SIGN UP FOR FRIENDS OF THE EARTH & SAVE THE PLANET

Morning on Barnegat Bay Island Beach April 2016

Exquisite, Now Healthy, Barnegat Bay, thanks to Preservationists / Environmentalists

Some of you surely wonder why I’ve spent 11 going on 12 years at D&R Greenway Land Trust, at this phase of my life, and, yes, so poorly recompensed.  The answer is, my life mission has become to save the Planet.

New Dune Grass Bayhead April 2016

New Dune, New Dune Grass, Protecting Beloved Bay Head, New Jersey, April 2016

If you ever check me out on Facebook, that’s basically the only kind of ‘posting’ I do.  Once friends and I fought with minimal success to save Kingson’s Princeton Nursery Land from being sold and developed through Princeton University, into what was Villas of Tuscany and is now Barclay Square.  Hundreds of towering dwellings went in, where magnificent trees used to thrive, and so close to our Canal – drinking water for thousands locally  These condos are visible from the D&R Canal and Towpath, which is absolutely forbidden – and yet, and yet… significant exceptions were made.  The developers had the Princeton Nursery Lands deemed officially ‘nonhistoric’, triumphantly showing the signed and sealed document at a critical hearing concerning ‘Villas of Tuscany.’  ‘Nonhistoric’ although Washington had marched there with his barefoot troops after the first Revolutionary Victories, the two in Trenton and the one in Princeton; then, again, en route to crucial Monmouth and yet another win.  Abraham Lincoln rode the Camden and Amboy Railroad through that land en route to his Inauguration and his grave.  The Princeton Nurseries were the finest in America and some say in the world in its day.  The Canal, Towpath and that railroad defined New Jersey, determined its essential towns.  You can see the Barclay Square dwellings, symbol of our defeat, when down in a kayak on the water.

I mourned, just before that distant meeting over on the Delaware River (so no one could attend the hearing without taking precious scarce vacation days to be there) to one of the fellow protestors, whom I didn’t even know: “But I’m a poet.  What am I doing at the barricades?!?”

His answer propels almost everything I do these days, including walking into D&R Greenway in 2006 and saying, “Am I supposed to work with you?”

“Carolyn,” this stranger answered on the phone, “The barricades — that is where poets belong!”

First Kayak D&R Canal at Alexander Rd May 2015

Heading South from Alexander, 5 to 6:30 on a golden Sunday evening

This serenity is the norm on the D&R Canal, except where Barclay Square looms.  We did manage to save enough land to create a preserve, carefully watched over by the Friends of Princeton Nursery Lands.  My heroic fellow barricade-contenders in that long-ago fight are still in the forefront of saving and keeping Kingston and its sacred Revolutionary War and Industrial and Canal and Towpath and even Camden and Amboy Railroad sites as safe as they can possibly be from rapacious developers.  We have Karen Linder, Anne Zeman, Mark Peel, Tari Pantaleo and Robert von Zumbusch to thank for Kingston successes.  In fact, join Friends of Princeton Nursery Lands whether you ever set foot(e) in Kingston or not — for that canal and that river flow into the Raritan, its sacred Bay, and the sea, mantle of our blue planet.

GreatEgretfishing8-12-09

Great Egret Fishing the D&R Canal,  by Brenda Jones

The following thank you note just came in from Friends of the Earth.  The 21st Century can seem so hopeless, climate-wise, Planet-wise.  But small acts by committed people, as Margaret Mead asserts, are still changing the world.  “Indeed, this is the only thing that ever has,” she continues.  Read this.  Sign up of Friends for the Earth yourselves, financially and electronically.  Let’s prove all the skeptics wrong and save our Planet.

Read the effects of courageous acts by committed people, 21st-Century paradigm changers:

(bolds mine)   cfe

Dear Carolyn Foote,

I was just thinking about all we’ve achieved together in the past few months and I wanted to thank you for making it happen. Your activism makes a difference!

In fact, the activism of Friends of the Earth members like you in Maryland was crucial to passing the nation’s first law to ban bee-killing pesticides. Without your emails, phone calls, and in-person meetings with local legislators, the law wouldn’t have passed. Now, it’s time to take the fight to other states with similar bills on the table — and build momentum for national action on bee-killing pesticides.

