death”

default
Gustave Cailebotte’s “Paris Street: Rainy Day” (1877)

Are there any Guy du Maupassant fans out there?  If so, I’d certainly welcome your thoughts on his work.  I’ve just finished one of his novels, Like Death, and don’t know quite what to think.  I, dear reader, also have a confession to make that does not speak well for myself, namely that despite du Maupassant’s international reputation as a master of the short stoy, I was barely acquainted with his work.  And, my heavens, there’s certainly a lot of it to meet!

Although dying at age 42, Maupassant was an incredibly prolific writer who produced over 300 short stories, six novels, several travel books and lots of journalism in his brief writing career.  Of all that treasure trove I had read, prior to this time, one short story — “The Necklace” — and that only because I was required to do so in a literature class I was taking oh, so many, many years ago.  Despite enjoying the story (more than many of the others I was required to read), I had no interest at the time in further exploring Maupassant’s work.  Well, dear reader, a few years ago I purchased a copy of Maupassant’s Like Death (reissued by NYRB Classics in one of those gorgeous paperbacks that it does so well, i.e., acid free paper, tasteful cover art and introductions written by well-known folks), with the idea that his time for me had finally come at last!  And yet, and yet — the book has sat on my shelves, gathering dust for, oh, at least a couple of years.  All I can say is “thank heavens for reading challenges,” particularly ones that require me to stretch myself a bit.  Because I needed a selection for the “Classic in Translation” category for the 2019 Back to the Classics Challenge hosted by Books and Chocolate, I’ve actually, finally gotten around to reading a second work, and a novel, no less, by Guy du Maupassant.

Like Death revolves around a simple but piquant situation.  Olivier Bertin is a wildly successful society painter, acclaimed by the critics and beloved by the haute monde of late 19th century Paris.  As though to prove that life never seems to distribute its gifts fairly, Bertin is also good-looking, witty, athletic and, on the whole, not a bad guy.  The novel implies, without telling us his precise age, that Bertin is somewhat past the midpoint of life; although he is beginning to feel his age, Bertin is still vigorous  and eager to enjoy all the good things that life has to offer.

Included among the good things is Bertin’s long-standing relationship with Anne, Countess de Gilleroy, who has been Bertin’s mistress for over twelve years; the two began their passionate affair when Anne’s politician husband retained Bertin to paint his wife’s portrait.  Anne, a beautiful and intelligent woman, is quite adept at maintaining a delicate equilibrium between husband and lover; when as a young woman Anne was first presented with her husband-to-be, she quickly realized that “one cannot have everything” but must seek a balance between the good and the bad aspects present in every situation.  The countess is a successful society hostess, a devoted wife who listens with apparent interest to her husband’s accounts of his legislative triumphs (monsieur le comte particularly enjoys discussing agricultural issues) and a tender mother to her only child, her daughter Annette.  The chatelaine of  an elegant establishment (designed principally to appeal to her lover Bertin), the countess has structured her entire emotional life around her relationship with Bertin.  She is, in short, as passionately in love with the artist as she was as a young girl while Bertin, on the hand, regards their long-standing affair as more of an amitié amoureuse — a loving and irreplaceable friendship that is, nevertheless, lacking the magic and intensity of its earliest days.

The lovers’ delicate equilibrium is upset by the entry onto the scene of Annette, who has returned to Paris after a country upbringing to make her debut and to marry the excellent young aristocrat whom her father has selected for her.  Annette, whom the painter has not seen since she was a child, is the very image of her beautiful mother minus twenty years or so.  The aging Bertin is immediately and inevitably attracted; with great psychological acuity Maupassant charts Bertin’s emotions as he transfers his love from the aging countess to her young and unsophisticated daughter on the cusp of marriage and adulthood.  Bertin initially justifies his feelings for Annette by conflating his love for the two woman; his attraction for Annette, he (falsely) tells himself, is due simply to the fact that she is in some ways a reincarnation of her mother; his love for one inevitably includes his love for the other.  Ultimately, however, Bertin realizes that his passion for the countess has been totally subsumed by his love for her daughter.  The countess, of course, realizes far sooner than Bertin what is happening; while the novel focuses on Bertin it also presents a masterful and sympathetic portrayal of a strong and intelligent woman who is facing her emotional death and physical mortality with both dignity and courage.

