you're gonna rise up singing

Summertime, and the livin' is easy, fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high.....one of these mornings you're gonna rise up singing, then you'll spread your wings and you'll take to the sky.  —Summertime from the Gershwins' Porgy and Bess, lyrics by DuBose Heyward.

midnight wind, a howling and demanding wind, sucked air and tent fabric in, and then, in giant bursts, expelled them again, displacing oxygen like the lungs of a colossus, or a bellows of cosmic proportions. this was no weakling storm lashing at us during the height of summertime on a beach on prince edward island.

we were camping in the dunes on a lonely stretch of that lovely island in the late 80's, a thing unheard of in the united states due to strict dune preservation measures and laws to protect piping plovers and other birds nesting in the sand (probably isn't allowed in canada anymore, either) when a mighty gale and torrential rain blew in and pulled several of our tent pegs and poles out of the sand, toppling one side of the tent. needless to say, we survived in the tent (but of course in the tent....we would never abandon our campsite and head for the nearest hotel, well, not on that camping trip anyway), and the kids had great tales to tell when they got back to school.

a beach made of sand or pebbles or a bold rocky shore or any up close and personal view of the sea—doesn't matter where it is as long as it's not mobbed—i'd travel a distance to find a sea view like that.

where you'll find me in the summertime—where i'd like to find myself—could be the wild and blustery shore of embleton beach in northumberland in the north of england (where the signs on the motorway pointing you in a northerly direction actually say THE NORTH, and going south it's THE SOUTH). the huge, imposing, romantic ruins of dunstanburgh castle (this ground felt the likes of john of gaunt, and the wars of the roses) in the distance beyond the golf course didn't look that far, but as i walked on the beach i realized they were farther away than i thought. that walk was a long time ago, way back in 2004; i have every intention of walking there again.

or it could be on fox island, a hill of granite ledges and boulders—and not much else—deposited by glaciers, only accessible at low tide in phippsburg, maine. climbing and poking around up there is an annual thing i like to do to mark and celebrate the arrival—the essence—of summer. the rocks, wearing skirts of sticky seaweed, periwinkles and barnacles, show off exposed backs and arms and thighs tattooed with colorful lichens.

seagulls do a lot of screaming, and they'll steal your picnic lunch—i've even seen them tugging on tote bag and backpack zippers—if you don't watch out. have to keep an eye on the tide, too; it looks harmless but it's not. i leave enough time to get back when the tide turns, and i stay on the sandbar. a tempting shortcut beckons through the water, yet even for a strong swimmer who doesn't mind cold water, it is not recommended since the swirling waves can pull you under and away. if fog rolls in, foghorns—like the one at seguin island and another one at pond island—are some of my favorite sounds of summer—eerie and forlorn, but wonderful, if you like that kind of thing.

remembered beaches—crane, plum island, embleton, jasper, reef bay, singing sands, goose cove, sea glass, crescent, reid, kitty hawk, higgins, pink, seawall, tarpon bay, popham, gulfside, bamburgh—and all the beaches in between with names i can no longer recall; names forgotten, adrift, blown away as if by a distant sea breeze, but to whose shores i will always return in the sweet lullaby of memory, smiling and singing a little song of summer.

~ photo of the dunstanburgh castle ruins by ed montalvo.

island syllables

a few words spoken, or unspoken—but always in my head—during the lazy winter vacation days on sanibel. i'm in maine again, but recalling these simple syllables will keep me warm for a long time:

barefoot       lazy

waves          sunrise

iced tea        oysters

hibiscus         beer

sunset          SPF

crabs            sand

towel           waves

starfish         breezy

salty             iced water

pelicans       palm trees

waves          dolphins

swimming    tide

fish              calamari
reading         fishing 

seashells      waves

barbecue      laughter

herons          ibis

green            blue

sighs             happy

sunshine       waves

surf               walking

tide pools      sweatshirt

family           together
flip-flops     ocean     

into the teeth of the sea

i look back to where my mother set up our beach chairs. the hot sand is covered with a sea of colorful striped beach umbrellas. our own red, yellow and green umbrella is out there somewhere, but i can't find it. they all look the same to me. (one day—could it have been this day?—i got lost on the beach amidst all those confusing stripes, but my mother found me before i wandered too far away from our place on the sand.)

i squeeze my mother's hand. i am so little. one of my earliest memories is this day at the beach. we are walking toward the water, toward the waves. don't let go of my hand. don't let go of my hand. i am thinking those words. do i say them to her?

it seems as if we have been walking for a long time. i am tired. i notice the curvy lines the mollusk-filled, lettered olive shells create, leaving wet sand messages just like i do with a stick. i am sweaty and i want to cool off in the ocean. suddenly i see the waves. they are huge and frothy, white and noisy. my mother senses i am nervous so she encourages me by leaning down, looking into my eyes, and smiling.

