Our Purple Tree, Spring 2012

There's a purple-flowering tree in our yard. I think, technically, it is called a Redbud. All I know is that each spring it goes through a purple phase before turning green.

Walking Up A Pair of Waterfall-Filled Gorges

I had a day to kill in Ithaca, New York, this weekend. Daughter #1 had a day of training scheduled the day after pick-up from Villanova. We drove straight from Radnor in PA to Ithaca on Friday and I spent Saturday wandering around two of New York's Waterfall-themed state parks.

First up was Taughannock Falls State Park, north of Ithaca and above Cayuga Lake.


Just south of Ithaca, and distressingly close to a Home Depot and other big-box retail, is Buttermilk Falls State Park.

At the Beach With Honu

There's a sand beach at Waikoloa on the Big Island. It fronts Anaehoomalu Bay and includes an open stretch of sand, portions shaded by palms, and a series of sandy coves separated by small volcanic rock peninsulas; some filled to the waterline by complex trees.

We spent a quiet afternoon swimming and sunning. At one point, we took a walk away from the populated part of the beach and came upon a group of green sea turtles -- Honu in Hawaiian -- sunning themselves on a shelf of volcanic pebbles hidden behind a lava peninsula.

We didn't want to disturb them, so we kept back a respectful distance and just snapped a few pictures.

There were also several turtles hanging around in the lagoon at the Hilton where we stayed. Several times, we took kayaks out and visited them. There's nothing better than drifting quietly while watching one of these lovely animals flying around beneath you.

What 's Under All That Water?

We took one afternoon of our time in Hawaii for an afternoon snorkeling trip to Kealakekua Bay at the southern end of the Kona coast. We went on the Fair Wind II which sails out of Keauhou Bay. This is a lovely little port with a boat ramp, small beach and docks from which local kids were playing and diving.

The cruise from Keauhou to Kealakekua takes about an hour, sailing along a rocky coast that features a shelf of old lava that was pummelled by waves. We were looking for dolphins but were visited by a giant manta ray instead.

The girls had picked up a cheap underwater camera and tried to capture some pictures of fish. The water was just a bit too murky for that camera but we did get some underwater action shots of ourselves. This picture of Christina is the best. There's also an unfortunate one of me swimming below the girls.

We had a great time. The people with Fair Winds were wonderful hosts. Their boat is well equipped for diving and has water slides and a high platform. Both Christina and I tried the platform. Water turns out to be pretty hard when you approach it from way up high.

Kealakekua Bay is a broad open place towered-over by a high lava cliff that has been crumbling into the water from time to time leaving boulder islands here and there. On the north is a flat area where Captain Cook was killed by the Hawaiians in 1779. There is now a monument on the shore near where we snorkeled.

This was such a cool trip that I argued, unsuccessfully, that we turn around and go back again later in the week. It also reminds me that future vacation plans should probably also include snorkeling opportunities.

Remembering a Grandparent's Adventures

There was an undersea volcanic eruption in the western Pacific, near Tonga, this week. The Boston Globe's The Big Picture offered a set of fascinating photographs of an island being born from the eruption. The image at right is from that collection.

Scrolling through these pictures brought my mind back to a series of letters written by my Grandmother in which she described a similar eruption that sprang up in the Galapagos Islands, in the eastern Pacific, off the coast of South America, in the spring of 1925.

My grandmother, Isabel Cooper, was an artist. Starting in 1917, she made seven voyages with the naturalist William Beebe to Central and South America, and surrounding equatorial seas, to study animals and plants.

This was in the days before color photography. My grandmother, as the expeditions' “scientific artist,” produced detailed color paintings of the flora and fauna of the Amazonian jungle, the Galapagos Islands, and the open ocean. The image at left is from The Arcturus adventure: an account of the New York Zoological Society's first oceanographic expedition (1926, Putnum). It shows my grandmother at work on the Arcturus, painting a live fish.