Plot-wise, that’s it!  The “action” in this novel — the countess gives a dinner; she and Bertin meet their friends at the opera; Annette and Bertin walk through the park and so on — is a dull affair to us barbaric 21st century types.  There is, nevertheless, a great deal going on in this novel, albeit on an emotional and psychological level.  Although I did not find Like Death to be an altogether successful novel (more below), I have nothing but admiration for Maupassant’s grasp of psychology.  Based on the vast knowledge obtained from reading a single short story (please understand, I’m being sarcastic here) I had expected a well drawn, realistic description of late 19th century life among the well to do, as well as a twisty ending.  I was totally unprepared, however, for the subtlety of Maupassant’s psychological insight and the skill with which it was presented.  To give just one example, Maupassant sets a key scene in which Bertin realizes both his mortality and the hopelessness of his passion for the young Annette at the opera, where Bertin is listening to Faust, a story in which an aging scholar sells his soul for eternal youth and the love of a much younger woman.  Time and again Maupassant uses a small but convincing detail to expose a character’s state of mind, or sketches a scene of utterly convincing psychological realism.

So what’s my overall assessment of the novel, both positive and negative?  In addition to the positive points that I’ve already discussed it’s worth noting that various critics (who, unlike myself, can actually read French) have found the NYRB translation to be extremely well done and lively (apparently stiff and artificial translations have in the past hampered Maupassant’s popularity with anglophones).  On the negative side, however, I thought the interior nature of the story was perhaps better suited to a short story than a novel and that certain melodramatic plot devices rather undercut the subtle psychology that was elsewhere so evident.

There are a number of equally successful ways for a modern reader to approach this novel.  The easiest, and the most fun, is to regard it simply as a wonderful period piece.   If you choose this approach, pretend that a maid has just dusted your reading space (this requires a lively imagination if you’re reading in my living room), imagine that those wilting flowers from the farmer’s market are a fresh bouquet of ivory-colored roses in a crystal vase, pour yourself a glass of champagne (make this part real, not imaginary), put some Debussy on the stereo (or, better, Fauré) and settle in to enjoy the wealthy and well-connected life of 19th century Paris.  If you’re a bit more of a literary scholar, read the introduction by the novel’s talented translator, who makes a very cogent argument that Maupassant’s techniques influenced the latter work of Marcel Proust.  If you’re attracted to issues of gender, well, focus on the countess, the societal constraints dictating her choices and how a strong and determined personality can nevertheless fashion her own life.  Finally, the novel’s treatment of aging and mortality, and of how we all face both, give it a universal appeal.

Although I’ve already gone on for far too long, I simply must ask whether anyone else loves the painting I used at the beginning of this post?  Although a good deal of 19th century art leaves me cold, Cailebotte’s Rainy Day is one of my favorite paintings in the entire universe (and just think — we’re lucky enough to have it in the U.S., in Chicago!).  I cheated a bit to use it here, as Bertin, an academic painter, would have been horrified by Cailebotte’s new-fangled Impressionist style, with its cropped figures and unusual geometry.

Monday Miscellany: Nature on the Move

IMG_1203 3
Magee Marsh, a prime stopover for migrating birds, located on the southern shore of Lake Erie. The boardwalk extends over almost seven acres and provides eye level viewing for some spectacular birds!

I’m afraid my blog has been distressingly free of any new content for — my heavens! — can it be a week now?  Say it ain’t so, Joe!  Well, it does happen, especially when we get just a teeny bit preoccupied, which does make all those good intentions fly right out the window!  The distraction last week was SPRING!  And not just toasty weather, nice new green leaves and flowers, but SPRING Migration!  This may not mean much to all you normal people out there, but for birders (even for halfway, fairly frivolous birder types such as myself) spring migration is a very big deal indeed, especially if you live in a northern location where for the rest of the year the birding can be rather dull.

Migration’s most fundamental attraction is simply visual — birds are beautiful to look at, especially during the spring when they’re wearing nice new feathers and bright colors.  The reason is obvious; they’ll soon be staring in their own version of “The Bachelor” and “The Bachelorette” as they’re migrating to summer mating and nesting areas.  There’s also the simple fact that there are birds to look at, after a long winter during which there are few to be seen.  During migration you not only see more birds, but you also have the chance to see bird species that are passing through your area as they travel to their summer home somewhere else.  Spotting a species that you don’t normally see, or that you see only rarely, is like winning a lottery prize, albeit a non-material one.

