Change is a given
Living in the Northeast, the change of the seasons is dramatic. We are inching toward 16 hours of light. The hundreds of Brandt geese who winter here have flown to the Arctic where they breed. I will miss their ruk-ruk call, their handsome plumage—black tuxedos with a white bowties—and the way they ride out the waves during winter storms. A life lesson there.
In their place, our summer guests have arrived. Egrets—great with festive white plumage and snowy with their golden slippers. Blue herons—great and little. The egrets and herons stand statue-like along the shore and watch, then pounce on an unsuspecting fish. They are silent, unless disturbed and often alone. However, if a school of fish assembles, some silent sign goes out and egrets and cormorants gather—a feeding frenzy. Dozens of cormorants dive and egrets swoop chasing their meals. Lots of splashing and ruckus until silence returns.
The osprey are here. We watch 5 nests for Rhode Island Audubon. First the male arrives to build or fix-up the nest, then the female, then the pair work on the nest together. Eggs are laid. In one nest, we can hear the chicks, but the nest is on the top of an athletic light pole in the soccer park, and it is too high for an inside view. In another nest, we have seen the heads of 2 chicks and have watched a parent breaking up bites of fish for the young. Two of the nests, also in the athletic field where we walk, have built their nest, one a double-decker, but no parent is sitting on the eggs. We have decided they are playing house; osprey pair off but don’t raise young for the first few years. Of course, our cell-tower next is impossible to assess, except that a pair is living there. When the eggs hatch, the bay becomes much busier with the osprey fishing. There are hungry youngsters to feed. We watch the dramatic dive and plunge to catch a fish in the talons—a breathtaking site. Reportedly three dives for everyy success. A life lesson in courage, persitence and trust.
The season of jellyfish has come and gone. The Lion Mane, with a reddish-orange "mane" of tentacles, hence the name swim into the bay during the spring when the water is cold and leave when it warms.
The horse-shoe crab season was different this year. They generally climb out of the ocean depths to mate and lay eggs between the May and June new and full moons. I’ve written about them before. There were fewer this spring. Perhaps it was because the winter storms re-engineered the beach—more rock and shells and less sand. Ah, life as change.
And then Reed and I are aware of the changes of our aging body: More brown spots and achy joints, less endurance and more patience.
Recently, I had the pleasure of meeting my new grandnephew, Cameron. Such a joy to see and hold new life. The perfect ten fingers and ten toes, the smile as he gazes at my face. The innocence and the wonder of beholding him and wondering who he will be, what he will love.
Wishing you a wonderful summer. Watching nature’s changes grounds me. While change is a given, growth is optional.