During the 1925 voyage, she wrote a series of letters to my grandfather, Charles Mahaffie, who she had met the previous winter and with whom she would carry on a nearly three and a half year courtship – mostly by letter. We are lucky to have these letters in a collection edited by my father.

On Easter Sunday (April 12) of 1925, she wrote from the Arcturus:

I have put in some peculiar Easters: fire at sea five years ago; shooting rapids of the Mazaruni River last year; etc. But this time is the prize. What do you suppose has gone and happened out here in this “ash heap of the world?” Blooming volcano has broken loose, erupting all over the place. Rather decent of it to pick just this time to do it, as we are probably the only people anywhere around for a few hundred miles to observe it.

They had been anchored in Darwin Bay, at Tower Island (now Isla Genovesa), when “the night watch noticed a faint glow in the direction of Albemarle Island [Isla Isabela], about sixty miles away.” When morning came they began a voyage of a day and night, across the span of the Galapagos Islands, to reach the volcano.

We got to the scene of the eruption early this morning, after the wildest possible night. You couldn't sleep. It was too exciting, steaming slowly toward the first active volcano that any of us had seen.

They watched the eruption from off-shore. I think it differed from this week's eruption in that it was on an existing island and featured less explosive activity, but perhaps more lava flow. A small group went ashore and trekked close to the crater. That was probably a foolish thing to do, as she describes their return “in very bad shape.”

Legs full of cramps, from walking on hot lava, I suppose. And all symptoms of bad thirst, tongues swollen, etc. They finished their canteens in the first mile. They ran into some pretty poisonous gases, which they couldn't smell, but which made them sick.

In spite of this, she had wanted to go ashore, if only at the edge of the island, but was not allowed. And she wanted to try to capture what she was seeing:

I tried to make a sketch of the thing: memory sketch of the red clouds and generally hellish aspect at night, as well as the really beautiful colors of the craters by daylight, but have arrived at the conclusion that it can't be painted. Usually takes a good whang on the head to convince me that I can't accomplish something that appeals to me to do, but this time I give up.

They watched the volcano through Easter night and into the following Monday morning before returning to their work. At midnight she wrote:

We have spent the whole evening looking at the crater – flames popping up here and there and most incredible clouds rising out of it and turning all kinds of red. The moon is just about two days past the full, but enormously bright, and adds to the general strange effect.

It's a large world we live on. We in the internet age are used to seeing images instantly from around the globe. We have become used to what in earlier generations would have been strange, fascinating, and special.

My grandmother's time was modern, of course; the voyages of the Arcturus were transmitted by radio (The “wireless”) and reported in the newspapers in New York. But these were just the “when” and “where” details and brief descriptions. The bright colors and fantastic shapes of alien plants, animals and fish needed the work of artists to be brought back to the home-bound public.

So as we page through yet another collection of photos from the other side of the world, or watch a YouTube video from some far frontier, we should try to remember that, at one time, even the other end of our nation was an expedition away.

What we see as “a small world, after all” is really a vast place deserving of respect and wonder. We should not let the ease of access we have inherited blind us to the size and diversity of our planet.

These Birds Have Flown

The mourning dove who nested this spring in one of our hanging plants has left for the summer, taking her chick with her.

The dove appeared in the hanging basket back in May. She was well-hidden while the flowers were alive. When the flowers died -- I didn't want to water them with the nest in there -- she lost her camouflage. At that point, we could see that she had two eggs to hatch.

In the last week or so, a chick appeared and started to put on weight. We watched it carefully. It didn't take long before it was ready to head out. Now our birds are gone.

We found the second egg, unhatched, in the nest. We're not sure why this egg didn't make it. Maybe it wasn't properly fertilized? An unfortunate mutation? Whatever it is, we have to assume that nature knows what it is doing.

Mazeltov! Mama Bird!

We have a baby. The dove that has nested in one of the hanging plants outside our front door has at least one chick.

There were two eggs, though, and we're not sure what has become of the other. It could be that it hasn't hatched, or the chick is well-hidden by Mom. Or maybe that egg just didn't make it. Nature.

