the marsh

The marsh looks very plush this morning. Thick, healthy. Guess it liked the rain we had, or maybe it is that way because of the high tide that came in awhile back and turned the marsh into an ocean or at least that is what it looked like out our window. At breakfast Carol spotted a dolphin catching fish, bringing his catch up onto the bank, and I ran to the living room for the binoculars. See him? Yes, I saw him splashing around looking for more fish and it was quite a sight. But he decided breakfast was over, I guess, because he headed on back to the ocean, until he was out of our sight. Carol saw a couple of dolphins in the channel close to the house, but I haven't. One could stand and look out over the marsh for hours and watch the pelicans dive for fish, or the heron or Ibis, or egret. But as I get to know something about these birds and fish, their habits, etc. the timing will be a lot better and I won't be looking at a quiet Marsh, which is itself interesting and beautiful, but will catch its wild life and all the shenanagans that go on there.

on the beach this morning

It was just what I needed -- a nice walk on the beach with Mike and Carol. The sun was hitting my back, although it was quite early. Not many people here yet. The pelicans put on a show of their own, diving into the waves, not quite sure what to do with their feet, but moving very fast, grabbing a fish then up and away. It was an interesting few minutes (seconds?) they took to establish themselves and stay put, wings flapping, beaks seamingly heavy but up and down and very fast.

I was distracted by a find of Carol's just then -- a crab, just up and out of the sand in one of the small "puddles" made by the incoming tide. The crab was a little annoyed, I thought, as he moved his large appendage in a thrusting sort of way, opening his mouth to show small claws (teeth?)

Anyway, I've a lot to learn yet (and I'm only 89). Anyway, watching the pelicans and looking to see where Carol was, I found myself in deeper water than I had planned on, and one more step landed me face down in the Atlantic ocean! Wow! The water was warm and a kindly hand extended by a large man there, helped me get to my feet and establish just where I was, then Carol, and I was back to stable footing near Mike.

We walked then a bit further, my clothes soaking wet but loose and already drying in the sun, we looked again at the crab, and Carol then spotted a sand bubble and said, "look, there's another one." She maneuvered the sand a bit with her fingers and then started digging. There it is! Another one and this time I really did see the popping eyes. Then a large threatening claw moved out and upward, and bubbles started to ooze from his mouth. Then I saw the litle claw-teeth (?).

This crab really did seem very aggressive, his large claw thrashed about and Carol was brave enough to flip him over a bit where we could see the underside, with all the little moving appendages. I could have stayed there all day, bending over them -- or maybe not. But never have I ever seen such defensiveness -- So crabby. And that little thing that we had disturbed went right back, down deep into the sand, while we headed for home.

caterpillar

The sky is dull, nondescript? No, there's the sun. It's behind me this morning. Just as I turned my head it hit me -- right in the eye. It's going to be a sunny day and I guess this tiime of year, that means hot. That's okay. We get through the hot days, especially those of us who don't have to be on the roof, or in a caterpillar somewhere. Caterpillar. What a nice name, better than John Deere. I always loved caterpillars anyway. I wasn't a little boy, ever, but I loved to watch these big machines with shovels move large chunks of marble or rocks, or telephone poles, when my sister used to take us in her Ford coupe to Milford or Framingham, or somewhere else. Especially liked the little furry gold and black caterpillar that was on the grass under an apple tree, or the one I was watching slowly making its way along one of my father's planks laying across a steamy hot mortar bed, which I was quickly pulled away from. Later on there were more and I could watch them. They didn't try to avoid me, like the worms did. When I spotted a worm, the minute I turned my head he was gone back into the ground. Sometimes when my father, or brother Joe fished, they would let me pick them up one by one and drop them into a pail or tin can. I thought they were collecting them for me but I learned about fishing, saw the fishing poles and watched while they maneuvered the wriggling worm onto a hook -- oh, that I didn't like so much but learned to accept it, I felt it though and wondered if it hurt. They let me hold a worm in my hand. I wasn't too comfortable about it. I wanted to hold a caterpillar but I don't think I ever got that chance.

