Gulfweed, Tidal Pools, and a Lost Tern

Posted on June 10, 2011 by Samuel Harrison

Deposited Gulfweed

We’ve had east winds the past five days, light in the morning, then building to 15 to 20 in late afternoon, resulting in copious amounts of Gulfweed, (Sargasso) blown in from the Gulf Stream.  Much of it gets left in a line on the beach at high tide, as seen above, but a lot remains in the water.  This happens several times a year and it takes weeks for the natural clean-up to occur, which leads invariably to complaints by folks who find it unsightly on the beach and an inconvenience in the water.   Then there’s the smell.  This stuff starts emitting a pretty strong odor after a few days of being piled up like this.  I believe that’s called decomposition.  This too, of course, is offensive to some, the final indignity, you might say.  I rather like it.  It’s a healthy ocean smell.  Especially at night, when the traffic has stopped, and all you hear are the waves on the beach.

Gulfweed

We’ve talked about Gulfweed before.  Alive in the water, and when it is first deposited on the beach, it is a luminous golden yellow, with hundreds of little globular vesicles in each clump that help keep the mass afloat.  After a few days it assumes a deep brown color.  The birds love it because it contains lots of little critters that have hitched a ride.  In the water a few days ago we handled a clump and discovered a small, soft-shell crab. then watched as three tiny little startled crablets split from the weed, only to do a u-turn and sprint back to the clump.  Delightful.  But the stuff can also harbor tiny, nearly invisible jellyfish organisms, which can leave you with a nasty itch if handled.  This experienced through research, of course, not necessarily just to wear a lengthy wreath as a lei.

* * *

Tidal Pool

Another interesting result of several days of wind-driven rough water are tidal pools.  These are formed by pounding water where the wave lasts breaks, leaving a hollowed out depression in the sand which remains full of water as the tide retreats.   Being shallow, they warm up fast, the water is still and clear, and they are great for young folk (and old) to play in.  It’s like a natural infinity pool.  They are also great little laboratories, often containing small fish, crustaceans, shells, sunglasses, and snorkeling gear.

* * *

All the wintering and spring holdover shore birds are gone, the willets, plover, skimmers, the migrating terns.  Yet one Royal Tern remains.  Just one, mingling with the resident gulls.  Don’t know if he missed the memo, or just likes it here with his new friends.  They don’t seem to mind his being among them, but it is a little sad to see.  He looks so out of place.

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The Beach Fashionista

Posted on June 9, 2011 by Samuel Harrison

Trunks Drying

We have arrived at an annual fashion milestone here at the little hacienda, that being the wearing of swim trunks the entire day.  Actually, we probably reached this state more than a week ago, but somnolence being what it is, we were not inclined to notice or comment.  It seems important today.

For those readers unfamiliar with life on the edge of the Tropics, particularly on this nutty peninsula called Florida, a brief fashion discussion is in order.  First off, you can wear anything you want in Florida, we invented casual, (sorry California) but not always as much or as little as you might want.  The changes in weather and climate everybody says we don’t have determines this, and like just about everything else in this state, weather has an aberrant, kooky nature.   For a certain part of the year, (this, of course, varies,) you start out dressed to the cool, only to find it stifling by afternoon.  Sweaters in the morning, shorts by afternoon.  That kind of thing.  This occurs, to a greater or lesser degree, (sweaters optional; substitute shirt) from Mid-October through May in most cases.  Beachside, there is even an afternoon cool-off much of the year, requiring putting back on some of the stuff you’d taken off a couple of hours before!  Only in true summer is this condition simplified and put to rest.  For me, anyway.  There remains a bell curve of temperature through the day, of course, but swim trunk worthy at both ends, thanks to the lows rarely sinking past the mid-seventies (try mid-eighties in August.)  I climb into a pair in the morning, and out at night.  These will occasionally be the same pair of trunks at both ends, but not because we’ve worn them all day.  There are dips in the ocean at intervals, surfing, etc., followed by a rinse in the outdoor shower, (trunks included,) those trunks set in the sun to dry, and another set pulled on.  This sequence may occur several times a day, so you can see where we might end up shedding at night the trunks we’d put on in the morning.  In short, for every pair of trunks worn there is a pair drying somewhere.  A perfect system.