A Hot Day in Boston

I took a long, hot walk through Boston on the Saturday of my stay in Massachusetts. I wanted to see a bit of the Freedom Trail and wander around Boston Common.

I was staying in a hotel that straddled the Mass Pike (I-90) in Newton. The nearest T (subway) station was about 2.5 miles away in Newton Center. The hotel staff recommended a $10 cab ride, but I had a whole day to kill, so I decided to hoof-it. I had a nice walk up through a very respectable residential area, past a private school or two, and into a nifty little downtown area.

The T is comfortable and fast and takes you right into the center or Boston. I got off at the municipal building (featuring a big "Beat LA"
banner in support of the Celtics) and walked along parts of the Freedom Trail. This winds through Boston, old and new, past many of the places where the United States of America was born. There are historic taverns, and statues, and several very old graveyards hosting American heroes and ancient enigmas.

I followed trail to Boston Common, a 50-acre park in the center of the city that dates from the 1630s. It is the oldest city park in the US and fronts the Massachusetts State House, which also proudly wore Celtics green. The Common was filled with picnickers and tourists, Tai Chi'ers and free-speech activists, and an old-format religious group singing and preaching to a crowd that included listeners and ignorers in about equal measure.

A part of Boston Common is the Public Garden, added in the 1800s and featuring a 4-acre pond with ducks and swans. The pond is bridged by what is said to be the world's smallest suspension bridge. On this day, it was host to an accordionist busker. At the far end is an equestrian statue of George Washington.

There was a watercolor painting workshop under way in the Garden. I kept wandering past painters hard at work and wise enough to stay in the shade.

The loveliest thing I saw was a pair of swans nesting next to the pond. I'd never seen swans nesting before. The nest was carefully fenced-off and folks watched from a respectful distance.

Leaving the Public Garden, I headed down Boylston Street to Copley Square where an older building was admiring its reflection in a newer neighbor. And there was a fountain in which families were cooling themselves and a group on a self-advertised field trip provided the music.

I caught the T back out to Newton Center and strolled back down the hill to my hotel, a float in the hotel's tiny pool, a light supper and so to bed.

We Have Eggs

The bird who has taken up residence in one of our hanging plants this spring was off the nest when I finished mowing the lawn this morning. I took the opportunity for a peek and found a pair of eggs in the nest.

I must say that I was a bit worried about where the nesting bird might be. I worry that it will abandon the nest, which is quite close to our front door and so sees lots of human traffic. But the bird was back and perched on the eggs just now, so I will not worry.

With luck, we'll soon get a view of very young birds. I wonder what sort of birds these are?

UPDATE: Thanks go out to Rich, our Honest Hypocrite, for pointing out that the bird nesting on our front porch is a Mourning Dove.

We Have Guests, Again

A bird has taken over one of the two hanging flower baskets we have outside our front door this spring. It's the second time we've played host to basket-nesting birds.

We first noticed that the flowers in one basket were looking a bit more stressed than those in the other. On closer inspection, we found the beginnings of a nest and we started to see a bird coming and going.

For the last few days, this bird has been sitting there steadily; I assume there are eggs under there.

I think we'll happily sacrifice the flowers for a few new birds.

Rainy-Day Tourism

I'm amazed to find myself at Thursday evening with no blog posts since the start of the week. The NSGIC Conference can be a brutal week, with days filled completely with meetings and information. I've had little time or energy left to post.

It is important to break away if possible and get a stretch. A small group of us took a few hours Tuesday afternoon to visit the Olbrich Botanical Gardens here in Madison.

It was raining fairly steadily, but we took the umbrellas provided by the Botanical Society and wandered around the gardens until the rain grew too heavy. The gardens boast a variety of landscaping styles. There is a sunken garden, a rose garden, and a formal garden. There are pathways and trellises.

In one corner, a close-packed collection of small plants rests on a pedestal. Two kaleidoscopes focus-in on the plants.

Toward the back, across a bridge, a traditional Thai Pavilion sits serenely among reflecting pools.