The Mocking Bird

Wait! I'm not ready yet. But the mocking bird sings, and the light persists. My eyes refuse to open and the sun beckons to me. I stretch, try to cooperate with the sun. Put my two hands on the side of the bed -- Carol puts my hearing aid in and the mocking bird gets louder. I lift my body, forward. I can do it, I thought. I fix my eyes on the sides of the bathroom door, where each hand will go has to be determined. I lift up off the bed.

Here goes. Now, yes I'm awake. What a beautiful day, sun shining, birds singing, and especially the mocking bird who sits on the corner of the roof outside my bedroom window. I don't know who she's mocking this morning but it's wierd. Maybe she's mixed up, can't get the sound just right that she wants to mimic. I take another look out the window -- she's gone now. The marsh is low. Don't know when the tide is due to come up and spill into the marsh, and bring the herons and ibis, maybe pelicans, and me to the window or to the porch with binoculars,. Then to my bird log to write up the specifics. What's today, I ask. The response isn't enough. I know it's Thursday, June something - 4? Is it going to be a warm day? Who knows, you say. Who can predict the future?

So I settle back. Right! Brace yourself, come what may. Write.

Home for a Visit

Morning is here again. I look in the mirror at my face -- ooh! Is it
the South Carolina sun? Carol says, don't look in the mirror first
thing in the morning. You're fine. Write!

I'll be going to Massachusetts soon and look forward to seeing
everybody again. And my house. I wonder who lives there now? Mice?
ants, spiders, moths? birds? squirrels? What are they eating? We
left no food. They could read. I left lots of books in the library
there. Oh, the worms. They may have gotten to the books. I'm not
sure I want to go back into that house now. But I was brought up
there, and there are things...things!

What things? All around us, some of them ours, some we wished were
ours, and we kept our things in a box -- maybe the little wooden box
that the codfish came in when the fishman with the truck came by, It
had a slide cover and we could print our name on top, so noone else
would touch our things, unless we let them. We loved the codfish
cakes my mother used to make for lunch sometimes. Left a nice salty
taste in your mouth. I loved that!

And bread and molasses too -- I loved bread and molasses. That's what
I'll ask for when I go up to Massachusetts. Bread and molasses, and a
glass of milk. But in Chelmsford, it won't be the same.

Together, or Not

One thing I remember about my sisters is that there would always be me and one other, never Lily and Thelma, never Esther and Lily, nor Thelma and Mabel, Thelma and Esther, Mabel and Lily, oh! so many combinations, but it was always one of these and me.

My brothers, however, were most of the time in twos, or threes, or even fours. I don't know why this was so. But it was very special if I had one brother to myself -- say,

Eddie, who lived next door let me watch his fingers as he strummed his banjo, let me pick cherries from his cherry tree,

Leo, who taught me to play the violin, who let me spin his records of overtures to The Barber of Seville, Aida, Tosca and others, the Greats: Beethovan, Chopin, Handel, Grieg, Tschaikowski, the opera tenors and other great music treats. Leo had a Victrola and I had to kneel on a chair to reach the record player. He taught me how to place the needle down carefully so as not to damage the record, and who leaned over my shoulder while I struggled with bookkeeping and accounting, giving me some really good pointers that made me understand what I was doing,

Tommy, who would watch an insect with me, or show me the roots of a tree, or a serated leaf, or take me in the canoe and let me paddle up front,

Jimmy, who listened to me "play" the violin, and then played something for me to listen to, and who loaned me a dollar one day when I was desperate to buy some school card with my name on it which we couldn't afford, nor could he,

Charlie, who would also let me paddle the canoe, or would look up from a book he was reading to talk and tell me what he had just learned from it, or hand me something he thought I would like to read, or just talk

Joe, who would have me touch his pet, a turtle, a skunk, , a rooster, a crow or a birddog and tell me they were my friend and not to be afraid.

Ernie, of course, was just a kid like myself, but he too was fun to be with, alone or with others. Ernie was always pushing me away, but I was more than willing to "go get" anything he wanted, and listened to him and hung on to his every word.

My sisters? I think mostly I was in the way, when they were learning to cook, sew, or doing their own thing. Except for my sister, Mabel who took "us kids" (Esther, Ernie, myself and younger brother Richard) for rides in her car, and showed us what to look for, like cows, horses, churches with their towers and crosses, out-of-state number plates on cars, water and boats on a river when we crossed over a bridge.

