A FEW GOOD SCENES – Recent Excursions

Memorial Boardwalk Brigantine April 2017

FINALLY! BACK TO ‘THE BRIG’ — Leed’s Eco-Trail

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NJWILDBEAUTY readers know how important weekend adventures are to me, –the essentiality of refilling the well, emptied daily in our work, saving the Planet.

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Leeds Point Classic Scene Fishing Village Brigantine early April 2017

And Beloved Leed’s Point, (near home of the Jersey Devil, whom I long to meet!)

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Some of you also know about February’s torn meniscus — healing enough that I’ve been back on the trails.  But p.t. takes hours daily, –some in private, some with kind, gentle, dedicated coaches.  There remains too little time for creativity with all this body-building.  The whole point of this work on “glutes, hamstrings and core” is to get back outside.  Come with me to recent restorative havens.

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Snowy Egret in Full Breeding Plumage, in WIND, The Brig

Snowy Egret Misty Brig Spring 2017

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Visitor Center, Purple Martin Houses, Perfect Clouds – The Brig

Visitor Cednter for Martins, for Humans Brig Spring 2017

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Spring Mimics Autumn – Swamp Maple, Waterlilies, The Brig

Spring Mimics Autumn at Brig 2017

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Essence of Spring – Geese and Goslings — The Brig

Goose Goslings Gander Brig Spring 2017

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Jeanette Hooban (Intrepid) Rights Horseshoe Crabs,

Fortescue, Delaware Bayshore

Jeanette Righting Fortescue Horseshoe Crabs Spring 2017

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High Tides Upset Horseshoe Crabs, Fortescue

Life and Death Fortescue Horseshoe Crabs and Eggs Mem. Day 2017

BEACH COBBLED WITH HORSESHOE CRABS — 2 weeks late for the Full Moon of May

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Primordial Drama Fortescue Horseshoe Crabs Spring 2017

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SACRED EGGS OF THE HORSESHOE CRABS 

But red knots and ruddy turnstones may have come and gone, ill-nourished, to Arctic

The Sacred Eggs Fortescue Horseshoe Crabs Mem. Day 2017

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Fortescue at Its Best — Late Light, Late Fishermen

Delaware Bay Day's End Fortescue Horseshoe Crabs 2017

“DAY IS DONE, GONE THE SUN” – Fortescue

For these scenes, these full days in the wild, all those intense hours of physical therapy, with John Walker of Princeton Orthopaedic Group; and of chiropractic with Brandon Osborne, D.C., are worth it.  Whatever it takes to give yourselves the wild, do it!

I dare to rephrase Thoreau:  “In wildness is the healing of the world.”

DECEMBER BEACHCOMBING, NEW JERSEY STYLE

Who needs summer crowds, or even summer?  The original Intrepids (Bill Rawlyk, Jeanette Hooban, and I) literally basked along both bayside and oceanside of Island Beach last Sunday.

Silence.  Limitlessness.  Sea-borne treasures.  Elegant fishermen.  Ravenous seagull. Artemesia in winter.  Sundown like peach mousse upon a slate-blue plate.  Paradise enow…

Stroll with us.   We nearly took our shoes off!

 

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“Mermaid’s Purse” (skate egg case) and Fox Tracks like Roses Pressed into Sand

 

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December’s New Green Growth, Oceanside, Island Beach

 

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“Dusty Miller / Artemesia” — first seeds came ashore in wreckage from clipper ships! Now major dune stabilizers.

 

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Post-Sandy Boardwalk to the Sea

Can’t you just hear the cold jingle of these shells, as waves sip in and out?

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December Still-Life, Oceanside

 

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Alluring, Oceanside

 

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Seaside Success!

 

Remember that this pristine perfection exists because courageous and generous people knew to preserve it.  Do whatEVER it takes, and be generous with whatever land trusts speak to you, to extend preservation of open land, sand and water in our time.

 

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Gull’s Lunch – Probably Bunker

 

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Perfect Balance — December’s Oceanside Flycaster

 

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GAnnet-and-Long-Tailed-Duck Territory, Island Beach, December Waters

 

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Autumn Meets Winter, December Froth and Seaweed

 

 

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Crucial New Signs, Island Beach

Never forget — We ARE our fellow-creatures’ keepers.