On the national level, you’ve driven progress in our work to keep fossil fuels in the ground. The White House recently put a moratorium on all new coal leasing — which you helped make happen by signing petitions and writing to the President. 

And that’s not all — the Obama Administration has also postponed five oil and gas lease sales — taking a total of 125,136 acres of public land off the table for now. We’re gaining momentum thanks to the constant drumbeat from people like you telling President Obama to protect our public lands and climate. But we won’t stop until the President keeps ALL our fossil fuels in the ground.

By taking action online and in your community, you are saving bees and butterflies. You’re preventing the worst impacts of climate chaos. From local victories to progress on national issues, you’re driving our work forward. So thank you for all you’ve done, and keep up the good work!

Thanks for being a Friend of the Earth.

Warm Regards,
Erich Pica,

President,
Friends of the Earth

 

 

 

ISLAND BEACH: BAREFOOT IN APRIL!

 

 

My normal reaction to climate change, –formerly known as global warming–, blends shock, horror, and determination to convince everyone to do whatever you can to turn this catastrophe around.  Every once in awhile, I have to admit to guilty delight.  As in Jeanette’s and my barefoot day with Ray Yeager (fine art photographer) at Island Beach last weekend.

Barefoot Jeanette Island Beach April by Ray Yeager

Barefoot Jeanette and Barnegat Light, April Beach Day, 2016, by Ray Yeager

Jeanette Hooban and I miraculously met Ray Yeager, Fine Art Photographer who specializes in Island Beach and Acadia National Park, even though our restaurant meeting place hadn’t opened for the season as promised. We tucked into a massive breakfast somewhere else in Lavallette, having no idea where Ray might be, then headed into the Park.  There was probably never a more spectacular oceanic beauty  than we were given that day.

The Old and The New Island Beach April 2016

“O, Say, Can You See?” – Surf of Sunday at Island Beach

 

Blue Horizons Bayhead April 2016

April Surf, Bay Head, New Jersey

 

Roll On  Bayhead Morning Surf April 2016

Jeanette and Bayahead Surf April 2016

Early Morning Solitude, April, Bay Head

Jeanette tumbled hard for her first osprey on the nest, out by the ten-mile nearly empty entry road.  “That’s the closest I’ve ever been to an osprey.”  “You want osprey, I know how to get you much closer than this.”  So we changed our plan to go straight to the tip of the Park and hike to Barnegat Light.  Spizzle Creek Bird Blind drew us.  Not five minutes onto the trail, there was Ray.  So we were able to spend the day together after all.

Discussing Bird Possibilities Island Beach April 2016

Discussing Birding Possibilities, Spizzle Creek Trail

The air that sunny day was full of osprey.  Carrying fish.  Feeding one another.  Portaging nest materials.  Even mating.  Singing their frail but penetrating love songs.  Displaying wing designs of the complexity and brilliance of Navajo rugs, as Jeanette described it.  Look up Ray Yeager Photography Blog (and follow it) in the next few days.  I’m sure he’ll feature that displaying osprey over the real tree in which the real birds were building a real nest.  In other words, this was no platform!

First Osprey on Nest Island Beach April 2016

First Osprey on the Nest, Next to Entry Road

Great egrets moved about the mainland near the Sedge Islands on Barnegat Bay, with the dignity of monarchs.  Snowy egrets were either fighting or courting or both, and comical as circus clowns.  Their golden slippers were usually deep in marshwater, but their antic behavior proved the identifying feature.  These shore birds are exceptionally at home along Barnegat Bay and among the Sedge Islands.  Not long ago, an environmental hero named Pete McLain, brought the osprey back to the Bay and peregrine falcons back to New Jersey.  I was lucky enough to kayak with him two years in a row, and hear the legendary tales.

Morning on Barnegat Bay Island Beach April 2016

Exquisite, Now Healthy, Barnegat Bay, thanks to Preservationists / Environmentalists

Healthy sinuous waterways glistened, as though diamonds that can float had been flung along their edges.  The waters themselves were that burnished chestnut color, otherwise known as peat tones, characteristic of Pine Barrens habitat.  The Bay had a palette of dreamlike delicacy.