There’s a more serious note, at least for me, however, that underlies the visual beauty and the enjoyment of being out of doors and that’s an almost mystical sense of how various creatures and processes make up the great web of life.  Did you know that a North American warbler, for example a Blackpoll, weighs less than a ballpoint pen and is only about 5 inches (15 cm) long?  Yet in the fall that tiny thing (and keep in mind that a Blackpoll is one of the larger warbler species) flies over 1800 miles non-stop, crossing parts of the the Atlantic Ocean to reach its wintering grounds.  The journey is so tough that the bird’s body starts to literally consume itself, feeding off muscle and even organs that the bird doesn’t need as it flies, such as its digestive system (remember the warbler’s not eating after it launches itself over open water).  Warblers and other song birds can only sustain their flights for so long; for them it’s literally reach ground before their bodies consume themselves or die.  And, of course, many of them do.  A storm; unusual weather patterns; a strong wind from the wrong direction; a housing development where a feeding stop used to be; gulls or migrating raptors looking for a snack and … well … you get the idea.  The individual bird perishes, but the species goes on, at least until we finish paving the world over with concrete.  When I see a migrating warbler I sometimes think of the moment when that warbler reaches the Atlantic, or the Gulf of Mexico or Lake Erie and, without knowing the outcome, strikes out into the unknown, simply hoping to reach a good spot on the other side of those vast and terrifying depths.  If that isn’t a metaphor for human existence, I don’t know what is.

Blackpoll Warbler 2
A Blackpoll Warbler at close range during spring migration.  This particular Blackpoll has stopped to feed and rest before the next leg of its journey over Lake Erie, one of the Great Lakes. The Blackpoll began its spring trip in South America; if it’s lucky, it will reach northern Canada or Alaska, where it will breed and raise young.  While fairly common, Blackpolls (like nearly every other bird species) are rapidly declining in number.

Well, enough of the heavy stuff!  One more factoid and I’ll shut up and let you enjoy photos.  Did you know that birds, like airplanes, follow regular travel routes?  These “flyways” usually occur along coastlines, rivers and mountains; if a species is lucky some nice nature group, like the Audubon Society, will have located a refuge providing food and a rest stop along its travel route.  (The Audubon Society has a great website showing flyways for several common North American species).

I spent my week of non-blogging (and rather limited reading, I must admit) at Magee Marsh, a nature refuge on the southern shore of Lake Erie, one of the five Great Lakes along the northern United States (four of the Great Lakes form part of the border between the U.S. and Canada).

Unknown

Although it’s not on a flyway, Magee Marsh is a critical stopping point for migrants that come to Lake Erie and need food and rest before they’re strong enough to attempt a crossing.  Essentially the Marsh, which is one of Lake Erie’s last bits of undeveloped wetland, is a giant bird hotel that provides shelter, food and water for the birds, and a boardwalk trail for the birders.  Both groups appear happy with the arrangement.

Here are some of the things I saw at Magee Marsh last week:

Blackburnian Warbler 3
A Blackburnian Warbler.  It’s not difficult to see why one of the old fieldguides refers to it as “flame throat.”
Canada Warbler 3
A Canada Warbler, an enormous favorite with just about everyone.
Bay-breasted Warbler 9
A Bay-breasted Warbler.  They’re even prettier when you can see one at a different angle.
Northern Parula 2
A head-on view of a Northern Parula.  It looks pretty fierce from this angle, but no need to worry — it weighs less than an ounce (28 grams).

 

Magnolia Warbler 8
A Magnolia Warbler; many of these turn up regularly during spring migration.

Over 300 different bird species pass through Magee Marsh each year.  Although warblers are certainly the main attraction, many other wonderful things also rely on the Marsh to survive during spring migration:

Rose-breasted Grosbeak 7
A Rose-breasted Grosbeak.  It’s not a warbler but I don’t mind, do you?
IMG_7924
An American Woodcock.  This photo doesn’t really convey the beauty of the bird’s subtle colors and patterns.
IMG_4341
American Bald Eagles are some of Magee Marsh’s permanent residents; in spring you can usually see at least one nesting pair.

For a wildlife refuge, Magee Marsh is easily accessible from several midwestern cities, including Cleveland, Toledo and Detroit.  It’s easy to stay in one of several small towns withing driving distance.  I usually pick Port Clinton, a small town that’s primarily centered on sport fishing (it styles itself “the Walleye capital of the World” and who’s to say it isn’t?).  Port Clinton has a sprinkling of older houses and an impressive array of yachts; it also doesn’t really come alive until late May, after spring migration is over and birds and birders have left.