"the waves are fun, you'll see. i'll lift you over them and you'll be flying along the water like a dolphin. you'll be at home in the sea like a starfish or a seahorse. and i promise i won't ever let you go," she says.

i am afraid the first time i meet the monster's foaming mouth, the waves like teeth noisily chomping at me—i wonder how hungry is the sea?—ready to snatch me up and swallow me down as i foolishly wade straight into them. a big one, a real soaker, gets me, throws its big mouth over my head trying to devour me, but my mother never lets go.

that was long ago and this is today. today i have no fear of the sea, i have only a deep, unquenchable longing for its beauty, its seductive power, its vast wildness. as much as the sea changes, turning by degrees from calm to roaring, rolling, churning, it also remains the same, an endless, comforting, back and forth—a sea time shuffle across the shore. i like that.

when i am on the island i open the sliding doors to welcome the sound and the smell of the sea into the house. the waves no longer look scary, but instead have turned into broad, toothy grins smiling up at me. the sea rushes in and does not attempt to eat me up, but greets me kindly and fills me to overflowing with peace.

salty breathless love

solitary beach—for now. winter vacation. full moon, setting. chilly.
hoodie zipped up, hands stuffed in pockets. walk quickly to stay warm.
prevent the nippy air from wiggling through the outer layers, creeping
crawling, sneaking in. dawn. orbs, orbs, orbs.
one orb setting, another rising. panting now.
warming, yes. stop. take a picture. this is exactly—
untouched, no tinkering with nature—what the lens saw:
surrounded by reds, a melted butter sun pouring out a bright path
across the dark water as if to say this is the way.

stoop. pick up a seashell, a cross-barred venus.
then others: lightning whelk, angel wing. mysterious forms
touching my fingers, what's lying at my feet now, and tomorrow—
here there is no time, only tide, a low full moon tide—
horseshoe crabs, starfish, heart-shaped cockles, elegant yet
exuding elemental salt, pungent as morning breath and body odor
year after year left by the sea, they, no longer alive yet beautiful; they,
bearing the story of the waves, the sand
—they, breathlessly telling.

beach morning

the sands at popham beach have been eaten up by the hungry ocean. the wide dunes and dune trails used to lead you from the parking lot to the beach, but now they are gone, replaced by pitifully small banks of sand where park rangers have piled unattractive tree trunks and limbs hoping to secure what sand is left. the same powerful storms that wiped out the beach also pulled the quaint, wooden, open-air bathroom/shower facilities into the sea. they rebuilt it out of drab cinderblock.

on monday it was cloudy—a great day for a hike on the beach. the inland temperatures were in the high 80's, but here it was 75 with a good breeze. to me the beach is best when it's cloudy. i don't like to roast in the blazing sun.

i walked out along the curving sand to the granite mound that is fox island. the tide was coming in, but there was still time for me to explore a little and safely get back over the sand bar to the mainland before the bar was surrounded and then covered by the treacherous swirling waters of the 2 p.m. high tide.

at popham you need to leave the island about three hours before high tide unless you don't mind being stranded on the bald, rocky dome until the tide turns.

popham beach at low tide is a beautiful, unique beach to explore.

at high tide it is almost entirely swallowed by salty waves.

see you under the banyan tree

this spring when we were down on the gulf of mexico, we ate at a small place just above the beach. the outdoor dining area was situated on a casual outdoor deck one step above the sand. in the middle of the deck stood a large, shady banyan tree.

i've traveled a bit and i have eaten in a lot of restaurants, but this simple deck was one of the best locations in which i have ever eaten dinner. the food was nothing special, although they did serve some nice wine, yet with pelicans, great egrets, white ibises, little blue herons, and yellow-crowned night herons for company (and my husband, too!) who can complain? oh, and did i forget to mention? as the shorebirds swooped in the wind, the sun eased toward the horizon against a backdrop of yellows, oranges, pinks and reds, and plonked into the sea right before our eyes! fantastic!

and then there is the majestic banyan. banyans, a kind of fig tree, are all over florida. no two are even remotely alike. i love banyan trees - how they are dependent on fig wasps for pollination; how they send their trunk-like roots down to the ground from high in the air; how those strangler roots (hence the tree's other name, strangler fig) can envelope any object or structure where they germinate, including the banyan tree itself, in their thick, twisting, snake-like tangle; how the spread of the tree's branches can cover a few acres; how they can grow to be one hundred feet tall, six-hundred feet in diameter; and how they can live for two thousand years. a most interesting tree.

just think, alexander the great is believed to have camped with an army of seven thousand men under the sheltering branches of one banyan tree. how many trees can claim such a thing?