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Our Land’s End — Below This is Barnegat Inlet, with ‘Old Barney’ Lighthouse on the Other Side

“Extreme Environmentalist” Confronts Sarah Palin – Poem by Carolyn Foote Edelmann, June 2010, after Gulf Oil Disaster

Because I will be birding pristine Island Beach this Sunday, –with five other intense bird-lovers, two of whom are the well known fine art nature photographers, Ray Yeager (of Ray Yeager Photography.com) and Angela Previte, (of Simple Life at the Shore Nature Blog), I am expecting to be in the company of gannets.  There is no more elegant, no more spectaculara shore bird in my world, especially when gannets are feeding.  We may also be gifted with long-tailed ducks, out beyond the third waves.  Island Beach remains  as impeccable as gannets, –still serene, shrubby, wind-blown and un-BUILT since creation, thanks to PRESERVATIONISTS.  We six have the sense that we must relish this magnitude, this nature at her peak, while we still can…

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Northern Gannet Plunging, From Internet

Most of the time, dear NJWILDBEAUTY readers, I have managed to keep politics out of NJWILDBEAUTY.  Even though, as we all know, politicians threaten most if not all of the wild beauty of our (most populous, never forget it!) state; and, increasingly, of the Planet itself.

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Gannet on Rocks in Healthy Habitat

Even though I dared once refer to this state’s so-called governor as ‘our Caligula’, in these ‘pages’; and termed then-newly-nominated presidential candidate ‘the new Hitler.’

I have not revised my opinion, by the way.

Although I try to concentrate on nature instead of politics in these ‘pages.’

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Oiled Gannet on Beach from Internet

Now enormous confrontation looms, in which politics will do all in its power to to destroy nature.  One of their cohorts, now, –Sarah Palin–, is mentioned as Cabinet material.

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Oiled Gannet Face, From Internet

Long ago, my poem, (in the form of a letter to Ms. Palin) –before appearing in NJWILD, which Ilene Dube asked me to launch for Princeton Packet Publications–, had won internet publication by a clean water group asking for poems about the seemingly insuperable, and now mostly overlooked, Gulf Oil disaster.  You may recall whom Sarah Palin blamed…

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BP OIL DISASTER, from Internet, which everyone continues to refer to as a “SPILL”, including internet title to this image

No one who cares about birds has forgotten the BP explosion, which was originally reported as emitting 200 barrels of oil per day.  Do note that, –even in the caption for this photo on the Internet–, the ceaseless explosions and outpourings are simply termed ‘a spill.’

I did write, in NJWILD, “If you believe that gallon estimate, you’ll believe anything.”

We all know that far more than birds was ruined in those terrible months — especially the way of life of people of Louisiana who had fished and shrimped and boated for generations.

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Oiled Human Protestor in Gulf during BP Disaster

You may have forgotten that Sarah and her ilk blamed the disaster (which means “torn from the stars!”), on “extreme environmentalists.”  I proudly accepted then, –and even more insistently now–, rejoice in that title.  The result was the poem below.

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The Livelihood of Gulf Fishermen because of BP Disaster

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ICON of BP DISASTER – Oiled Pelicans

Today, I mailed the poem to my my professor daughter to read it to her Literature class at a California college.  I dared challenge this formidable young woman and ardent feminist to suggest that her students have their pictures taken HUGGING A TREE, to promulgate on Facebook.  To show the shuddering world that not everyone in America agrees with its most outrageous current spokesman.  To demonstrate that the guardians of the future know what really matters.

Everyone reading this can do so, letting our allies know that some of us do have planetary consciousness.

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We Need to Become a Nation, a World, of TREE-HUGGERS

WHAT REALLY MATTERS:

Liberty

Nature

The Planet

 

PLEASE SHARE THIS WITH EVERYONE YOU KNOW —

Remember, Margaret Mead insists, “A small group of people can change the world.  Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

And Edwin Burke:  “All that it takes for evil to happen is for good men (PEOPLE) to do nothing.”