Brothers, I had 8 of them. My younger brother, Richard, died at the age of l0, when I think I was about l2. Sisters, I had 6, but only knew 5. A sister who died before she was a year old, had she lived would have been another older sisters.

What a wonderful family I grew up in.

Lily

If Lily were not in plain sight in the kitchen, on the porch near the kitchen, in the dining room or living room, and you saw her just a minute ago, then she had to be in the library.

So you take a quick glance into the library -- she's not at the piano and besides you would have heard play (although she does play more softly than anyone I know), or on the typewriter (and I've never heard such a quiet typewriter either!). Probably the TV is on, or there are just too many people in the house.

When Lily had a story to write for the newspaper, she would just slip in there and type it. I think it was just her slipping in and out of the library, taking or making phone calls in the hall, and getting right back there at her typewriter that the rest of us didn't have quite programmed in our head. I suspect that when we peered in one door, typewriter in sight and she not there, she was on the phone in the hall, from where she may have slipped right through dining room, living room, the front hall and through the other door, back to the library and her typewriter. Or, you try again and she's not there -- maybe she is on the sunporch, looking at something or somebody out the window, or upstairs for something or other. As you may have guessed, Lily was good at slipping in and out of places. She could be right there with you and if you looked away for a second, she could be seen 'way down there by the river, or could have disappeared into the greenhouse in back of the garage.

But, if you took the time to clip her writings from the newspapers, you would find that she not only typed up weddings and anniversary and birthday parties, holiday or other special functions at the churches, or parks, she threw in short pieces about birds, rare or otherwise, children playing, or just about the pleasures of canoeing on the river, or enjoying flowers that came up unexpectedly, wild or planted by someone last year. She made up stories of human interest, of antics of animals or children. Every day she typed and every day she clipped from the newspaper.

And she had time to cook and prepare meals, to run errands in her car sometimes to drop her writings off to another Milford Daily News person, or just to "pick up something" from "somebody." She found time to garden, to help Tommy in his greenhouse, to help Miriam with whatever in her house, or to hellp her plant something in her yard.

Lily found time get our mother settled for the night, play scrabble with us, and then go to bed and read.

But when did she type?

Ruth

Ruth was a beautiful woman. Skinny, but with the most beautiful skin I ever saw, smooth and white, round dark brown eyes, beautiful teeth. Jimmy was small, played the violin, had a great big smile. He was special, and he now had a beautiful wife and three small children. When they walked up to visit us, Jimmy was always outside with my father and Ruth, with the children, would come in and sit in the kitchen with my mother and the rest of us.

The oldest son, Allan, was frail with bowed legs -- which my sister Mabel, a nurse, called "rickets." Ruth would have no part of "rickets" for her first-born, Allan. She argued consistently with Mabel, "He doesn't have rickets" she would say. I listened to this argument over and over again. It disturbed me. I asked Mabel about "rickets" and she would say, "He needs to be in a hospital -- his legs can be fixed -- it's a bone disease -- it has to be attended to early. I then began to wonder about Ruth. Why didn't she listen to Mabel? Allan was one of my favorite nephews, when my brother, Eddie moved away, with "Little Jimmy" and Donald. And I wanted Allan's legs to be straight, normal. He was such a cute little guy, big brown sad eyes. I used to read to him when I could. But most of the time, the three little ones clung to their mother's knees wailing, and she would say, "oh she wants her bottle and I told her she's too old for that," or "he wanted to go to his other grandmother's house," or "he wants to go down to see the river. -- don't pay any attention to them." But of course we did pay attention -- how could we not?

All conversation of course was out of the question becauses of the screaming and bellowing of the children, and the angry mother. Stopping to appease did not help because usually it meant a kick with a small but sharp foot --sharp because of the angle of the child's foot as it landed on your leg or stomach. Or, if not a kick, a bite, with sharp little first teeth. Then, a piercing scream when Ruth herself bit back. I can see now her slender white fingers with the diamond that Jimmy had given her, although I don't know how he could have afforded it, holding the child tight to keep him still.

I loved that little boy, Allan, even when he bit me.

