field notes:

2.27.2003

The morning sun now comes in the lower corner of my eastern windows in the morning and hangs there, warming a case of books. On the western side of the house the sun covers my desk in light for the better part of an hour come late afternoon. This morning from my cold desk I look north onto treetops painted in sunlight. The seat of my wooden chair chills and so the fire burns all day. I'm burning lumber now, and old, damp wood from a neighbor's pile. My beautiful cords of oak and bay are completely gone.

But hope and spring are near. I watched two Kingfishers in an apparent fight over territory yesterday in a preamble to the coming breeding season. I wonder where the Osprey that I see each day in Oyster Cove will nest. I saw him fishing last evening about sunset. He chose a spot already being fished by gulls and they chased him each time he neared the water, but finally he came up with a large fish in his talons. He flapped, and struggled for more air, but couldn't make headway against the weight of the fish and remained a foot above the water, chased by gulls. Finally, the last gull gave up, but he dropped the fish and only then was able to pull up and away from the water. A neighbor watched an Osprey near Heart's Desire carrying a perch taller than itself.

The beach at low tide was strewn last night with jellyfish and herring roe.

posted by Lisa on 9:30 AM link |

2.20.2003

For some reason, my last post is missing a big chunk out of the middle, and editing (on Blogger) isn't fixing it, so I'm reposting. Sorry for the inconvenience.

I'm reading a book called BioMimicry by Janine Benyus. This new field, BioMimetics, takes lessons from nature and applies them to other disciplines: design, agriculture, computer science, medicine, knowledge and commerce. Nature has developed systems and structures that have been honed by selection, improved over millennia. We can learn by observing these systems at work and applying the lessons to our own processes. Velcro was designed based upon the grappling hooks of seeds, and the Eiffel Tower from the structure of the femur.

But the ideas that interest me the most are when biomimetics studies systems. A prarie is a system of mostly perennials which used to cover much of the midwestern United States. Some plants in a prarie are nitrogen-feeders, other nitrogen-producers; while one is suseptible to a particular insect, another isn't, where certain plants thrive in a year with little water, others would do well in flood years. Year after year, while one species rose, another fell. No human intervention was needed: no fertilizers, no insecticides; and just as important, there was precious little runoff, no loss of topsoil and no depletion of nutrients over time. Compare this with the state of our agriculture which erodes the topsoil with tilling and row planting, diminishes the nutritive value of what remains, and which is creating a monoculture of seed varieties in some cases dependent upon a particular brand of herbicide.

Ecologists and botanists at the Land Institute are working to apply the lessons of the prarie to agriculture. How to create a system that thrives without the input of oil-based products, one that nurtures and feeds us and the land over time, not just for tomorrow.

As I read this book and think about the lessons we can learn not just from nature, but from our own human past, I have a hopeful vision. I see a world where what's good and valuable is being nurtured, remembered and protected by people who care on the fringes of disciplines, on the fringes of political parties, and on the fringes of society. Like the Russian Ark, at sea protecting the heritage of art, history, and cultural memory while the world is unsafe for these treasures, people are saving what's precious in our culture from the reckless forces of thoughtless commerce and blind ambition. These treasures are being held for a time when they can be used, and remembered for a time when they will be needed again: heirloom seeds; native rituals and practices; mentoring; mediation; organic farming; poetry and art; bartering; community-living; and reading.

Save something.

posted by Lisa on 1:28 PM link |

2.17.2003

I'm reading a book called BioMimicry by Janine Benyus. This new field, BioMimetics, takes lessons from nature and applies them to other disciplines: design, agriculture, computer science, medicine, knowledge and commerce. Nature has developed systems and structures that have been honed by selection, improved over millennia. We can learn by observing these systems at work and applying the lessons to our own processes. Velcro was designed based upon the grappling hooks of seeds, and the Eiffel Tower from the structure of the femur.

But the ideas that interest me the most are when biomimetics studies systems. A prarie is a system of mostly perennials which used to cover much of the midwestern United States. Some plants in a prarie are nitrogen-feeders, other nitrogen-producers; while one is suseptible to a particular insect, another isn't, where certain plants thrive in a year with little water, others would do well in flood years. Year after year, while one species rose, another fell. No human intervention was needed: no fertilizers, no insecticides; and just as important, there was precious little runoff, no loss of topsoil and no depletion of nutrients over time. Compare this with the state of our agriculture which erodes the topsoil with tilling and row planting, diminishes the nutritive value of what remains, and which is creating a monoculture of seed varieties in some cases dependent upon a particular brand of herbicide.

Ecologists and botanists at the Russian Ark, at sea protecting the heritage of art, history, and cultural memory while the world is unsafe for these treasures, people are saving what's precious in our culture from the reckless forces of thoughtless commerce and blind ambition. These treasures are being held for a time when they can be used, and remembered for a time when they will be needed again: heirloom seeds; native rituals and practices; mentoring; mediation; organic farming; poetry and art; bartering; community-living; and reading.