Just in passing a word about other attire accompanying the swim trunks.  Not much.  Flip-flops, of course, and a shirt.  We remain adamant about the wearing of a shirt.  We see way too much no-shirt wearing by those of advancing years on Skinny Island, and it ain’t pretty.  The beach is optional, though I would prefer most put something on.  I can still get away with it there.  No supermarkets, please; no sidewalks, and no driving shirtless.  Very bad taste.  Now, though I am insistent on wearing a shirt, I do not button it through the trunk wearing period.  Always open in front.  Just a small nod to comfort while maintaining some dignity.  I do not believe color coordination between said shirt and trunks is an absolute necessity, though I more often than not tend to comply.  But, since all of the six pairs of trunks I have are of a solid color, and the shirts mostly tropical in nature, there is little chance of a clash.

I hope this has been of some use to you.

Wide Morning Beach

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Hiatus Interruptus

Posted on June 8, 2011 by Samuel Harrison

We interrupt this hiatus to offer the following sunrise and subsequent morning.  Read on.

The Front Yard

There was something special about this morning on Skinny Island.  The sunrise was spectacular, but was more participant than cause, a piece of the mosaic of clouds, wind, humidity, temperature, and light that overwhelmed the senses.  And behind it all, the engine of hurricane season, that for these few months, produces an almost ineffable rearrangement of these common elements.  There is a system trying to develop down in the Caribbean, scudding clouds and tropical air filtering in, the winds bearing a slightly different scent, the light somehow sharper.  It feels different.  It felt like the Keys this morning.  We love hurricane season.  It’s the best weather of the year.  It is why we stay.

Stalking Egret

A lengthy bike ride on the cruiser offered even more.  Two new turtle nests, another false crawl, this egret stalking prey in the tidal pools.  And further south, an osprey hunting the surf line.  I watched as he zeroed in on something from forty feet up.  They are so fascinating to watch.  He held a wide-winged position, virtually still, then folded in the wings and dove with incredible speed to a spot only a few feet from shore, his talons extending at the last second before contact with the water, followed by an almost instantaneous lift-off.  A miss.  They always then shudder the wings to shake off the water.  He did a wide arc over the beach and one of the condos, then flew back out over the water, higher this time, maybe eighty feet, tracking, watching. Slowing flapping the wings to hold position, then stillness again, then the collapsing, heart-rush dive and splash, and this time success.  He rose with a twelve-inch mullet in his sure grasp, shuddered, then executed a wide turn out over the water and headed west, back to the nest, presumably in the spoil islands of the Tomoka Basin, the mullet a brilliant silver in the low-angled light.  I thought of James Dickey’s poem, “The Heaven of Animals,”

And their descent
Upon the bright backs of their prey
May take years
In a sovereign floating of joy,
And those that are hunted
Know this as their life,
Their reward

And this night heron, patient and watchful in the soft sand of the dune line.   Six feet from a large crab hole he waited, tensed and focused.  The crab emerged, (knowing this as his life, his reward,) a hefty four-inch specimen.  The heron struck.  And it is a curious thing.  I’ve never seen one take the crab on the first strike.  They must wound or stun the crab, for though they don’t hold and consume on the first strike, neither does the crab make it back to the hole.  There is a kind of macabre dance that follows: the heron pecking, holding, dropping, repeating; the crab moving, but essentially resigned, it appears; the heron ultimately grasping the crab in some acceptable fashion in its beak to begin the lengthy process of turning and manipulating the crab to be swallowed whole.  Fresh crab breakfast, indeed.  Okay, back to summer hiatus, with breaks as warranted.

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Summer Hiatus

Posted on May 29, 2011 by Samuel Harrison

The Skinny Island Post is on summer hiatus, as we try to write something else.

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A Feral of Few Words

Posted on May 22, 2011 by Samuel Harrison

A note accompanying these poems left under a shell on the front deck simply read, “Sometimes, Less is More.”

Living Here

Looking at his feet
an old man mutters
down the sidewalk
along the coast road.
Living here,
we grow used
to how big the sky
and ocean are.

* * *

Stucco Mountain Range

So elusive
the thing behind
that square of sunlight
on the morning wall,
still, so many
years after.

Shadowy
western slopes
of a stucco mountain range.

* * *

Something to Fall Back On

Something to fall back on,
there’s the problem.
Poetry’s all right,
but you need to have something
to fall back on.

What a laugh!
Try as I might
there’s always been something
to fall back on.

* * *

Sensible Voice

So many wasted days
the sensible voice groans,
while all the moments
of sunlight, stillness, and rain
tumble back into the stream
and I am caught laughing, again.