Old Maple Tree

A sad day it was when our Eddie's old Maple Tree came down. This was the tree that was in the way of his "perfect" hedge, when he lived with his family, next door to us. He loved the tree, though, and stopped his hedge for the tree and picked up on the other side.

The tree would remember all the people that went in and out of that house while Eddie and his small family lived there, and would remember the families that came after he left. him. The tree remembers

The day my neighbor ssid -- that tree is dangerous. See those branches -- right over my house, and yours, right over our cars sitting there in the driveway. It's got to come down. Yes, I said, it is dangerous -- would wreck your car, and if lightning struck and it hit the house, someone could be killed. Yes, it should come down. I was sad when I said that.

Sitting on our porch, we often watched a squirrels scampering up and around another interesting tree growing up there. and leaning very close.

One day, a squirrel ran across the driveway carrying a baby squirrel in her mouth. We watched as she moved across the lawn, toward the lower lawn and river and then across the small marsh, built up into a small island, There were many tree down there but a large willow tree right by our dock was her choice, but we lost sight of her then. But before long, there she was again, crossing our driveway, then the patio, with another baby in her mouth. This went on, with many trips -- at least four, possibly five. Oh, that poor mother, we said. And we knew she had been evacuated from her home in that tree.

We tried, many times, to recognize that mother squirrel among the many that came and went but felt we had lost her. Now, when I see the squirrels running across our patio and up and around that tree, I think some of them are her babies, and feel happy.

Wedding Reception

There I was, walking up Haven Street, pass the Smalls where Jimmy Small -out there in the yard, always said a big hello, and Mother Small waved from the porch window. We -- oh, I must have been accompanied by the rest of the "kids," my brothers Richard and Ernie, but I was not aware of them -- crossed the tracks of the New England and Hartford RR, up to the big white house where Margaret, Nellie, Jimmy and --

I'm so mixed up! Was there a Fred Allen? Or was this Fred Tingley, who married Margaret (not this Margaret, but Margaret Small!) Oh, this is getting to be as bad as tracking down the Joneses for my family tree!

Anyway, Jimmie Allen always gave us a big smile with his hello, and then we heard "there goes the little Jones girl, and there's the little boys -- all of them!" (no, they knew it wasn't 'all of them.' They never used the term, "kids," the name we had become used to, at home.

And so we walked, past the other big house on the left, where noone seemed to be at home, and we crossed the main road, Village Street. No cars. We joined the people already gathered at the house "with the open porch." That was our cue so we'd get to the right place. Lots of busy people were there already, moving about the lawn, and lots of music, and noise.

We were collected and grouped together for a momentous shot, but then pushed back a little so that the bride and groom, my brother and his bride Ruth, could have their pictures taken, in a group with Tommy, best man, bridesmaid Avis, Ruth's sister, her father and mother Hardy, Tommy's, and our, mother and father Jones. And then, we were collected for a group shot.

I remember me - with the fat, heavy curls over my shoulders, a huge red ribbon on the top of my head -- don't remember what I wore, except for the black patent leather shoes, strap across the instep .

There was a lot of confusion after that, people moving around, laughing, eating, much confusion and I believe a great deal went on after we -- the kids --crossed Village and walked down Haven Street, with good things to eat in our mouths and hands, past the Allens, past the Smalls, and up our driveway, home.

Chance

When Tommy's dog died, Lily and I were glad. He moved across the floors of the house, dragging his two paralyzed hind legs. It was pitiful to watch. He was a dog that Tommy had bought after our family dog, Buddy, had died of old age. Neither Lily nor I cared much for this new one. I forget his name, but then, I don't think he was too fond of us, either. Anyway, it was a blessing for us when he did die. But Tommy missed him. One day, Tommy decided to go to the kennels and pick out a new dog. He took a little neighbor girl with him. Jeannette was always with Tommy anyway -- he taught her how to paddle a canoe, how to identify trees, by the bark, the leaves; he made her aware of birds by their songs, the names of flowers, shrubs. He taught her how to climb trees by rope and to repel, and they would look at books together outside, or in the "bungalow" on rainy days, feeding biscuits to the dog.