Barnegat Bay Clarity Island Beach April

Barnegat Bay Clarity, April, 2016

Land's End Barnegat Bay Island Beach April

Land’s End. Barnegat Bay: This is New Jersey!

 

Sparkly Healthy Brnegat Bay sland Beach April

Sparkly, Healthy, Barnegat Bay – Kayakers’ Heaven

I’m showing all these Bay pictures, because most people admit they’ve never hiked that side, seen that watery miracle.  I also want to give you the feeling of appeal, even magnetism of Island Beach waters that day, that soon had us taking off our shoes and walking in hot silk sand.

Bare Feet of April Island Beach 2016

My Toes, Relishing Hot Sand, Finer than Talcum

But mine weren’t the only toes relishing that sand…

Sleeping Fox  Island Beach April 2016

“To Sleep, Perchance to Dream” — I have never come upon a sleeping fox before!

 

Balletic Fox  Island Beach April 2016

Elegant, Balletic Fox, Awake in Daytime (they’re nocturnal!)

 

Fox Tracks Big Dune Island Beach April

The Track of the Fox

 

Fox Farewell Island Beach April 2016

Fox Farewell of an April Morning

 

First Moss of Spring  Island Beach April 2016

First Moss of Spring – And I’ve been reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Irresistible “Gathering Moss”

 

Ray Yeager in his Element Barnegat Bay  Island Beach April

Ray Yeager, Usually ‘the King of the Foxes’ — they come out to him with their kits at midnight…

 

Photographer and Beachcomber Island Beach April 2016

The Photographer and the Beachcomber, Oceanside

 

Dune Patterns Island Beach April

Dune Patterns of April, Oceanside

 

Maple Flowers Island Beach April 2016

First Red Flowers of Maple Trees, Bayside

 

Exquisite Barnegat Bay Island Beach April

Exquisite Barnegat Bay — “Paradise Enow…”

 

Skate Egg Case Island Beach April 2016

Skate Egg Case, Way Out of Season — April

“DUMP THE PUMP” – Fighting for the Delaware River with poems

Bulls Island and Delaware Bridge Solstice 2014 006

Delaware River’s Wild and Scenic Reality

Once upon a time, there was a sacred river.  Her name was Delaware.  In the 1980’s, people blasted our river, that joins New Jersey to Pennsylvania — blasted her in shad season, in April, in order to build a pump.  A pump to take out 200 million gallons a day from my beloved river, and send it over to the Susquehanna, to cool a nuclear power plant.

to EMPTY this River!

Red Kayak from Delaware Footbridge Bridge Solstice 2014 005

Red Kayak, HIgh Water, Delaware River from the Bull’s Island Footbridge

Once upon a time, there was a group called Del-Aware.  Grass-roots, indeed.  People who fought with every tool they could imagine, fought against chemical companies and the power company and lawyers and judges and realtors.  Fought to keep our Delaware, –which may be the only undammed major river in our country–, to keep her whole and safe and clear forever.

John McPhee insists that shad from this river saved the lives of Washington’s starving soldiers in nearby Valley Forge.  In other words, saved our country.

View from the Bridge  - April Delaware River

To Keep Her Free and Clear Forever – Delaware from Bull’s Island Footbridge

Friends of mine, women, nursing mothers and grandmothers among them, were jailed for putting their bodies in front of the bulldozers, brought to Lumberville to build the Pump House.  I don’t know whatever happened to the writ of habeas corpus in Bucks County Pennsylvania in the 1980s, but those women spent the weekend in jail, in Doylestown.  I’ve been in the Michener Museum’s cell, out in their courtyard, so I know how meager and degrading were their lodgings all that weekend.  God bless James and Mari Michener, who turned that jail, ultimately, into a major museum of Delaware Valley Impressionist art.  I stare at its stone wall every time I visit, remembering my courageous women friends, walled in by it and corporate greed, for an entire weekend.

I have always been ashamed that I did not have the courage to put my body in front of vehicles bent on destruction of my river.  I have always honored my friends who were so fearless.

I put my pen and my checkbook to use for the River.  Joining Del-Aware, going to wild meetings at Applejack’s upriver, writing poems for the cause’s newspaper, whose name I think was The Citizen’s Voice.