WHAT WILL YOU DO?

the poem of June 2010:

DEAR SARAH PALIN,

 

I understand it’s all my fault

–this Gulf oil disaster, I mean–

not only all that fire

bodies catapulted into air

then drowned

soon likely shark bait

but also this volcano of oil

spewing interminably

into our blue mantle

 

Sarah, you say

I did this

all of this and more

now some six weeks ago

with no end in sight

 

and no businessman

politician not even a general

let alone you, Sarah Palin,

knows how to stop

this tornado of oil

 

it’s also my fault, the oiled birds

— Northern gannets —

pristine as Josephine

in her Empire gown

frail white silk

adorned with gold

though not quite bees

dark eyes snapping

as each becomes increasingly encased

in ‘my’ oil

more abruptly than all those mastodons

in La Brea’s tar pits

 

now slender cormorants

who, everyone is sure, are drowning

as they swim along

neck barely afloat

no one realizing

the genius of cormorants

who can fly/swim 30 miles an hour

underwater

when they are not oiled

 

about the mpg of my car

my old car

for the ownership of which

I am quite guilty

for the replacement of which

I have no means

 

cormorants

must wave both wings

after every dive

to dry them

so that they may

dive and dive again

–no wave strong enough

to shake off ceaseless poison weight

of oil

 

it’s my fault, the reddish egrets

you know his own epitaph

–written by photographer Ted Cross

for his own recent death–

describing his multi-faceted self

on the Other Side

“still searching for the perfect photograph

of the reddish egret”

 

Ted did not have in mind

this soiled oiled specimen

trying, unsuccessfully

to lift newly leaden

legs wings and feet

out of Gulf mud muck and oil

 

it’s all my fault

and not because I use the wrong lightbulbs

in a couple of fixtures

nor because I do turn on the heat.

inside, in winter, sometimes

although I’ve been doing without air

conditioning so far this troubled year

 

it’s my fault

because I am an “extreme environmentalist”

because I think there should never be any more

drilling for oil in our country

because I deplore petrotyrrany

the privatization of profits

socialization of poverty

because I think we should start with the auto companies

 

well, what do you expect, Sarah?

I grew up in Detroit

 

I’ve never seen a wolf in the wild

as you do and deplore.

These beings you condemn to bloody deaths

I would embrace

 

nor have I encountered

a single polar bear

let alone a starving female trying to find food

for her new brood

attempting to swim with them

toward vanishing ice floes

but that’s o.k. with you

Sarah

it makes the hunting

easier

 

it’s my fault, Sarah

for I am quite literally

a tree-hugger

 

I believe that greed should end

America return to her original nobility

where people pledged lives

fortunes

sacred honor

remember sacred honor?

— ah, well, probably not, Sarah

 

I believe we are our Planet’s

keepers

 

Sarah – who are you?

Carolyn Foote Edelmann

June 2010

“This is not an environmental disaster, and I will say that again and again.”
– Congressman Don Young (R-Alaska) speaking about the Gulf of Mexico oil spill.

 

 

 

REMEMBERING SUNSHINE: Cape Cod Glimpses

Authentic Chatham at Fish Pier

Authentic Chatham, Massachusetts – At the Fish Pier, Looking Out to Sea

When I was a child, my nickname was “Sunshine”.  I have always needed a great deal of sun and light and fire, –partly because of my Sagittarius birth sign.

Strange Encounters Chatham Fish Pier

Gull and Seal in Chatham Sun

I feel like starting this blog post with a strict dull dictionary definition of “sun”, because I have so little experience of it any more.

Fair Weather and Foul at Chatham Light

Elusive Sun, Chatham, Mass., Chatham Light

Webster’s Unabridged, of course:  “The star that is the central body of the solar system.”

Well, that doesn’t do it for me: does it for you?

Provincetown Mac Millan Wharf Reflections Black and Grey

Sun Caught in Water, Provincetown’s MacMillan Wharf

“Sun” – that flat round disk formerly to be discovered in daytime sky (day – between dawn and dusk), sky formerly blue.  That spill of gold upon a carpet or a table, warming twice — in the sky, where it belongs; and as it reflects off indoor surfaces.  And always, always warming my heart.

Provincetown Mac Millan Wharf Reflections Red Boat

Proud Reflections, MacMillan Wharf, Provincetown

Except there isn’t any sun any more.  Nor blue sky.

Danger Rough Chatham

Danger, Rough, Chatham, Mass.

Just some grey-white substance all over what used to be sky — clots that remind me of the inside of my mother’s Electrolux bag.

Tethered Tower  Chatham Scenes 002

Tethered Tower, Chatham, Mass.

I know what’s happened to sun.  It’s called fossil fuel / emissions / catastrophic climate change / disaster / the Antrhopocene.