At the kennel, Tommy and Jeanette looked for a new dog. Jeanette fell in love with a big black dog, while Tommy was busy looking for a small dog. And they pondered, and pondered, and pondered. Jeanette said, "this is my dog," Tommy said, "I don't think Lily would.. but if you took him--" and Jeanette said, "I don't think my mother would.. but if you took him--" And they both smiled, said together, "Let's take a chance."

And there they go -- the three of them, in the canoe, Tommy, Jeanette and Chance. I never saw such a happy threesome! Jeanette cared for Chance, fed him, took him home with her. He got to know the old dog, Nicky, made friends with Jeanette's mother. Lily and I got to know Chance. And everybody was happy.

Finding G

In High School, I chummed with 3 friends and had very little to do with any others. I think this was an effort on my part to reject the friends of my older sister, perhaps to stir her up somewhat. My 3 friends were M (Polish), F (Jewish) and C (Armenian). These girls were about a year younger than I was, having caught up to me in the 6th grade. In that grade, the second time around, I lost a half a roomfull of classmates to Junior High, physically located in the High School building, including my friend N. N lived in the last house on Charles Street with her older brother B, her father and grandmother. They had a barn with a loft full of hay, cows, and a bull. My brother Ernie and I used to go there and jump down into the hay, play Uncle Wiggley together in the house. I liked B and he like me too. He would take my side in any scraps, and Ernie would side with N, N and I entered the first grade together, but by the time we were in the 6th grade, she grew away from me, and I had a new friend V, whose father owned a garage next to M's house on Lincoln Street.

Both beautiful girls, N and V would come down to my house, but mostly I think to flirt with my brothers. Not only was I jealous, I was diminished. And when one day they stood peering into the window when I was having a violin lesson with my brother Leo, they became my enemies. I quit the lessons abruptly, must to the dismay of Leo,who quit teaching me altogether after that. The girls were out to get boys, anyway, and I was not. I liked boys, especially the ones in my classroom and I know they liked me, the way they smiled and touched me, in passing -- nothing sensuous, just friendly-like. Especially G. I think most of the boys in high school were a bit on the shy side too, except for W who knew it all, E who always smiled knowingly but kept pretty much to himself, and A who was left alone pretty much because he was going to become a priest (and he did). Yes, I liked the boys but tried not to show it. The shy ones I left alone and avoided the others as I could. I could not avoid S who walked my way. He was a bit more aggressive, but even with his boldness, he would back off from me and my 3 friends, and say, "I was only kidding." And J, who also walked our way, keeping up a non-threatening conversation. I liked J, and I had the feeling he liked me too -- and it was around this time I was thinking: I wonder who I'll end up marrying? But I knew I wasn't ready yet. Of course there were glances and feelings that were sloughed off and frustrations abated somehow or other by re-directing our conversations and activities. Even at the high school prom I danced only with my brothers and Mr. C our teacher, never with classmates. But they danced anyway with non-shy girls who pretty much led them on. And those boys who were more brazen selected girls whom they had dated before or were still dating.

I could hardly wait to graduate, but at graduation I found myself thinking who? And in my mind, choosing someone I'd want to marry. G, I thought, he'd be the one. And I know he liked me more than anyone else. And so we graduated. Said our goodbyes. And where did he go? Where was he headed? I never asked. And thought to myself -- if it's to be, it will be and I don't have to move anything.

G was brought up on a farm. He'd of course be a farmer. Would he go to college? What college, I wondered. What would he study. He was extremely smart in school. But they called him "Farmer B" I didn't like that name but it didn't bother him in the least. So, where are you now, G? Did you graduate from college? Are you married? I picture you, in charge of a huge farm enterprise somewhere, with a very intelligent wife, raising a grand houseful of children -- all happy. Of course they'd be grown up now, having given you grandchildren. And if they turn out to be like their old happy grandfather I'm sure you'd be, the world would benefit.

So where are you, grandfather G? Just let me know, so I can find you, and we'll have a long, long conversation about those happy but awful high school days.

my secret

I was in the sixth grade, for the second time around. Just a strange turn of events, which I blame on the shallowness of the teacher. My teacher used to sit at her desk, with a hand mirror. We were supposed to think she was occupied with herself -- her eye makeup, her lipstick, even her brilliant fingernails scraping her beautifully white teeth, and even her slender white fingers manipulating a strap and rearranging the fit of her magnificent breasts in her blouse. --and our eyes were supposedly downward on our assignment and not on her.