We fought for our referendum, and it won, even though worded backwards.  We had to urge people to Vote Yes to Vote No.  I drove around Bucks County stapling up enormous posters, alerting those who wanted the ban the pump to vote YES.   We knew they didn’t want the pump.  We didn’t know if they could bear to vote YES to prevent it.

Water tumultuous Brenda Jones

Falls Along the Delaware River, by Brenda Jones

We won, yes.  And when I returned from my year in Provence, the Pump had been built.  Water was being removed.  The Susquehanna and the power plant were being suffused with Delaware’s liquid life.  Why?  It was a non-binding referendum.  Oh, yes and miles of land that always failed perc tests had suddenly passed them, so an epidemic of McMansions profaned Bucks County upon my return.

People still say, “It’s impossible, what you tried to do.  To fight all those implacable forces.”

Maybe it was.  Impossible but essential.  It was our battle, our citizens’ joining.  Our stands for what was right.  Our love for the river.

Delaware's Watery Beauty, Spring

Spring Azaleas on the Pennsylvania Side of the Delaware, from Bull’s Island Footbridge

The Congressman, for whose re-election I worked each week, writing his position papers, speeches and releases, the noble Peter Kostmayer, at least managed to get any part that qualified of our river named officially Wild and Scenic.  It’s cleaner by far now.  Shad run again.  Crowds suffuse Lambertville and New Hope now for each spring’s Shad Festival.

Flood Waters Brenda Jones

Delaware Flood by Brenda Jones

People joined hands and stood up for what was right.  At least, we managed to get the water volume lowered that is stolen from our river of Independence.

Fog along Delaware Titusville Brenda Jones

Delaware Island in Flood and Fog by Brenda Jones

Here are two of my Delaware poems, that were all I could manage, in terms of holding my own hands up against those vile bulldozers:

Val is Val Sigsted, who lead the fight.  This poem was born the night I drove across the river with all windows open to feel the riverwind, hearing of our referendum’s victory, as I returned from theatre in Manhattan.  In the play, the key song had been “There’s a Small Hotel, with a wishing well…”, composed, I had always been told, at the Delaware-side Stockton Inn.

TO VAL AND THE VALOROUS

 

I am the River, speaking

out of my depths

out of the bounty of my shores

with cleansing winds

from my tumultuous clouds

 

for streams who suckle me

for shad yet to be born

for generations of wildfowl for whom I am nursery

for lilting swallows nesting at my banks

for the ocean who cradles me at last

 

to you who float me, tend me

you who cast your nets within me

you who paint me, weave me

you who sculpt beside me

you who sing me

you who work to save me

 

I, Delaware, carol thanks

I, who had been barrier, am bond

 

CAROLYN FOOTE EDELMANN

May 1983

In the Web  Delaware Bridge

Delaware Footbridge from Bull’s Island to Black Bass Inn, in PA — “I who had been barrier, am bond…”

Yes, our river, which many see as dividing two states, in the 1980s, joined them.

Table View Black Bass Autumn 2010

TAble View of the Footbridge over Our Delaware, from the Black Bass Inn

Here is the other — may these mere words catalyze others to fight for what is right in our country, for our citizens, for our rivers above all, for Nature Herself.

This was written during a dire flood, long before the referendum, when the literal Power Company of Pennsylvania blasted the river during the shad run.

Gooseterritorialdefense Brenda Jones

“One Gander…” by Brenda Jones

 

POWER COMPANY

 

one gander dozes near the broached canal

taking no notice of the river’s fury

boiling through isolate skunk cabbage

 

brown water churns like lava in broad tubes

turns trees to whorling pinwheels

massive drums to agitated corks

 

my river vomits onto picnic sites

I focus on her, seething at abutments

numb fingers awkward at the lens

chilled by new winds our angry river sources

in her headlong freedom ride

 

I return to find her licking at my carwheels

as mallards swim the yellow parking lines

she gulps hyacinths whole beyond the vanished footbridge

 

I drive along our river’s threatened banks

bristling with dawn fishermen, fellow pilgrims

at the shrine of independence, the river rises

determined as the General, crossing

 

near the site where men employed by Power

blasted as the shad began their run

the Delaware claims my road and I retreat

hear on every side, our river shouting:

 

“Blast ME? I’ll show YOU power!”