Save something.

posted by Lisa on 6:16 PM link |

Confessions of A Neo-Peacenik or ...George Bush Made Me An Activist

The people have spoken, and they said No War. Doesn't it make you proud of humanity? It does me. People are taking to the streets by the millions, even apathetic Americans like me. In London, either 1 or 2 million people demonstrated on Saturday. That's either 1-in-60 or 1-in-30 of the Great Britain's population. I don't think Colin Powell was very convincing when he finally showed the world all the evidence they supposedly had that Iraq is hiding weapons of mass destruction. I'm not convinced, the Inspectors aren't convinced, and the U.N. Security Council isn't convinced. I think the dead Presidents we honor today would be proud of what happened around the world this weekend.

From the streets of San Francisco, I can report that the peace movement here is alive and kicking. I was with a group of friends, we marched about halfway up Market, and then stayed by the side of the road singing and drumming as the people passed by. We started marching at 11:00, and it took four hours for the end of the march to go by. Even the police are estimating 150,000 people took part. It felt bigger than last month's march, but how can I tell a thing like that? I looked into so many faces yesterday, because I was passing out postcards about our event this weekend. I must have made eye contact with several thousand people yesterday: black, white, asian, native american, indian, arabic, oldsters and toddlers, hipsters and tricksters, punkers, hippies, suits, families, and teenagers.

This sign reads, "More Treats, Less War", but an alternately popular doggy sign read, "Leash the Dogs of War"

and lastly, an R-rated costumed Emperor George...please only click here if you have your parents' permission!!

posted by Lisa on 1:20 PM link |

2.14.2003

If you will be in the San Francisco Bay Area next Friday, the 21st of February, I'd like to invite you to attend:

Rhythms of the Sacred, Songs that Awaken and Heal
Presentation Theater, USF @ 7:00pm

Mosaic Multicultural Foundation is presenting the evening. Through their work with at-risk youth and with refugee populations, they've put together a collection of music from various cultures and traditions. The traditions, stories and rituals surrounding these songs will be presented by Michael Meade, Malidoma Some, Jack Kornfield, Orland Bishop, Julia Chigamba and Zimbabwean Dance and other teachers and performers.

These are songs that have been used by people across cultures in order to gain a sense of coherence and sanctuary. In these dark times, when the rattling of the swords and the din of rhetoric are so loud that we can barely hear ourselves think, much less hear each other. These songs and rhythms can help bear the burdens of living in harsh times.

Sunday, the 23rd, will be a workshop exploring ways to use song and other forms of ritual to bring healing and to steady the heart and the mind in difficult times.

Both events are benefits to support Youth and Elder Peace Initiatives. Donations are suggested...Call 800-233-6984.

posted by Lisa on 3:19 PM link |

Some pictures from last weekend's post:

Looking back into Drakes Bay from Chimney Rock. Click for larger (282KB)

A younger male tries to make landing. Click for larger (132KB)

But the bigger male chases him back into the waves. Click for larger (111KB)

posted by Lisa on 8:58 AM link |

2.09.2003

Out on the point at Chimney Rock, we are almost surrounded by water. Drakes Bay fans out like a blue oyster shell to the left, San Francisco sits far out in front of us across the sea, and the cliffed shoreline to our right heads north to the outermost point where the lighthouse sits. It's surprisingly hot after a night of frost. We hear the sonorous barking of sea lions from the buoy that sits about 1/8 mile out, and the low foghorn that doesn't cease despite the blue clarity of the sky. Waves crash at the foot of the cliffs below us to the right, and gentler waves lap below to the left. Birds call: gulls and occasionally a sparrow or phoebe, and from far off the strange throaty calls and bellows of Elephant Seals.

We watch GoldenEyes and Harbor Seals dive and from here can follow them for several feet underwater until they disappear. Three Sea Lions float upside down in a raft of fins and flippers. They drift with the current, slowly at first, but once they hit the mouth of the bay their speed increases. It takes serious study and suspension of awe to even determine how many of them there are, which fin belongs to whom: a frieze of sea angels.

The Elephant Seal colonies are beached here until the pups are weaned. Then the females will lumber off into the ocean, while the pups form peer groups and begin learning to swim in the surf until they eventually head off to sea themselves. Today, we see around a hundred of them, but apparently there are now 1500 pupping on our shores. The females come here for two reasons, to give birth and to become re-impregnated. Their mating system, where the strongest bull males mate with a large number of females takes its toll on the male population. We see a big male occupying a small stretch of beach alone. His flanks are covered with old scars, but the entire neck area below his snout as well as part of his head are pink and raw from recent fighting. A smaller male appears at the surfline and lets the small waves move him meter by meter up the beach. (He is marked with the number "13".) Finally he begins to use his flippers to push his huge self further onto the sand. But the bigger male isn't having it. He turns and slowly moves toward the interloper, then in a surprising burst of speed rushes the smaller male, chasing him back into the sea to find another beach. Afterwards, the big male raises his head to bellow in triumph. Later, we see what we think is this unbeached male cruising into Drake's Bay, seemingly in no hurry to try another landing elsewhere.