IMG_1219
Port Clinton was founded in the 1840s and grew slowly; it’s still pretty small.  This is one of its relatively rare older buildings.
IMG_1222
A glimpse of one of Port Clinton’s wharves.  The summer sports fisherman aren’t here yet.
IMG_1218
And what’s an outing of any kind without an end of the day stop at an Irish pub?  McCarthy’s is conveniently located across from a popular wharf.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love & Fate in Tom Drury’s “The Driftless Area”

41LSrTRd-uL.jpg

Isn’t this a wonderful cover photo?  Don’t you wonder who she is, and what she’s thinking, that woman of great but unconventional beauty, lost in her thoughts, so suggestive of mystery?  And the title — the “driftless area” — whatever could it mean?  It’s embarrassing to admit —  but, dear reader, I hold nothing back from you — that I had never heard of Tom Drury, the author, when I bought this book, a purchase based strictly on the title and the cover art.  Unbeknown to me, however, at least until a month or so ago, Drury is considered a “writer’s writer,” described by the New York Times, no less, as “a major figure in American literature, author of a string of novels without a dud in the bunch.”  Oops!  My bad!  To add to my humiliation, only a few weeks ago the Guardian included The Driftless Area in its “Top Ten Books Set in the American Midwest.”  At least by that point I had actually begun reading the novel, which had been gathering dust on my shelves since its purchase in 2013.  All I can say is — thank heaven for Challenges!  Had I not listed this as one of my selections for the 2019 TBR Challenge, The Driftless Area might still be sitting, forlorn and unread, in my upstairs junk room.  And that would be a personal loss, for it’s a truly wonderful book.

The wonder, as far as I’m concerned, begins with the title, which is not only poetic but geologically precise.  The Driftless Area (or Zone, as it’s sometimes called) is a relatively small area in the American Middle West that extends over parts of several states (for the precisionists among you, it covers extreme southeastern Minnesota, northeastern Iowa and western Wisconsin).  Because the ice age glaciers that smashed into the center of North America and created those flat-as-a-pancake midwestern corn fields missed the Driftless Area, the region has hills, caves, some of the oldest rivers in the world, sink holes, and rare bird and animal species that aren’t found elsewhere in the Midwest.  I don’t often wax rhapsodic about book titles, but Drury’s is a gem.  Not only does it give you the novel’s precise physical setting, it also hints at the strangeness and mystery of the story you are about to read.  And, on yet a third level, it’s a subtle comment on the way some of these characters navigate or, more accurately perhaps, drift through their lives.  A title like this sets the bar pretty high for the novel to come.  Fortunately, Drury is such a skilled writer he carries it off.

One of the pleasures offered by Driftless is to be drawn very gradually, almost imperceptibly, into the very peculiar world that Drury describes.  Conversely, this quality makes the novel difficult to review — aside from the fact that you don’t want to give too much away, it’s just a very difficult book to characterize.  On one level, it’s an ultra-realistic story set in a small town in the rural midwest; on another level, well, it’s not.  The blurb refers to Driftless as a type of “neo-noir” revenge drama, which it is, but — that’s not all it is (although that part of the novel is quite well done).  Although I think the professional reviewers might differ from me here, I found that Driftless operates on what I can only call a metaphysical level.  As one of the characters explains to another, there’s an “idea *** that time doesn’t exist;” that “everything that happened or will happen was here from the start” or that different versions of it were.  In other words, what seems to be chance might not be; that in the Driftless Area the seemingly random course of events might actually be precisely and irrevocably charted.

Oh, dear — haven’t I made this novel sound terribly, terribly serious?  Portentous even? Well, it isn’t either.  The events revolve around Pierre Hunter, a mid-twenties graduate of Iowa State, who’s taken his science degree and cello, and returned to his small home town of Shale, where he tends bar at a speakeasy called the Jack of Diamonds.  Pierre isn’t a slacker, exactly — he’s far more complex than that — but he lives his life stripped of the pretenses that most of us navigate by and that quality leads to unintended consequences.  One of which is Stella Rosmarin, the beautiful, mysterious solitary who saves Pierre’s life and becomes his lover.  Another is Shane, an itinerant criminal who tries to rip him off and ends up losing a small fortune in ill-gotten gains.  Drury is a master of terse, elegant dialogue that can be extremely funny in a very dry way.  He also has a wonderful knack for creating characters; even his minor ones tend to linger in the mind (one of my favorites is Pierre’s boss, a former Silicon Valley type, who worries that the Jack’s red vinyl chairs might be “too busy.” The locals who patronize the place, on the hand, are impressed by the air conditioning).

In conclusion, dear reader, I enjoyed this book immensely.  Do I recommend it without reservation, with enthusiam, to you?  Well……………… do you enjoy the Coen Brothers?  Do you like your reality straight-up, or do you prefer it mixed with a hint of the strange?  Can you accept that sun needs shade, that life needs death, that, as Pierre puts it “everything that succeeds creates the conditions for its own demise”?  If your answer to at least a couple of these questions was a resounding “yes,” then go for it!  You’ll love this book as much as I did.