 

CAROLYN FOOTE EDELMANN

 

 

Eagle on Nest Bull's Island Towpath Hike 2015 Spring

Eagle Head, Left Side of Bull’s Island Nest

What it’s all about in the end — HABITAT!

Support your local non-profits, defending Nature everywhere, especially where sacred rivers are concerned.

 

 

 

 

 

MAINE MEMORIES – Spruce Point, Boothbay Harbor

 

 

Maine Spruce Point Inside Looking Out 2015

Spruce Point View of Boothbay Harbor

Sometimes, enduring the slings and arrows of outrageous weather that we are visitng upon ourselves becomes absolutely too much for me.  I turn to trips of other times, other climes, seeking surcease.

Maine Spruce Point Directional Sign of Yesteryear

Old Directional Sign to our Maine Haven of Many Summers

Years ago my family summered in a cottage at Spruce Point Resort, on Boothbay Harbor in Maine.  This past autumn, my dear cousins, Margy, Sally, my sister Marilyn and I toured the grounds of this place of splendid memory.

Maine Spruce Point Main Lodge 2015

Spruce Point Main Lodge

It is still ‘spruce’, in the archaic sense, otherwise known as ship-shape in that literal neck of the woods.   The setting remains sublime.

Maine Spruce Point Cottsge w Green Shutters

Spruce Point Cottage with Signature Green Shutters with Spruce Cut-Outs

We could find ‘our cottage’, and remember waking to woodsmoke on brisk July mornings, before dressing and walking over to the Main House for gratifying breakfast at our table with our waitress.  I could still find the beach where I read Rachel Carson’s “A Sense of  Wonder” to my sister’s son, borrowed by my husband and me because our girls were in Maine camp that summer.  There, Carl and I found every shell and creature Rachel describes, as she took her nephew tidepooling a few miles away.

Maine Spruce Point Ledges Tidal Pools Explored with my nephew Yesteryear

Carl’s and My Rachel Carson Tide Pools

I could send some of these pictures to Carl, and he could resonate and remember.  His favorite off-Spruce activity, beyond fishing and piloting the Boston Whaler though only a lad, was to visit the Old Salt in downtown (so to speak) Boothbay Harbor.

Maine Spruce Point Sign From Our Times There

Spruce Point – The Old Sign, Rescued, Displayed Inside

My cousins and sister and I didn’t find the Old Salt, needless to say.  That’s why Werner and I had bought Carl a woodcarving, in his childhood, that greatly resembled that grand old man.  Because we somehow knew those encounters were a one-time blessing.  But, –as you can see from the sign –, last September, we all found the same warm welcome that was always ours, even on the first visit.  That sense that we were old friends, cherished, whose return absolutely delighted the Staff.

Maine Walks Blustery Sally Marilyn Margy

Sally, my sister Marilyn, and Margy, on a blustery Maine Walk

We strolled the public rooms where the girls and I had worked puzzles, where we took down venerable books of the region, read by many others before us, on rainy Maine days.  This was the room where Carl and I peered as though we knew what we were doing, through gleaming brass telescopes, scanning the sea.

Maine Spruce Point Inside Main Lodge

Inside the Main Lodge – the Rainy-Day Rooms

The funniest day with the girls had been when we finally gathered all our gear, boarded the Boston Whaler, and Werner (double landlubber – partly because he was Swiss) acted as Captain.  Our shiny new fishing poles were at hand.  We felt bulky and even buxom in our too bright new L.L. Bean life-vests.  We didn’t have bait – we used ‘spoons’, which are what Maine mackerel require.  We finally were able to use the casting we’d endlessly practiced (in futility) in our Princeton Pool. Mackerel were a joy to catch, feisty and lively and beautiful, catching the light as they danced on our lines.  But Catherine had a pronouncement to make: “Everybody quit fishing!  We’re killing them!”

Maine Spruce Point Main Lodge Fireplace

Ship Ahoy! inside Main Lodge

Werner saw the entire trip, which included stopping at waterside places en route to practice our casting, the rental and negotiation of the Boston Whaler, everything in effect going up in smoke.

Maine Spruce Point Price of Yesteryear

Rate Sign from Times of Yore

Without a pause, he countered, “No, Cath.  We’re feeding the gulls.”  And he threw his newest catch into the beak of the hovering one overhead.  At lunch we did eat mackerel we had caught, prepared by the Spruce Point chef.