Provincetown Mac Millan Wharf Reflections Green and Grey

Tangled Tower, Provincetown

My antidote to sun-deprivation is memory.

Chatham Pier Fish Market Sign

Chatham Pier Fish Market

Here’s to Cape Cod at Hallowe’en, when sunlight spilled everywhere, from dunes to shells to whales and seals to fish in the sea and in a splendid market and all along weathered clapboard shingles.

Typical Chatham Cottage

Typical Chatham Cottage

 

Warming both heart and my soul.  May these scenes warm YOURS.

Perry's Pride Chatham Fish Pier

Perry’s Pride, Chatham Fish Pier

 

Sharks to Market Chatham Fish Pier

Heart of the Matter at Chatham Pier

Provincetown Mac Millan Wharf Then and Now

Harbormaster, with Sun Glint, Provincetown

Provincetown Mac Millan Wharf Rowing Home

Provincetown, Rowing Home

“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.

 

 

 

 

 

LIBERTY THOUGHTS

Friends Return Dune Walk Noreaster

Island Beach – Intrepids Walk into the Nor’Easter, in my Favorite Ten-Mile Preserve

NJWILDBEAUTY readers know I cherish and require New Jersey’s wild natural spaces.  Frankly, my passion for NJ open space is right up there with my need of Cornwall’s and Brittany’s.  It’s why I pour myself into preservation every week at D&R Greenway Land Trust.  Although centered in Princeton, we save the land in seven counties, approaching the 20,000-acre mark.

Cedar Ridge Welcome

Cedar Ridge Preserve, Welcome Sign and Welcoming Meadow

Lovely Cedar Ridge, like all of our preserves, bel0ngs to the people, in the best American tradition.  Wild creatures thrive here.  Hunters have restored a stone wall of yesteryear.  A majestic oak stand sentinel at the center of the trails.  The ‘two-legged, the four-legged, the winged’, as the Lenni Lenape named them, are free in this multi-faceted setting just off Van Dyke Road beyond Hopewell, because it was preserved.

Box Turtle leaves and roots

Terrestrial Box Turtle, Safe and Free on the Forest Floor of Cedar Ridge

The box turtle reminds me of FDR’s Four Freedoms, so beautifully illustrated in four enormous canvases at the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, Massachusetts.  Never forget these freedoms.

Choose only to vote for people who increase:

FREEDOM FROM FEAR

FREEDOM OF SPEECH

FREEDOM FROM WANT

FREEDOM OF WORSHIP

Every once in awhile, I have to visit other states in quest of wild beauty, spectacular hikes, and always history.  Don’t get me wrong, NJ has HISTORY in capital letters.  I’ve read that 75% of the significant battles of our Revolution took place on NJ soil.  And three significant early victories — the two battles of Trenton and the single one at Princeton.  Our Founding Fathers traveled through our state on their way to forging liberty at Philadelphia.  Words penned there could have cost every delegate his “life, fortune and sacred honor.”  Two nearby New Jerseyans paid with their lives for Signing that sacred Declaration – Stockton and Hart.

General Washington examined the Delaware from Goat Hill, below Lambertville, before his significant Christmastime crossing. John McPhee claims that the shad of that sacred river sustained the troops at Valley Forge.  And some also insist that rations of Jersey Ligntnin’ — applejack made particularly in our Pine Barrens– were issued to instill courage as needed.

Delaware in November Looking North from Goat Hill Trail

George Washington’s View From Goat Hill Preserve, Below Lambertville

The General and his bootless heroic men defended liberty at Monmouth, where extreme summer heat may have been our secret weapon.  We would not have become the literal Land of Liberty without New Jersey.

For me, there’s a special, inexplicable connection between lighthouses and liberty:

East Point Light and Flag May 2015

East Point Light and Flag, Delaware Bayshore

Partly on account of the courageous and brilliant Adams of Massachusetts, we secured true freedom from the tyranny of George III.  Never forget that John daringly defended those accused of the so-called Boston Massacre.  Otherwise, he insisted, all the words spoken and penned in Philadelphia would have meant nothing.

Sometimes I have to return to his state for deep doses of history, heroism, and nature herself.  Chatham Mass.was my summer home for at least a decade of summers.  Glorious even in fog, Chatham seems to hold light by day and by night, filling me recently, as NJWILDBEAUTY readers know, with scenes seemingly unchanged since the 1970’s.