Anyway, she was the grownup in that classroom, so we weren't, yet. Although in the sixth grade, this year I felt grownup. I thought some of my classmates acted a bit childish, and I did want to fit in, so I started acting like them in some ways, like defying the teacher, not closing the book when told, dropping a pencil, just to disturb an awfully quiet moment. In my own little way, I was going to be ungrownup, just like the others.

Alas, one day, this beautiful woman, our teacher, had half the class march right into the small "book and supply room, where she quizzed us, name by name: Did you use chalk on the road out there? Do you know who did? What does it say? You do know what it says -- nowwe were quizzed, one by one.

You do know what it says-- now, did you write it? Who did? Of course she got no answer from me. It was the end of the school year, what did I care? We were soon to be students at the High School (Junior High was now housed in the High School building.) We were excited about joining the big kids in high school. Really a big excitement for us. But no, it was not going to happen. When we received our report cards for the year, About twenty students learned they would be repeating the sixth grade another year. I was one of these students.

I left for the long walk home, disappointed, but feeling a little bit guilty too. Why did I feel guilty? And I was angry about feeling guilty -- I didn't do anything. Yes, I was angry at the teacher, just as my friends walking with me were angry. By the time I arrived home, there was no anger, no disappointment,. I was grown up enough then. wasn't I, to accept whatever and go on from there?

I arrived home. The feeling of guilt was there. How was I going to tell them I didn't pass, was not going into the seventh grade? I thought perhaps I would just walk in, nonchalantly, and noone would ask. It didn't really matter, did it? Summertime was here. I was certainly ready to forget my problems. and did.

It was August -- Have I grown up during these summer months? No, Richard died. Who am I now? Without Richard?

And everyone came. Charlie was there, Tommy and Lily came home, The dining room table was cleared of lunch and everyone was everywhere. I don't know where I was -- probably sitting on the steps of Eddie's house next door. What was I thinking?

[I'm not done yet -- stay tuned]

horse and wagon

Walking along the sidewalk, in an older section of S.Carolina, Carol and I are looking at the mansions, many rooms to accommodate large families and servants (probably slaves then?), large and ostensious porches, brick steps and walkways, gardens we stop to study and sniff, to touch the ornate fences and walls. Now, we see a wagon in front of us, filled with tourists, pulled by two large, lazy horses. Oh well, they have to go so slow -- and the day is so beautiful -- why shouldn't they be lazy? And they clap, clap, clap along the road. And Carol asks, are you with me? She notices the blankness on my face and the lackadaisical reponses to her questions, and says, "you must be tired."

No, not tired. I was somewhere in the West, crossing a prairie in a covered wagon, the horses, were not really clap, clap, clapping, but slap, slap, slapping and the wagon was covered. Two people riding in the front of the wagon, several walking alongside, and they were singing --psalms, I think. And then the rains came down. A lot of scrambling and shouting, and the horses were excited, and a wheel suddenly broke, and there was havoc and I gasped!

You're really tired, Carol said. And I'm sure I looked at her blankly and said, "I'm okay."

Write! right

Sunday again. The days go by fast. Are they going by me, or with me?

I fall asleep in my chair early in the evening and wake up to go to bed, still early. The routines are, well, routine -- come and go without concerted effort on my part, and the breakfast, an interesting blend of egg and vegetables, red, green, yellow and the color of fried potato --that too! Toasted Carol-made fruit and nut bread, spread with all-fruit jam, and all this after I take my vitamins, red, green, yellow and white that slide dow with no effort at all on my part -- it's the fruit smoothie that first appears at my place that takes them down.

Breakfast over, I sit awhile with my hot cup of tea in a blue mug -- mm! Except to write, don't lift a hand or I should say, dish. Just relax. Look out over the marsh. A large egret just flew up and disappeared behind the tree in the neighbor's yard.

