Thursday, August 29, 2024

Shoreline Ruckus

Our summer shoreline is scenic, balmy, and sometimes noisy. It's gulls that add most of the sound effect. During mid-August the decibels ramp up when their youngsters are being weaned to feed themselves independently.

A Herring Gull and begging offspring

Halibut Point is not the origin place of this drama. The new generation was born and fledged on offshore nesting sites, islands off the coast. They have been fed prodigiously and have learned to fly. Now they're extending their worldly range to the continent‒to Halibut Point. They've flown here inexpertly, perhaps tentatively. The price of this freedom is to become self-supporting.

The loss of caretaking meals sets off a loud crisis as the juveniles follow their parents into the greater world. There are clamorous deals made along the way to bridge the necessities of survival.

The baleful eye of the parent

Parents begin to draw the line. They understand the ticking biological and seasonal clocks. Free lunches diminish. The youngsters beg vociferously.

Juvenile tern

About this time a young tern showed up on our shoreline, having managed to fly from its distant birthplace to Halibut Point.

It was at an intermediate stage of development like the young gulls, with decent flying skills but a bit short on fending for itself. Tired, hungry, and alone it came down to rest far from home.

Common Tern adult and juvenile

Out of the blue one of its parent arrived with a meal and some encouragement.

Plaintive pleading ensued like the desperate, doomsday cries of babies everywhere.

The adorable, inconsolable, single-minded offspring shrieked and hollered.

Its parent circled briefly with that ineffable grace chosen for the Massachusetts Audubon Society logo, and headed out to sea.


Thursday, August 22, 2024

I Told You Three Times!

 

"It's a stretch," said the Green Heron, settling into the simplified routine of post-parenthood.

"I  worked my beak to the bone providing for those fledglings and showing them the ways of the world."

"Now I can settle back in my own corner of the realm while the next generation finds theirs."

"After all, it's a big pond with plenty of fish for everybody. All the elements for a good life. We chose well."

"There's no need to feel crowded. Everybody understands."

"Wait a minute. What's that? One of those youngsters taking a territorial shortcut?"

"Ha. I guess he didn't believe me the first time. There aren't any shortcuts outside the nest."

"That's right. Get a good look around from up there and figure things out."

"Unbelievable! Back again? I already told him twice."

"I didn't plan to have to get rough about this, but enough is enough!"

"I'm TELLING YOU for the last time." And that did it.

"It's enough to ruffle a bird's feathers....Well, I might have pushed back a little myself at that age."




Thursday, August 15, 2024

The Enterprising Mockingbird

 

Mockingbirds are not afraid of being noticed. In fact they seem to like attention. They take to promontories to sing out their mimicries of as many other birds as possible.

In flight they show suddenly conspicuous wing patches on their otherwise drably colored bodies.

As with their vocal repertoire, these mockingbird displays leave us guessing about how far they take themselves seriously.

But there's no doubt of a predacious spirit when they put their performance gifts to work in business of the hunt.

Mockingbirds flash those wings to flush their prey. As far as I know it's a unique approach among stalkers.

Its 'startle and snatch' technique has just worked successfully in this pursuit.

In the season of parenting the mockingbird has extra mouths to feed. 

It often perches conspicuously on its way back to the nest but is careful not to reveal the nest's location.

With its worldly duties in order the mockingbird returns to its vital job of singing.


Thursday, August 8, 2024

"To a Windhover"

Windhover is a British term for our Kestrel that reaches us through a sonnet written by Gerard Manley Hopkins in 1887. That name weaves together various ways of experiencing the bird: with childlike wonder, scientific awe, spiritual loftiness, and mastery of the hunt. The Kestrel is our smallest falcon. You might notice it perched on a wire, zooming through the air, or hovering on the wind while surveying open ground for prey. 

Gerard Manley Hopkins was an aspiring Jesuit. He opened his tribute "To a Windhover" with a rush of worldly and other-worldly images. 

I caught this morning morning's minion, king- 

  dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding  

Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding 

High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing....

A Kestrel, or Windhover

This male Kestrel perched high on a branch above Halibut Point is patterned as though borrowing freely from a pallet of exotic pheasant plumage.

Its nature is not at all that of a pheasant as we see when Hopkins' verse follows the falcon into flight: 

In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,

  As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding 

  Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding 

Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!  

The Kestrel's mission is existential, not recreational. In its being it fuses the qualities of the wild. Although only the size of a dove it is a bird of prey. 

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here 

  Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion

Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!  

Kestrel chasing a Flicker

The poem conveys a Samurai's reverence for the vivid flash. Life crystallizes in the transcendent, the momentary, the momentous. 

  No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion 

Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, 

  Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion. 

The ability to hover is a rare achievement among animals as large as Kestrels. They manage it sometimes with strong rapid wingbeats and sometimes, with perfect aerial balance, by harnessing invisible forces in the sky.

Soaring birds typically spiral in great circles by riding the rising air currents of thermals. Kestrels can stay fixed briefly over one location by heading directly into the wind. They might appear to be motionless but are finessing elemental energies by intricate positioning of the feathers on their wings and tail, while keeping their heads perfectly stationary to increase hunting efficiency. They defy gravity until they turn it to their advantage in a purposeful swoop.

With just such inspirations Ina and Herb Hahn founded a performing and creative arts camp for girls adjacent to Halibut Point in June of 1968. Ina wrote, "We decided to name the place after one of our favorite poems, "To a Windhover," written by Gerard Manley Hopkins. The "windhover" in Hopkins' poem is a kestrel, a small falcon much like  our seagull, notable for hovering in the air with its head against the wind. Its flight is described in the poem as symbolic of the soaring of man's imagination and the spiritual quest that informs great art."

The dream has been expanded under the leadership of their daughter Lisa Hahn. Dancers continue taking stage at Windhover to reach for their fullest choreography of stories and themes in movement, often accompanied by music.

Lisa says, "Windhover Performing Art Center is more than just dance now. It’s theater, music, dance, poetry and spiritual retreats. And it’s a welcoming community space where folks can gather before shows for picnics. This weekend is a rare treat on Fri and Sat evening when famed choreographer and dancer Margie Gillis & Company from Montreal performs under the tent at 7:00pm rain or shine. Come witness the best of modern dance this weekend and experience the soaring and awe of the poet in the Windhover poem as he describes his feelings. It’s about 'the majesty of the thing!'"



Thursday, August 1, 2024

Daybreak

Who owns the night? For us as visual creatures it's a time of restoration, imagination, procreation. We can't see our usual worldly business in the dark. Dreams, mysteries, and rest prevail in an unguarded sphere. We want to feel safe and, perhaps, exhilarated.

Let daring thoughts come.

The neighbor's cock crows at the faintest hint of dawn. A cardinal in the canopy announces matins. Crepuscular life begins navigating with outsized eyes and ears on the path into Halibut Point.

Gulls gathered for a freshwater bath on the quarry pond kibitz about the prospects of the day.

The first sunlight coming over the palisades warms white plumage with fiery dawn colors.

 

It's too early for precision in the mind, but a grand time for mental profusion.

It's a time to let questions linger at the border of knowing.

Shadows and silhouettes inform the journey of the heart.

The quiet hour affirms rituals acknowledging the miracle of love.

Certainly there will be novelties to discover and delight and distinguish this day.

The light that energizes all life  reveals iota by iota an infinite pageant.

The light is itself a terrain, a promise, a place to be.