* * *

So Much Depends Upon

deepening night
then morning
reveals

fine fat
dewy
red motorcycle

* * *

Wired

cicada thrill
slicing seamless night
like wire

* * *

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Caught Napping

Posted on May 18, 2011 by Samuel Harrison

Nap Time

It is a rare day indeed that we do not partake of a mid-day nap here in the little hacienda on Skinny Island.  We find it a necessity for well-being, as well as a small contribution in the continuance of a grand tradition of warm weather places, the siesta.  The Spanish word is from the Latin, hora sexta, the sixth hour, which counting from dawn, or around six a.m., (which happens to be the time Pico the house cat rouses us to be fed,) puts you at noon. The siesta, or nap, traditionally follows the mid-day meal when, drowsy and heavy from food, one simply must recline.  Somnolence rules.  Old casements open a foot, shades drawn down to that breezeway, the ocean-facing bedroom here, which extends seaward from the body of the house, is the perfect spot for such repose.  A few readers can testify to this, for the room serves as guest quarters when travelers arrive.   Ocean breezes and the sound of surf on the beach, (once one learns to ignore the traffic noise on A1A,) carry you to, well, a place of ocean breezes and surf on the beach.

Pico is, of course, the most accomplished napper in the little hacienda.  The house joke, which The Baby now finds hilarious and expresses with glee,  goes as follows:  “Wake up, Pico.  It’s time for a nap.”  And Pico, depending on his mood or the depth of his current somnolence, but more often than not, will abandon his spot on the tile or rug, and stake his claim on the bed.  On Saturdays, when The Baby is here, the nap is inviolate.  He has been doing it all his life, and offers only half-hearted resistance, usually manifested in the statement, “Just a little nap,” his diminutive stature leaving just enough room for Pico at the foot of the bed.

Everything naps here, cats, lizards, snakes, humans.  The world shuts down, succumbing to a warm, gauzy glow beneath a gently loping ceiling fan for the duration, which may be anything from fifteen minutes to two hours.  And life is slower, richer on the other side. Oh, there may be a project or two to finish between waking from the nap and the next main event, five o’clock cocktails, but we strongly discourage beginning anything new.  That’s for mornings.  The nap essentially signals the end of the work day, such as it is here on Skinny Island, and we’re holding to that.

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False Crawls and Final Shuttles

Posted on May 16, 2011 by Samuel Harrison

False Crawl Tracks

Two turtle nests to the north of us, but nothing out front or all the way south to the lifeguard station. Did see evidence of two False Crawls on early walk this morning. A false crawl is when the turtle comes ashore but for some reason, does not dig a nest. This one turned around about half-way up to the soft sand, barely at the high-tide mark. This is known as a false crawl U-turn. The other went all the way up to the dune vegetation, roughed up the sand there, but did not dig a nest, an arduous trek, nevertheless. Maybe it was the same turtle. The tracks were less than a quarter-mile apart. Most often it is lights that make them abandon the effort.

* * *

Last Shuttle

Never been a big fan of the Space Shuttle program– I can’t help but think of the incredible, coast-to-coast high-speed rail system we could have built with that money– but they are fun to watch blast off. We went down to Cocoa a couple of times when the youngin’ was little, and watched from across the Indian River, and since moving into the little hacienda, we’ve watched from the beach deck, night launches included. So, today’s last mission was special, even for us. It was a spectacular launch, clear skies, hundreds of folks on the beach, dolphins rolling offshore, rays splashing in the shallows. The Cape is about a hundred miles south of us, but we usually have a clear view, and can watch from horizon to orbit on most occasions. The normal flight path is out over the ocean and north, so it is moving towards us as it moves out and up. We are usually able to clearly see the booster separation, and the shuttle engines take over. With binoculars you can see the booster tanks falling. Quite amazing. Used to see, I should say. No more. I think what I’ll miss most is watching the reaction of the cats when the sound rumbles through 5-7 minutes after lift-off. That was worth the whole expenditure.

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Softer Side of Feral

Posted on May 15, 2011 by Samuel Harrison

It appears The Feral Poet has a softer side than the one he usually shows.

Turning Over

There was a sound
the wind made
through the blinds
in the dark,
that in the plane
between the worlds
seemed closer
than the window;
beside me
the sound
you made turning

in the place
you occupied
all those years.
And when I heard it
I was not so

independent.