Maine Spruce Point Vista 2015

View of Boothbay Harbor from the Dining Room

My cousins, my sister and I didn’t eat at Spruce Point, but it felt the same in those sunny seaside rooms, as when the girls and I in our long skirts, and Werner in his very non-doctor summer sports coats would stroll over to lunch and to supper.  I could still see my father, luxuriating in his favorite part of the Spruce Point week – the Sundae Bar, of all sorts of ice creams and all sorts of toppings.  I think he tried them all.

Maine Spruce Point Political Sign for Owner from Our Days there

The Druces owned Spruce Point in Our Day, and Mr. Druce was such a splendid citizen!

My cousins, my sister and I found the boat dock where our family had boarded sunset cruises and boat-jaunts to other islands and bays.  We reminisced about taking Carl and his grandparents, my parents, over to Bath for a ship launching.  Where we’d foolishly embarked during an eclipse of the sun, to go sort-of deep sea fishing.  When sixty-pound Carl caught a sixty-pound cod, we realized our folly.  It may have delighted the Captain to have that huge fish on board, but ir hadsurely depleted my beloved nephew to have done so.  Eclipses do weird things to waves — ‘chop’ doesn’t begin to describe that Bay that day.

Maine Lobster Workboat

Non-Eclipse Calm Maine Waters

They say you can’t go home again.  Well, this wasn’t home.  But Spruce retains  the family welcome after long absence, for which we once drove ‘over the river and through the woods’ to relatives in Ohio and Michigan.

Maine Spruce Point Our Cottage Pelican

‘Our’ Pelican Cabin, tucked in among hardwoods and spruces

I was afraid I would be too sad to walk Spruce lanes and rooms.  But only joy was there for me.  It matters a great deal to Marilyn, Carl and to me, that Spruce Point remains impeccable, beautiful, and so welcoming.

Maine Spruce Point Our Cabin and Chimney

“Pelican’s” Chimney, where Werner Built Each Morning’s Fire

 

 

“VISITATION” ~ Eagle Poem

American Bald Eagle Brenda Jones profile

Princeton’s American Bald Eagle, Monarch, by Brenda Jones

Long ago, when Ilene Dube asked me to create a Princeton Packet Blog on nature, she particularly asked me to include some of my poems.  In Cool Women readings over the years, “Visitation” was a favorite.

American Bald Eagle and Sculler Brenda Jones

‘Princeton’s’ American Bald Eagle and Sculler in Morning Fog, Lake Carnegie, by Brenda Jones

It was written, frankly, to a very vivid vision.  You can tell from the tactile descriptions how supremely real this scene was to me.

Eagles 2 Carnegie Trees Dec Brenda Jones

‘Princeton’s’ Mated Pair of American Bald Eagles, by Brenda Jones

It was years ago, and wintertime, when eagles court and nest, as they are now, all over our state.

Eagle gathering nest materials Brenda Jones

Eagle Gathering Nest Material, by Brenda Jones

At the time, there were no Princeton eagles.  But, within weeks of this vision, I came upon ‘our’ female, on a tree near the end of the sculling race venue on Carnegie Lake.  How serene she was, awaiting her true love.  How peacefully, majestically he soared around that point, float-coasting onto a tree not too near.  It was as though she had always known he would arrive.

Amer Bald Eagle flying straight Brenda Jones

Majestic Soaring American Bald Eagle over Carnegie Lake, by Brenda Jones

It was January 3rd, my real sighting.  My dear friend Janet Black’s (one of the Intrepids) birthday.  The sun was going down, but the curtain was rising on the courtship  of the male and female bald eagle who would then begin, successfully, to raise and to fledge young, each year on the shores of our fake but essential lake..

Eagles Immature side-by-side Brenda Jones

Immature ‘Princeton’ Eagles, Side-by-Side at Carnegie Lake Nest, by Brenda Jones

As dusk triumphed over the January daylight, for the first time in my life, I heard the eagles, ‘our’ eagles, singing love songs.  I was very aware that this courtship meant that our waterway had been preserved and healed enough to nourish eagle generations.