In another inlet we find a small colony: one huge male surrounded by twenty-one females and their fourteen pups, and just outside this priveleged circle, seven younger males are strewn about the sand. We watch for quite awhile. The pups aren't weaned yet, so this colony will stay here awhile longer. Aside from one skirmish between the females which doesn't come to serious blows but involves pushing, bellowing and biting that looks more like threat behavior than something meant to cause injury, this group looks relatively peaceful. They're like a big family that enjoys each other's company, lying skin to skin for hours and days, but that bickers ocassionally. One of the pups begins climbing over bodies to make his way outside the circle, and each of the females it passes gives him a bite on the flank. He finds a spot about 15 feet from the group and lies down.

In the surf the body of a pup rolls in and out with the waves. Crushed in a fight, or by an ill-timed sleepy rollover? Hard to say, but a friend of mine found another body with its head crushed on another beach last week. My guess is that until these youngsters begin to swim and become prized appetizers for the Great White Sharks here, being crushed by mom or dad would be their biggest worry.

It's whale migration season here too, and we are not disappointed. We watch a small pod pass, blowing and surfacing but not breaching. We also see a score of sea lions porpoise by and join the buoy group.

Besides the sightings I've already mentioned, we are priveleged to see Common Mergansers -- male and female, Common and Red Throated Loons, Double-Crested, Pelagic and Brandt's Cormorants, Surf Scoter, Horned Grebe, Bufflehead, Brown Pelicans, Turkey Vulture, Kestrel, Glaucous Winged Gull, Western Gull, Red Tail Hawks, Common Ravens, Black Phoebe, Song, White-Crowned and Savannah Sparrows, a Gopher, and a about a hundred deer in one large grouping spread out over the hillside above Elephant Seal Overlook.

My love for this place grows deeper by the day.

posted by Lisa on 12:28 PM link |

2.05.2003

Even though the last couple of days have seen weather in the thirties and forties, overall it's been a mild winter. The acacia trees are in splashy bloom all over town, and camelias, lilies, oleander and daffodils are popping up and blooming everywhere.

It's chilly at the cabin. I leave for the morning walk wearing a couple of sweaters, an ear wrap, mittens and a jacket. But either way I walk -- up into the surrounding neighborhood, or down the path to the beach -- I'm soon peeling off layers . Yesterday I ran into a man wearing a t-shirt, while I looked like I'd just stepped off the ski slopes, although dressed in hand-me-down mismatched winter-wear rather than the sleek fashion of the skier.

Today some engine sounds scared my dog and she returned home while I trundled on to the beach by myself. I scare fewer birds than she does, and spend more time being still than I can with her. Three times, I dropped to my knees in the sand and watched through my binoculars.

First, twenty or so Cormorants came swimming out of Oyster Cove. I dropped to watch. They were busy. Unlike the nearby Buffleheads and Scaups who were placidly meandering nearby, the Cormorants were a bundle of hyperactive movements. One would rear up, another would fan its wings, then one finally got up the momentum to fly: first lifting its wings back in a bent-back half-extended position and holding that for a moment, then like a rubber band upon release in a jettison of moves the wings extended fully and began to flap, the Cormorant seemed to run across the top of the water for twenty feet or so of labored flapping until its efforts finally culminated in flight. One after another the Cormorants took off like this -- the first Cormorants flight made the flight of the rest inevitable.

One they'd gone I peered around the bend to see a snowy egret in Oyster Cove. I don't see them over here too often, they're usually on the other side of the bay where it's marshy.

Lastly, I looked for the Blue Heron. Not at the end of the pier, so I looked up into the trees and dropped when I saw him perched high in a tree up the hill. Fluffed up against the cold, he looked like he'd just woken up.

The water is electric blue and still. The beach is warm and the water calls to me.

I finally took a paddle Sunday and I'm hoping to get out more often now. I'm hoping to head out towards the mouth to see what I can see.

posted by Lisa on 10:09 AM link |

2.01.2003

Sweet time, unfurling of soul, quiet with outstretched arms. I've got cabin fever. Ostensibly, this time was to write, but I've mostly used it to play and putter. My alone time doesn't have to be spent writing to be valuable, it's just being alone at all that weighs me down, ballast against the anxious flyaway breezes of the world. Funny, but I spent a good hour of my precious few at the beach.

I thought I'd stay for only a few minutes. From bed this morning I could see that it was a wildly windy day. The tops of trees waved madly -- my boating plans dashed. So I walked down to see what the water was doing.

With heavy winds piling in from the northwest, waves were breaking against the seawall and running up the stairs and onto the pier. The beach was gone on the south side of the cove, and to the north there was only a bit of beach -- a driftwood line before the grassy bluff and the rocky hill.

I lay down with my back against the grass, propped my head up on one bent elbow and watched ducks glide on swells downwind and several minutes later, slide back across my view upwind so as not to lose too much ground; a fishing boat at N. Millerton looking for herring I guess; the greening hills and the Tomales Bay Oyster Co. across the bay, and nothing at all. I watched the sea from sea level and felt, finally, renewal.

I closed my eyes and the sun warmed me, the wind and the waves a lullaby of form, and I dozed.

posted by Lisa on 12:36 PM link |