hundreds of years ago in india the umbrella-like banyan provided a cool spot out of the blazing sun for hindu merchants and traders to conduct their business. the tree's comforting shade was also a popular location for village meetings and community gatherings. the custom still continues. no need for directions; simply announce i'll see you tonight under the banyan tree. i wish our town had its official center under a mammoth tree instead of a town hall, at least in the warm weather.

the banyan - the national tree of india, believed to fulfill wishes, a sacred symbol of everlasting life - climbing up to the sky. with its seemingly unending growth and the gigantic spread of its lush branches, it is as if the banyan tree is reaching toward heaven, yearning to brush its boughs against the vaulting blue expanse of eternity.

an interior life

after a long, dark, cold maine winter, during the worst of which i must confess i was often in my pajamas right after dinner, the longing to be outside in warm sunshine is almost unbearable. i am sick of the furnace rumbling on and on under my feet, sending up hot, dry dusty air to attack my sinuses. in the middle of winter i am startled at night by a bleak apparition as i walk past the living room's wall of long black window glass, an apparition which turns out to be my winter self  - dry, chapped skin, sun-starved eyes, runny nose... is that really me? - mockingly reflected back.

to be outside with the sun's rays injecting my bones with a kind of heady medicine, and sensing my winter-weary body thawing and rejoicing as it becomes nicely baked, and to feel the deep heat pulsing in my neck and back and arms and legs, grasping and massaging, is pure relief. it is good.

a trip down south into the nourishing moist tropical breezes helps me get my winter bones supple again, smoothes my flakey skin, calms my stuffy nose, and clears my head. to be living in the outside world, to be out beyond the walls of boxed-in buildings and into natural light and warm open air, helps my inside being come alive to fresh beginnings, new ideas, and rubs a spark of creative flame.

the life where i live alone in my head with only my thoughts for company can be rich if i tend to it, cultivate it; i enjoy quiet, reflective time. so some days i turn off, tune out, the exterior distractions - phones, computers, music, the chatter, the running around, the go go go world, and focus on what is inside - to tune in to the inside of myself. to hear myself think. to call up some pensive contemplation. drink tea. read/walk/write. we are, after all, mostly alone with our interior selves, even in a room filled with people. truthfully, this inside life needs care and attention. the natural world helps. and so i go there.

the sea beckons, ignites my mind, sends me on my way. i walk on the beach. wind and sun, sand and ocean. sparkling gems ride the surface of the water and pour into my soul a wealth of rising and falling feelings, buoyed up, spreading out, floating along. inspiration comes with the sighs of worn-out waves as they end their long voyage across the planet and disappear under the cover of the sand beneath my toes, which dig deeply, inquisitively, into the edge of the resting sea.....

under the pier

in winter, with everything on top of the pier boarded up for the season, to me the place to be was under the pier. on a fine, sunny, not-too-cold afternoon i took a look around down there on the underside of the historic wooden pier at old orchard beach. the tide was on its way in again, but still fairly low. i liked the white sea ice and the briney green growth on the wooden pilings, and the sound of the waves as they crashed and sent a glorious spray into the pilings at the end of the pier. the sand was light brown and smooth, startlingly clean - no rocks, shells, seaweed or debris of any kind -- no offerings from nature or man.

i looked left and then right, up and down the beach, and saw a few people, mostly couples and people with children, out enjoying the sunshine and fresh air. a young man and woman in their 20's walked past me as i took pictures under the pier. deep in conversation, they saw only each other. when they got to the other side and out of the pier's shadow they stopped, turned to each other, and leaned in. they spoke words lost on the wind and the woman buried her face on the man's jacket. her face rested just below his shoulder, pressed tight, secure and warm against his bones. she lifted her head and they slowly kissed and moved away together along the sand.

the first pier was built in this sand in 1898. it was 1770 feet long. through the years, countless northeasters and blizzards have damaged the pier; the great fire of 1907 destroyed the whole structure. it was rebuilt many times, and each time the pier was reduced in length, leaving today's pier, the 1980 version, at only about 500 feet.

the old apple orchard on the hill (no longer in existence) for which the town was named, was an important landmark for sailors when sailing vessels dominated the seas. today the main part of old orchard beach has become, sadly, a little run down, a little worn out. tacky tourist shops and amusement park rides dominate the scene on the beach.

in a bygone era, old orchard beach served as a holiday resort for america's rich and famous, a place where large homes and fancy inns welcomed them, and where thousands danced on the pier above the sparkling waves. there used to be a casino up on the pier, too. guy lombardo, rudy valle and duke ellington all visited old orchard beach years and years ago, when the pier was known as a glitzy hot spot of the night.