And now to Mass at The Church of the Divinity. Carol will drive.

a walk on the beach

A walk on Folly Beach this morning, early, before the sun was too strong, before too many people there. Carol, Mike and I. The waves nearly caught me once. I want to close in to see what Carol has discovered out there.-- she walks barefoot so goes further out than I do. I have rubber shoes on, what does it matter that I get my feet wet? Mike has on regular sneakers and is not about to get them soaked. Now, what is she looking at?

The water is warm, she said. I move closer and look down at the round blob in the water. It's about 16 inches across the bottom, which looks like a straw-woven garden hat, the base of a large "gelatin mold" I called it. It was inside that took our attention now and the "mold" was transparent so that we could see there. It took a bit of studying -- and when the tidal wave moved the jellyfish toward me, I ran. Going back, I could see that there was a yellowish substance, lumpy, around the soft inside blob. We are looking for and counting eyes, appendages. We continue our walk.

Carol handed me a rock to look at. Strange looking, seems to have flat shells imbedded in one side.

Soon Carol stopped us to look at what I thought was a turtle shell, seeing the pointy little tail, about 5" long. I found out it was the shell of the largest crab I had ever seen. Carol turned it over so we could see the inside body parts which were moist from the washing of the tidal waves. She lifted the claws. A little girl about l0 came over and listened to Carol describe what we were looking at. Carol flipped the shell over and we looked for eyes, more than two, she said. We found two, then were on our way back.

Looking up, as I walked (not too smart, walking over shells and rocks) I spied in the distance an extremely colorful bird which I studied intently. I moved ahead of Mike and Carol. I continued watching. Not a pelican, and certainly not a hawk... but large, and wings, orange, reddish in the sun, dipping down, up and down again...what can it be? I hear nothing from Mike, nor Carol. They are very quiet behind me. Of course they must know, but I don't ask. We walked closer. There, it has landed. Oh! The man pulled the string to straighten it out, and away again it flew, up, up, down, up.

We crossed over and went up the wooden stairs, heading for our car and home, Mike, Carol and I, still looking at the rock and wondering if they knew all along it was a kite.

clapper rails

What? Can't get with it this morning. With an itchy nose. Did it get sunburned yesterday while I sat on the docki. listening? Mostly listening to grackles, but I imagined the sounds of young clapper rails in the grasses beside the dock where I sat. I turned slowly peered into the long strands of wet grass, flattened by the water and tangled. Why would even a rail want to nest there? No, I suppose she wouldn't . At least after my body objected, the stiffness had to be relieved and I turned myself around and sat as any normal person would, for awhile. Then my legs had to be up, with support, My hat had to be adjusted down to shield my eyes already with dark glasses on them. My eyes, very sensitive to light, especially after staring for long periods.

And I never saw the mother rail, nor any littles ones, nor the nest for that matter. But I did hear her, loud and clear and I know she was right across the water from me --distinct from the grackle's loud cracking voice, she clapped, and clapped, and clapped. I should have clapped when I heard the concert given by the many birds when I was sitting on the porch the other day. Next time.

One day, when Carol and I were on the dock, we did see a rail, long legs lifting to find a good footing on the edge of the water.

It's very quiet now -- no, listen! . It's the little wren (my favorite), back again. Carolina wren.

Bye, you evasive clapper rail. I'll be back, will you?

the first time

It's the first time I've seen the marsh turn into an ocean, surf tumbling in the wind. That was last night. This morning, it's all gone. Low tide. No ocean, not even the small "river" running by our dock.

It's the first time I've ever seen anyone actually on the marsh, except in a rowboat or cayak. Today a man walked a good distance across the wet grass -- I followed him with binoculars -- he had red pants on but I couldn't tell if he wore boots. I imagined them on his feet. He carried a bucket and a net was swung over his shoulder. Was he going after oysters? Now, there he stands, places his bucket on the floor of the marsh where he was going to -- fish? He threw his net into the shallow water, as the pelicans, 3 of them swooped down, dipped their beaks into the water, up, away, back down, dip, a quick low, swirling flight over the man's head and up into the sky, circling and back down again. It was fun to watch.

But my eye moved over and saw another man walking the same path through the marsh. He was under a red hat. He soon joined the first man, and together they peered into the water, had a discussion, stood pondering for awhile. Soon the man in the red hat, carrying the bucket offered him, went further along the marsh and further out of my sight. Yes, he completely disappeared, but the pelicans could see him and swooped down where I guessed he was, then. I watched the pelicans up, down, up, down and again and back over to where the first man was "fishing" with his net.