It was very pretty. But after a short visit we gamely headed back to the Conference hotel and into more discussions of geospatial data and IT coordination.

Now it is Friday evening and we have just completed our final meeting: the first gathering of a new Board of Directors. Tomorrow morning I have an early flight through Chicago and back to Baltimore. I should be able to get back to Delaware in plenty of time for Sussex Tech's football game against Cape Henlopen High. I'll get to sit with Karen in the stands and watch our daughter play bass with the Tech marching band.

Luckily, There are Sunsets

Life can be hard. Work doesn't always go well. School can be a challenge.

There are tooth-aches. And head-aches.

Some days are diamonds and some days bring the sort of almost geologic pressure that scientists tell us creates diamonds.

We're not always going to be happy.

On the other hand, if you keep your eyes open, there's often something very pretty to see.

Vacation Report #2: At Watkins Glen

On Wednesday morning, we headed west from the Binghamton area towards Elmira, then north to Watkins Glen at the southern end of Seneca Lake, one of the Finger Lakes. We wanted to take an hour or two to wander through Watkins Glen State Park.

Watkins Glen includes a deep canyon cut through layers of sedimentary rock by a stream that now drops down a series of waterfalls. Several trails wind along the stream and along the top of the canyon.

It's a lovely spot.

After a quick lunch, we drove north along the west shore of Seneca Lake through New York's wine country. We picked-up the New York State Throughway (I-80) at Geneva and headed west to Niagara Falls.

A Busy Day Off

I took the day off from work today. Colleen had a normal school day, but Christina was off from school for a teacher in-service day. Karen is out of state at a Music Therapy Conference.

I spent the day just as I wish I could spend most days. I saw my daughter off to a fun day at a friend's house. I did some back-road exploring on a sunny day. And I took a brisk hike in the pine woods at Cape Henlopen State Park.

Christina's friend Morgan had invited a small core of fifth-grade girls over for a day of crafts and cake and fun at her home north of Milton. So, after getting Colleen off to high school, and a quiet morning of the news and the laundry, I ran Christina up to Morgan's house.

I knew she was in for a fine day when Morgan and her young sister Emma came bouncing out their front door as we pulled into the drive. They were, quite literally, jumping for joy.

So, I headed west, intending to see where roads I've never driven before might take me.

I wandered up through the village of Lincoln and was swinging south again when I saw smoke in the west. I let the smaller roads lead me west and north again until I found a small brush fire being brought under control.

Now the challenge was to get back to Lewes, following as few familiar roads as possible. I took good advantage of Old State Road, a two-lane that was replaced by DuPont Highway, and other small back roads. My goal, as always, to see new things and perhaps to photograph them.

I stopped for a light lunch in Milton and headed for Cape Henlopen State Park.

I have been meaning to complete a wander I took in the back part of the Park two weeks ago. I had gone out from the campgrounds, along an old military road, toward the Salt Marsh Spur. This is a thin neck of upland that extends out into the Salt Marsh between Lewes and the Cape. I was slowed by very wet conditions, and had to turn back without following the whole of the spur trail.

This time, I went in via Herring Point and made the full three-mile round trip out the spur and back in just over an hour.

The fellow at the Nature Center told me that there is said to be an Eagle building a nest out the spur. I kept my eyes on the tops of the trees and snags, but I didn't see it. I wasn't particularly quiet moving along the trail. I didn't have the time, or the skill, to be stealthy.

After returning to the car, parked by the old battery at Herring Point, I headed back out to Morgan's house to pick up Christina.

We came home tired, but satisfied with our day.

Wind in Trees

I took a walk on Sunday. Back in Cape Henlopen State Park. It was windy and cold, so I went inland a bit, on the trails through the back dunes and marsh areas.

The wind was blocked by the trees. It was blowing strong in their tops. The tallest trees were swaying and knocking against each other like huge claves.

At Herring Point

I found a spot of local beach I'd not been on before on Sunday.

I took advantage of the bright sunshine and warmer weather to go in search of a few benchmark locations in Cape Henlopen State Park. I found that the Parks folks have opened up some new beach access points, making it easier to get onto the beach at Herring Point, near the Great Dune.