Chatham’s light has brought safety in storms for decades beyond counting.  Let that light fill you, and and do whatever you can to increase the light of true liberty in our land.

Chatham Light Storm-blown Flag jpg

Chatham Light and Flag

 

 

Leeds Point with Flag Flying pre Sandy

Leeds Point, Pine Barrens Fishing Village

In rustic Leeds Point (home of the Jersey Devil, also in the 1700’s) fishermen and clammers and crabbers remain free to ply their generational trade, moving silently along tidal creeks through wetlands.  Many wetlands in that region have been preserved through the foresight of Forsythe – Edmund B., a politician far ahead of his time in realizing how important open space is to true liberty.

Remembering FDR   Library May 2015

FDR Sculpture, FDR Library, Hyde Park NY

Two of my all-time heroes are Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and his intrepid activist wife, Eleanor.  Next week I’ll be in his ancestral home, Springwood, with two of The Intrepids.  We’ll make pilgrimage to 1930’s murals, evoking rural ways and the Depression out of which FDR pulled us all, in the post office he dedicated in Rhinebeck.

Rhinebeck Flag

Rhinebeck, New York Flag. at Historic Post Office

Beekman Arms Flags Rhinebeck NY

Flags of Beekman Arms, Rhinebeck, New York

 Our first meal will be at the Beekman Arms in Rhinebeck, pre-Revolutionary haven and living museum.  Their Tavern seems even now to echo with the sound of pewter tankards, banged on weathered tables, as Revolutionaries of New York insisted, “Give me liberty, or give me death.”

My friends know, if I could return in any era, I’d choose Philadelphia in the 1770’s.  I’d have to have been a man then, of course.  We’d all be there – Tom and John and Ben and George and Richard Stockton and I hope Tom Paine, banging those tankards at the City Tavern by my beloved Delaware River.

From our thoughts and this cacophony would flow the liberty which sustains us today.  Do not, for God’s sake, lose it!

These two never lost sight of what really matters in America.

Our Heroes FDR Library

Our Heroes, Eleanor and Franklin

Sunny Excursion: Fall Farewell, Spring Growths

Late in December, Fay Lachmann and I hiked the Abbott Marshlands, actually seeking birds.  Which were few and far between.  But nature had other gifts for us, some of them seasonally surprising.

Autumn Last Gasp Abbott Marsh December

FALL’S LAST GASP

Marsh Map Sign 2015

MARSH TRAIL MAP AT ENTRY BY SPRING LAKE – purportedly Indian-named, when they’d gather there between their hunting life inland and their gathering life at the Shore each year.  Our 195 East was their footpath.

Autumn Remnant Abbott Marsh December

FALL FIRE OVERHEAD

Colossal Fungus Abbott Marsh December

HEFTY NEW FUNGUS ON DOWNED LOG, TRAIL-SIDE

Beeches Hang In There Abbott Marsh December

BEECHES IN THEIR WINTER ROBES

Beaver Lodge Stillness by Day Abbott Marsh December

ONE OF MANY BEAVER LODGES – THEY SLEEP IN DAYTIME

New Fungal Growth Abbott Marsh December 2015

NEW SHELF FUNGUS

Shelf Fungus Abbott Marsh December 2015

FADED TURKEY TAIL FUNGUS

Four Swans Not Swimming December 2015

FOUR SWANS NOT SWIMMING – the silence so absolute that, when the swans flew, we could hear the whirr of their wings

Sandy Aftermath Abbott Marsh December

FAY IN A TANGLE OF SANDY-DAMAGE

Beaver Point Abbott Marsh December

NEARING BEAVER POINT

Fern Emergence Abbott Marsh December

NEW FERN GROWTH IN THE FOREST IN DECEMBER

New Onion Grass Abbott Marsh December

ONION GRASS ERUPTING IN THE FOREST IN DECEMBER

New Willow Sprouts Abbott Marsh December 2015

NEW WILLOW GROWTH NEAR SPRING LAKE

End of Trail Abbott Marsh December

END OF TRAIL

Warm Weather Fishermen Abbott Marsh December

SUMMER-LIKE FISHING FROM CANOE

Willow Weep for Me Abbott Marsh December

WILLOW FAREWELL