field notes:

11.2.2002

November is here bringing schizophrenic weather. In the morning, we blazed a fire to keep out the thirty-something cold yet this afternoon walking I could have worn shorts and been comfortable. I dove in the bay, too, thinking that this could be one of the last tempting days to swim. The water has grown pretty cold in the last two weeks.

The first 20 yards are so wonderfully refreshing. I swim like a native daughter, like a river otter, like a tadpole; the grasses part and wave at my passage. I feel alive and......cold. I turn around and head back to shore -- my nether regions go numb, my stroke slows, limbs weaken. I run up the sand and rub the towel over my body. It doesn't offer comfort, the towel feels peculiarly distant from my cold skin.

I wonder how far into the calendar I'll be able to go. Will I get a late November swim in, dare I in December, January, February? I have a friend who used to swim from Easter thru Halloween every day -- but that was in Puget Sound. The cold water here is probably warm water there. If I keep it up, I'll get used to it. Maybe I'll develop a light outer layer of insulating fat to keep my body temperature stable.

A sailboat sat offshore during my swim. At first glance I thought it was moored, but then I realized that it was at full sail, but going nowhere. November -- dead calm blue steel water. Either river otters or harbor seals were swimming and playing all around the boat.

At Abbott's Lagoon today we saw a couple of Golden-crowned Kinglets, a Merlin and Sparrows -- White-crowned and Song. We watched two male Harriers hunting at pretty close proximity, and saw an immature coming into male plumage. We saw seven Black-shouldered Kites -- all sitting in one area together at the shore near the back of the pond. On the drive back into town we also saw an immature Red Tail sitting on a fence post. (I used my new digital camera unjudiciously but can't share the photos yet as I need a USB adapter -- maybe tomorrow.)

I've discoverd a website that's a fantastic resource: istockphoto.com. You can find great photos to download and the prices are beyond reasonable, they're downright cheap -- along the lines of 40 downloads for $10 and 500 downloads for $100. If you're a photographer, you can upload your shots and your sales can buy you more downloads. It's all royalty-free.
posted by Lisa Thompson on 5:13 PM link | comments []

10.28.2002

The water to the south of the pier is dotted with moths. The allure of dancing light on the water's surface is too great to resist. They float with the light prevailing wind to the north towards the shore of the cove where I expect that they will land once again on shore but they rarely do. I sit for awhile in the sun and watch. The small waves lap and a moth alights briefly on the sand, but the next little wave immediately floats him up again. The moths don't seem to recognize salvation when their feet touch sand. They don't realize that they should hurry forward before the next wave pulls them back to sea. Eventually they get tossed upside down and perish or get pulled back out to float beyond my cove and to a fate I can't see.

I can't resist rescuing a few of them. They merely shake out their wings, and blithely walk up my arm, or up the sand, really not caring where they are. I feel that I have to save a few moth lives for all the oakworms I killed a few weeks ago when they invaded my home (and before they became moths). I saved a couple of ladybugs as well. Didn't really need a reason for that -- they're ladybugs after all. Good luck, pretty and comical, everybody loves a ladybug.

Birds are returning. A couple of days ago we saw some buffleheads that hadn't been around until recently. Today, two gold-crowned sparrows hit the window by my desk. They migrate each fall down from Alaska, where they've never seen windows, cars or cats. At this time of year there's usually a warning in the local paper to look out for these naive birds. So many of them perish here. Tomorrow I'll hang ribbon in the windows to warn them.

Tonight I walked the ocean beach at sunset. I wear gloves and hat now as a flirtation with the coming winter -- they won't really be necessary for awhile. But the shortened day promises all the joys of the season: wearing sweaters and favorite scarves, red-cheeked stomping and sloshing in rubbers, big warming fires, mushrooms, first rain, and breath that is visible.
posted by Lisa Thompson on 9:25 PM link | comments []