Carol just walked out on the dock and snapped a picture. "Too far away," she said and returned to the house. She brought me in out of the noonday sun. I was loving it out there but she said it was too hot.

I found a spot on the porch and with binoculars, looked out again over the marsh. Then is when it flew overhead, It was the first time I had ever seen the GoodYear blimp fly over the marsh. But no great thrill! Give me pelicans anytime, or herons. And a hawk will leave me breathless anytime, but not a Goodyear blimp.

Now, the red hat is moving further away , judging by the gulls now (pelicans having left, flying to distances out of my sight). The first man is now standing knee deep in the shallow water and peering down into it. Not very active in the water or out. No pelicans, a few gulls. Oh, here they come! One, two, three pelicans back again, swooping down, an occasional quick dip into the water, up and over. Are they finding what the fisherman can't find? He apparently doesn't like the pelicans to come too close and tries to scare them with his net, then flings it across the water. What is he after? Crabs probably, Carol said. I think the man is thinking about quitting -- the pelicans aren't, not yet.

The second man (in the red hat) with the first man's bucket, is now moving back to where the first man is standing, without action now. And the pelicans are leaving. He puts the bucket down and the first man comes out of the water. The two are standing there, discussing what? The catch, probably, or no catch. I watch two immobile individuals, with the red hat, with the red pants, until my eyes tire and I put down the binoculars. What do they expect.? Do they think I'm taking their picture?

After a short rest for my eyes, I pick up the binoculars.

What are they finding to talk about? The tide, whether it's worthwhile to wait until it starts to come in? If they waited for dusk, are they safe here? Personally, I think they had better think about getting out of there. How does it go? Time and Tide wait for no man?

A little wren is sitting there on the porch raill post. I move closer. She sings Ooh! That's a bit loud, isn't it? I sat -- still -- and she continued her shrill song -- that for me?

There they go -- the man in the red pants and the man under the red hat. They're headed, homeward, with net and bucket -- any luck? crabs?

it seems to me

that doctors, dentists, electricians, plumbers and who have you, tend to believe that their time, and only theirs, is precious. Maybe there should be a different approach:

Say, the doctor's office: Tell the "girl" that you would like to see the doctor at 2:30 p.m. on Thursday, October 8, or if that is not convenient, then at 1:00 p.m. on Friday, October 9th and that he can call back to confirm the date and time.

Or, the dentist: I need to see you very soon -- how about Friday or Saturday of this week? You can't? Well, that's okay, I'll call someone else. Oh, you can! Oh great -- jot the date down, and I'll see you then.

The plumber: My kitchen sink is leaking, I can't live with this -- can you fix it for me? Oh, that's too far away. How about this afternoon, or tomorrow morning? Oh you can't -- no, never mind. I'm sure I can

The painter: My dining room is all ready for a new paint job. All it needs is a painter and the paint. I have samples of paint that you can look at -- when can you come? Oh I wasn't planning to wait that long. Oh, you have people who work for you? Okay, when can they come? You need how much notice? Well, never mind.get someone else.

Or the furniture store: I was in your store yesterday and I told you I would call today. after I took some measurements at home. Oh, it was the blue leather one, right near the large window... oh, yes I have the details you gave me right here. I'll read them to you. Oh, great! Yes, I can pay for it on delivery -- when will that be? I really don't want to wait that long-- Can't you make it by the end of next week? You can't -- well never mind. No I don't want the sofa. Thank you anyway.

people flight

-Here, look at this. Notice the feet-- well, you can only see one. No toes, sort of tannish, with black strreaks, no, more like wide bands across the upper part. No toes. And the head -- can't see the eyes -- the head is very large and rather rounded, and white. The feathers must be very soft and smooth, the way they blow so much in the wind. Oh, look! He, or I should say she (there's probably a nest nearby, she's been here quite awhile).

There, she moved. Rather tall, huh? Seems she has more appendages -- two I think, with dangling smaller appendages, many of them -- see them swinging as she moves along, rather rapidly -- oh, now I see the other one. It's hard to see much, looking down through the trees like this.