* * *

A Laundromat in Mt. Kisco

He watches her 
reading in a chair
by the window, intense,
absorbed and distant;
a book whose title
he cannot see.  It is late
afternoon and strange
for her to be this still
this close to dinner,
but there is something
about the coldness of the air,
about the sharpness of the leaves
in the low-angled light, the
monumental solitude,
that makes this the place to be

for now.  Outside,
three birds with burning breasts
descend to a wire.

Nor can he move, leaning
in a doorway, stilled
by this simplest of moments,
his hands forgotten, misplaced
somewhere in air
between tasks.
for he is seeing her
in another time, against
another window, another winter,
clothes chasing round in the dryer
like otters, a first snow wet
on the lettered glass and in
the empty street,
between dreams
when they were very young.

* * *

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Good Company, Good Food, Good Surf

Posted on May 12, 2011 by Samuel Harrison

Truly summer weather now, hot and humid, with stunning blue skies, just the way we like it. Perfect beach weather.

The Beach

We are fortunate to have as our guest for a few days, all the way from Portland, a Librarian of the Oregon Symphony, and while we enjoy good food and drink and beach ambiance on a daily basis, this has afforded us the opportunity to turn up the volume a little. Home-made Cuban sandwiches for lunch yesterday, a nap, then margaritas and snacks, including home-made pimento cheese, followed by a lovely dinner and stimulating conversation last night on the back deck under lights strung in the trees, made sweeter by samples from the garden a few feet away. An egg/cheese pie for breakfast this morning, then down to the beach, where we were joined by our son for a spirited surf session in chest high, heaving waves in spectacular, clear green water. Exhausted, it was back up to the little hacienda for barbecued beef sandwiches and home-grown, home-made green mango salsa and another nap. Enjoying a brief lull now to dispatch this post. We are expecting son and The Baby later this afternoon for more beach play, and then a clams and linguine dinner.

Worn out from it all, Pico has sought cool and quiet on the tile under the table.

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Egrets, Starfish, and Summer Squash

Posted on May 10, 2011 by Samuel Harrison

Egret in Flight

Love to see this in the morning.  A Great Egret (Common Egret) stalking small fish in the shallows.  This one took off when I asked him to pose.  They are never on the beach in great numbers, but we see one or two at a time all summer.  Their normal habitat is back in the estuaries and marshes to the west of us, where the water is still and they can wade and stalk more lethally.  When the ocean’s flat, though, they do well in the tidal pools on the beach.  I love to watch them hunt. They turn their heads so one eye is pointed down, and they stealthily move, long neck partially coiled, lifting their feet very carefully one at a time from the water, then, like a dart, the neck fully extends and the beak stabs like a flash into the water and, nine times out of ten, they have a fish.  A member of the Heron family, they are a beautiful, elegant bird, with several sub-species, including the Snowy Egret and the much smaller Cow Egret, or cow bird, you see in great numbers in cow pastures, feasting on grasshoppers the cattle rustle up for them.  Along with the other herons, the egret seems to have adapted well to the over-development of Florida.  You find them everywhere.  They seem to have a particular affinity for golf course water hazards.   We used to bemoan the proliferation of golf courses, but then we realized they became great bird sanctuaries, and since, in Florida at least, it is much easier to fund a golf course than a wildlife habitat, we’ll take it.

* * *

Star Fish

Found this specimen on the beach this morning as well, just known as the Red Starfish in these parts.  They’re called a star fish or a sea star, but they’re not a fish at all, of course, but an echinoderm, which includes sea urchins and sand dollars.  There are more than 2000 different species of these critters around the world.  Besides the well-known ability of many species of starfish to regenerate arms, (and some, completely new starfish) they have, like other echinoderms, a pretty gnarly way of feeding on clams, oysters, and other shellfish.  With their suction-cup lined feet they pry open the shell, and then a stomach thing emerges from it mouth, enveloping and ultimately digesting the tasty mollusk, then withdraws back into the star.  Talk about eating out.  You think about what’s going on out there too much, it’ll keep you up at night. We see a lot of this red one, and another that mostly black, with white striping around the star edges, but rarely any other species.

* * *

Squash

We’ve done well with green beans and bell peppers so far this spring, but this is the first of the summer squash that’s ready.  We’ll pick this one and several others later today for dinner tonight. When these are done, they’re done, which is why we start early.  The heat just gets to be too much for any of these plants growing into June and July.  The herbs keep going well, but not much else. It’s pretty much a spring garden. Jalapenos, Habaneros, and more bell peppers just about ready.  Tomatoes big and green, a few days from ripening.  Need rain bad.  Weather guys say better possibility through rest of week.

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