from where i stood underneath the pier, if i listened very closely, i could just make out the faint sounds, high above my head beyond the waves, of many shiny and glittery pairs of elegant evening shoes moving and twirling with the rhythm of the music on the old dance floor on the pier......

seashell art

large cockle, sailor's ear, and sea urchin shells were used by creative kids to come up with a delightful starfish to liven up sanibel's winter beach and give walkers more sights to take in and enjoy. the strong high tide even managed to deposit some debris and add its own artistic touch to the starfish located high up in the sand.

also this shellman, the island's version of a snowman, a bit old and disheveled at this point, was composed of sailor's ear, lucine, and a few sea urchin shells. what fun and amusement for those who put together these artistic creations and for those of us who happened to walk by them on the beach.....

hungry birds

brown pelicans in the morning. sanibel island, january, 2011.

ok, so now the days on sanibel start to flow together in my mind. no more day 1, day 2. etc. the excruciating schedule of events during our time on the island (long walks on the beach, staring at the ocean, observing the birds, writing in my little notebook, more long walks, shelling, swimming, hypnotic looking at and listening to the sea, more bird watching....you get the idea of how hectic things were) has made it impossible to remember exactly what happened on what day. therefore i will lead you through the island's delights as they come to me.

early one morning it started out rather chilly (50 degrees! ha! freezing, right? wait until i tell you what the temperature is like in maine-stay tuned!) and windy, and on that morning more pelicans than usual were engaged in a feeding frenzy. they dove into the ocean and flew away with mouths full of fish, only to return again to gorge themselves some more. trying to photograph the fast movements of the pelicans in flight was difficult. i tried, but not with much success.

later in the morning sandpipers in the surf and tropical ibises in the dune sunflowers were enjoying their own feasts. all these birds were so focused on devouring food they hardly looked up, and allowed me to get quite close. i guess they figured get it while the gettin's good.

sanibel island: day 2

 view of the rising sun through our bedroom window. sanibel island, january, 2011.

a glorious dawn lured me out of bed and onto the beach by 6:45. i had left the curtains open the night before, and i would definitely continue to do so, because this is the scene that greeted me every morning while i was still lying in bed. there was no wind; the air was warm and moist as i made my way downstairs, crossed a short stretch of lawn, hopped down a couple steps onto the beach, and then dug my toes in the sand.

the beach was practically empty. every morning at daybreak i found myself here, alone (the rest of the gang were still asleep upstairs), wandering along an almost deserted gulf for an hour or so. solitude is a lovely thing. your thoughts are given a chance to expand in uninterrupted silence. but really you aren't alone at all in such a place, and to be completely truthful nor is it always silent, with brown pelicans (only somewhat noisy when they roost and make their nests in trees during the march and april breeding seson), gulls (the really noisy residents of the island), terns, dolphins, sandpipers, plovers, starfish, crabs, sea cucumbers, and mollusks to keep you company.

later in the morning it would start to rain, and the rain would continue for most of the day, the only rainy day we had on the island. it stayed delightfully balmy and thundered intermittently. at one point, while i was sitting on the porch, it was difficult to distinguish between the distant thunder and the thrumming of the waves. the sound of the surf transformed into a sweet lullaby at night. my head would rest on the pillow, the droning of the whooshing sea would fill my ears, and i would be gently, slowly, transported into my dreams....

sanibel island: day 1



miles of seashell covered beach outside our door. sunset on the gulf of mexico, january, 2011.

there is florida, and then there is the other florida, namely, sanibel island. we arrived on sun-soaked sanibel a few hours before sunset. sanibel is a place unto itself. we are familiar with island life in maine (we have so many of them!) - quiet, unhurried, simple, existing apart from the rest of the hustle and bustle of life on the mainland. so it is on sanibel.

the tallest buildings on the island are four stories high, and there are just a few of those. one small grocery store and a few mom and pop markets supply the locals and tourists with needed provisions. the grocery store is hidden under dense shady tropical growth, and along the short path leading to the entrance there is a little courtyard with a bubbling fountain and squawking parrots.

sanibel shops and restaurants are clustered in what might be characterized as mini malls, but they are oh-so-quaint. little white and pastel colored wooden buildings on different levels, connected by stairs and decks, are nestled at different angles (never just parallel to the road) in lovely landscaping displaying palms and flowers and tiny ponds interspersed with winding pathways and an occasional small wooden bridge over the water.

there are no traffic lights on sanibel. two "main" roads bisect the island into north and south - periwinkle way and sanibel-captiva road. the rest of the island's few roads require very leisurely driving speeds. ha, you are forced to just RELAX behind the wheel. the northern part of sanibel island is almost entirely national wildlife refuge. we will visit the j.n. "ding" darling refuge in another post. more reading tomorrow. see you then!