This is an interesting spot. The beach has eroded enough to uncover old tree stumps from when there was a coastal forest here. There are old jetties and breakwaters and birds and shells and dunes and grasses.

I also took some time to climb to the top of the coastal gun emplacement bunker at Fort Miles. It gives a fine view of the Point of the Cape and of the Harbor of Refuge.

Please don't tell anyone, but this time of year is really the best time of year to see Cape Henlopen State Park.

Feeling The Urge to Get Outside

It feels like spring is just around the corner. Stormy skies have given way to sunshine and rising temperatures. The days are getting longer.

In younger days, this sort of weather made me want to drive down back roads in rural Maine, listening to acoustic Grateful Dead and looking for water -- ponds, lakes, the Gulf of Maine -- and mountains. Water and mountains represent nature for me; I always want to get out into or onto them at this time of year.

Now that I'm older and more settled, this time of year has me looking at the yard with a gardener's eye. I'm not very good at it, but yard work brings me that same natural feeling.

This is also when my urge to walk and take photos comes on strong. I've spent the last two months nursing back and sciatic problems. Yesterday, though, I took a short lunchtime ramble (about a mile and half) in Dover. It was a test-walk and I wasn't crippled by pain.

Things are looking up.

Searching for Bay Ice and Finding, Again, a White Deer

As we went through another in a string of very cold days today, I started wondering whether there might be ice anywhere in the Delaware Bay. Driving up and down the state this week, I have seen ice on the ponds and some of the slower rivers. And there were ice chunks in the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal.

So I decided to pay another visit to the point at Cape Henlopen and take a look.

I found some ice; thin floes blown ashore on the inside curve of the point. The ice was a few inches thick, and spread out into the shallowest part of the bay, towards the lighthouse.

I also found the white deer that I'd spotted on my last trip to Cape Henlopen Park.

This time I got a clearer photo of the deer's head, which is brown. That suggests that this is a deer in moult, and not an albino, as I had first thought. In fact, this may be another animal entirely.

In any case, it was fun to see this. I just wish my camera was better suited to long-range telephoto work.

Cold. But Sunny and Quiet.

I had an extra day off for New Year's because of the National Day of Mourning for President Gerald Ford. Delaware State Government offices were closed. I took the opportunity to walk around the Point of Cape Henlopen in the afternoon. With my camera.

It was cold, but not as cold as it should have been in January. The sun was shining strongly and the sky was appropriately blue.

The beach was empty, but for a few seagulls. It was wonderfully solo out there.

There were untouched, newly blown dunes. The tide was low, offering me shallows to explore and offering snacks for the gulls.

The winter air was clear, offering a glimpse of Cape May on the northern horizon.

A walk around the point features two historic lighthouses. The Harbor of Refuge Light is on the outer breakwater off the point of the Cape. The East End Lighthouse is on the inner breakwater, within the inner arc of the Point. I take lots of pictures of these.

Crossing the dune, back to the Point Parking lot, I noticed one of the Delaware River and Bay Pilots Association boats headed out into the Atlantic. As I reached the top of the dune, I could see a large container ship waiting just off Hen and Chicken Shoals.

I took much this same photo walk with Christina late last January. I think it should become a tradition.

An Albino Deer? Or An Echo From the Distant Past?

Driving past the old parade ground in Cape Henlopen State Park this afternoon, I saw a small heard of deer grazing by the tree line. This is not unusual; the Whitetail Deer feel safe enough to graze there most of the year.

What caught my eye, though, was an apparently all-white deer. I had to try for a photo.

This was taken at a distance and with a bit of zoom. It is not as sharp as I would like. In addition, the white deer seemed to shine in the late-day sun. I was not able to get it properly in focus.

Are there albino deer? There seem to be. From my quick research, I'm guessing that this was either an albino or a piebald deer.

I was also fascinated to find references to a legend of a Great White Deer from the Lenape people who first lived in this area.