Irene

Chad, suited up in stylish Icelandic rain gear.

After arriving back home on the last Amtrak train to New York on Saturday, I was greeted by the cheery, although somewhat frenzied scene of our weekly farmer's market at Fort Greene Park. Young families shopping for produce offered me a special kind of reassurance that I hadn't lost my mind by rushing back before the storm.  Chad and I finished stocking up and headed home to make our final preparations.


And then, we waited. 


It began to rain steadily late in the afternoon, but even as we made our way toward sleep for the night, the wind still hadn't picked up much.  We learned that our windows, kept perpetually open in the warmer months, are actually quite effective by way of noise reduction, as we slept right through the "howling" wind reported by others in the area.  Chad got up twice to check things out, but we slept quite well and woke early to survey the results of Irene: (from our window) lots of small debris, soggy ground.

Later in the day, as it became clear that the storm had passed, we decided to explore the neighborhood.
The streets were littered with leaves and twigs punctuated by the occasional downed branch and even a couple of small trees, which always makes me sad.  Playgrounds were under a few inches of water, and windows were taped*.  We made our way to Fort Greene Park to survey any arboreal damage there, and found the most interesting storm relic by far.  The hollowed out limb of a very large tree near the southeast entrance of the park made for a nice little hive for a colony of honeybees.  It turns out, however, that it was also left so weakened as not to survive Irene's high winds.  The hive was split in two, it would seem, with the majority of the colony protecting the queen high in the remnants of their home.  We're concerned for those poor little guys and curious as to where they will go next and how they will get there.   I feel sure that my bee keeping friend Gabrielle could capture them, but I do believe her hives are full.

 How did you weather the storm?  Hopefully safely.

*Listening to the play-by-play on WNYC, we laughed as one expert taught us that taping windows is actually entirely ineffective, stating: "the only thing that taping your windows on Saturday will ensure is that you'll spend the better part of Sunday scraping it off again".  Cute.

Maine

Bexx was a beautiful bride!

berry picking in Hopewell Junction

A couple of weeks ago, through cool and misting weather, the girls made a small morning pilgrimage north to Fishkill Farms.  After an immediate cider doughnut fix, we made our way through the fields, scavenging the last blueberries of the season on our way to harvest the first blackberries.  We stopped also at the nectarine orchard and filled our sacks. 


It was such a nice jaunt out of the city, and we were back by one o'clock.  The next day I made an improvised jam and quickly preserved the stuff before heading out of town.

 Recipe (all quantities are estimates):


10 nectarines, washed and roughly diced with skin on
1 T lemon juice
1 1/2 c sugar


Cook over low heat, stirring often, until liquid gels.*
Spoon into sterilized jar and seal.


*I test this by dipping a cold spoon in the mix and letting it cool to determine the desired consistency.

Adventure Woman and the Honey Hole

adventure chad.

 

After descending a densely wooded trail in the hills of rural Vermont, Adventure People find themselves beside a rushing mountain river.  The water is a deep rusty orange, but clear (and cold).  Scramble over a band of large boulders, and one gets their first glimpse of the Honey Hole; a deep cut in the river bottom situated idyllically beside a smooth lounge-like rock, perfect for taking in some sun, the smell of virgin forest, and the indescribable feeling of finding oneself happily alone in the world.  This is a sweet and desolate location for two would-be bathers on a hot summer afternoon, which is why we return there whenever we can, and why on these unbearable summer city days, this place sticks in my mind like the tar below my feet.

in memoriam

Fannie, the eighteen-year-old feline companion to my Uncles Greg and Joe, passed away last week, and we share with them the sense of deep loss that often accompanies the death of a cherished pet.  After all, these little beasties warm our beds and our hearts, and we come to love them as we love any member of the family, with all their quirks and eccentricities.

Just over three years ago, Chad and I lost our dear friend, Luna the Cat.  Luna, like Fannie, was exceptional.  She was well traveled, and radiated personality.  She had a special fondness for yogurt, showers, and, more traditionally, loved to lay in the grass and climb trees.  She was an excellent hunter, and once frightened me with a gift of a star nosed mole (I was sure it was a mutant).  She did not like my singing, and was known to lash out physically and vocally when subjected to it.

The night of her death, I dreamed that I was eating lunch at an outdoor restaurant in Manhattan with Chad.  I spotted her crossing the street and watched her enter a large hotel.  Alarmed that she was outdoors in the city, I chased after her and tried to catch her and bring her back to safety.  I followed her through corridors, on elevators, and through the streets of the West Village, but she always managed to stay just out of my reach.  Tired and frustrated, my dream ended with me walking sadly defeated away from her, having finally realized that she didn't want to be caught.

I woke up feeling deeply unnerved in the small, unfurnished room I was sharing with Chad who I was visiting while he completed an artist's residency in Montana. I had dropped Luna off at "camp" at my parents house two days earlier.   I was unable to fall back to sleep after that dream, and so I was awake to receive the tearful 4 a.m. phone call from my mother telling me that Luna had been found sleeping on the kitchen floor that morning, but could not be roused.  She had passed away.

We miss Luna tremendously still, despite the less than recent addition of two very amazing man-cats, who are special in their own rights.  She was special to us in the way that animals tend to become for childless families, and our bond with her surpassed what is typically understood by "non cat" people.  This was true for Fannie and her humans, as well.

Today I was woken early by a gentle knocking at my door.  Our upstairs neighbor couldn't resist sharing a discovery made this morning while watering the garden;  a stray mama nursing her two babies in the shade of an arborvitae.   She brought them water and Chad brought out some food later this morning, which mama cautiously accepted.   The bond that connects us to the animal kingdom endures on and on.

notes from beyond - part II

July 8 - 11

notes from beyond

 

July 2 - 3