EagleJuvenileflyingoffwithfish3-1-11DSC_7643

‘Princeton’ Immature Bald Eagle, One of its first flights, by Brenda Jones

But “Visitation” is not a hopeful poem.  Published in Cool Women, it is my own song of despair over habitat despoilation.

Eagles Immature Brenda Jones

‘Princeton’s’ Juvenile Eagles, ‘branching’, by Brenda Jones

But, sometimes, despair can be conquered by life itself.

Brenda Jones, fine art photographer, has given me great gifts of bird images over the years.  I send you her eagles, ‘our’ eagles, to remind you, as Brenda and her husband, Cliff would do, to support your local land trust; to save land and water in New Jersey every chance you get. 

Because saving land is saving habitat. 

Because saving land is saving huge swathes to absorb CO2 and slow catastrophic climate change. 

 

Because eagles, frankly, are essential. 

 

Here is “Visitation”, after whose writing, despair turned to delight:

VISITATION

 

I finally reach

a windy crest

my turquoise jacket

welcome against

spring’s late chill

 

I feel more than see

the eagle settle

upon flat granite

to my right

he gulps that entire landscape

at one glance

 

slow, steady,

I extend

my arm

so he can step determinedly

onto my padded sleeve

 

my eyes are not one inch

from his

so gold, flickering

flames surrounding the dark centers

as coronas ring an eclipse

gaze steadier

than any

I have ever known

 

gusts ruffle

his dark shoulder feathers

stirring blue glints in sun

the air could not be more electric

if he were bearing

thunderbolts

 

he rests his left cheek

against my own

 

inside my heart

small fists tattoo

within that rosy cage

some prisoner

implores escape

wakens me

to life without eagles

 

CAROLYN FOOTE EDELMANN

 

 

Sunlight in Spring’s First Ephemerals

Ephemerals are the frail, rare wildflowers of spring, which can bloom only until the forest canopy leafs out.  The finest collection I know is at Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve, over below New Hope.  Always realize, everyone, we would not have this bounty without PRESERVATION.  Support your local land trust, wherever you are, keeping wild lands, wild creatures and wild plants nearby and healthy.

April showers kept me from today’s planned nature quest.  But, tomorrow, a friend and I will head to Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve, where spring should be awaiting us.  Here’s a collection of other early trips to Bowman’s, in more cooperative weather.

I have a number of very dear friends, who are dealing with serious health issues in people near and dear to them.  I wish I could take each of you to Bowman’s with me tomorrow.  I send you apring light in leaves of yesteryear.  With love.

Large-Flowered Trillium Bowman's April

Bowman/s Trillium

 

Trillium Bluebell Apotheosis Bowman's April 30

Red Trillium, Early Bluebells, Bowman’s

Being an amateur naturalist (never forget that the root of that adjective is love), I think the accurate name of this one is toad trillium.  Do you think that does it justice?

Second Cardinal Flower Bowman's Spring 2014

Cardinal Flower, Rock-Lover, Bowman’s, Spring

May Apple in April Bowman's 2015

May Apple in April, last year at Bowman’s

Bowman's Spring 2014 006

Wild Azalea, Early Spring, Bowman’s

I think it’s real name is pinxter, and the wonder is that it is native to that site!

Mysterious Mushroom Bowman's Spring 2014

Mysterious Mushroom of Bowman’s in Spring

 

False Hellebore Exultant

False Hellebore (the Pleated Ones) among the Skunk Cabbage

Bowman's Spring 2014 005

Very Early Trumpet Vine, Bowman’s in Spring

 

Snow Trillium Bowman's mid-April 2015

Rare Snow Trillium of Bowman’s last year in very early spring

One of the most irresistible sights for my friend, fine art photographer Tasha O’Neill, and myself, is the fiddlehead form of ferns:

Fiddlehead Family

Newborn Fiddleheads, Dwarfed by Young Skunk Cabbage

 

We have no idea what we will discover on the Violet Trail, the Medicinal Trail, Azalea Trail, Audubon Trail, Marsh Marigold Trail, tomorrow.  What we know, as NJWILDBEAUTY readers know from other blogs, there is BEAUTY to behold at Bowman’s in all seasons, even winter.

Jack Frost Art Nouveau Bowman's

Winter at Bowman’s, Before the Snow Trillium