BIRDING ‘The Hook’ ~ Bombay, in Delaware

A ‘Life Bird’ for Carolyn, and most welcome to both of us — The Black-Necked Stilt of Bombay Hook

black-necked-stilt-from INternet

Bombay Hook Wildlife Refuge is half again as large as ‘The Brig’, and far more generously treed.  It’s managed this year for wading birds, and we were given two life birds before we’d been in there 20 minutes.

Blue_Grosbeak_from INternet jpg

Second Life Bird for Carolyn — Blue Grosbeak

NOTE THAT ALL BIRD CLOSE-UPS ARE FROM THE INTERNET, not via cfe camera

Mary Wood and I dared a Delaware jaunt last Sunday, because of the heat.  Both Refuges are mostly birding-by-car (the ideal ‘blind’ for the birds — our presence in those metal cocoons does not alarm our avian friends)  Both refuges, also, in summer, are notorious for greenhead flies — carnivorous, or at least sangiferous winged beings, whom we do not add to our ‘Lists’ for the day.

Egrets Unlimited Bombay Hook July

AN ABUNDANCE OF EGRETS, Snowy, that is…

Immediately inside the park, we came to a cluster of dead trees, absolutely studded with snowy egrets.  Picture a Christmas Tree decorated by a hoarder, every ornament alive, with wings!

Salt Marsh Primeval Bombay Hook JulyGREAT EGRET AND GREAT BLUE HERON, below snowy-egret-studded tree

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Founded in 1937, ‘The Hook’ is a vital link in the Atlantic Flyway’s chain, “extending from Canada to the Gulf of Mexico.”  Urgent in both spring and fall migration, admittedly there are always bird riches among these impoundments and woods.  Wading birds (long-legged shorebirds) of some species are already beginning the southward journey.  Mary is already planning our next jaunt — hoping for godwits, frankly.

Refuge with Trees Bombay Hook JulyTREE-RICH BOMBAY HOOK, with brown-eyed Susans and Queen Anne’s lace

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Summer Perfection Bombay Hook JulySUMMER PERFECTION, BOMBAY HOOK, JULY

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Immature great_blue_heron from Internet

IMMATURE GREAT BLUE HERON — rarity for Mary and me   (Internet)

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eastern-kingbird-michael-woodruff from Internet

EASTERN KINGBIRD SO NEAR — right beside car     (image from Internet)

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Goldfinch with Thistles Fredric-D-NisenholzGOLDFINCH OF HOME — ONLY THEIRS FED ON INDIAN GRASS — NO THISTLES!  (Internet)

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Eastern Phoebe w. nest material from Internet KK_APA_2011_19948_157974_AlbertoLopezEASTERN PHOEBE WITH NEST MATERIAL – OURS SLAM-DUNKED A GREEN GRASSHOPPER!      (Internet Image)

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Turks Cap Lily Seaside Goldenrod Bombay Hook July

EXCEEDING RARE TURK’S CAP LILY BLOOMS WITH SEASIDE GOLDENROD

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Perched Bombay Hook July 2017

PERCHED — EGRET RIGHT AT HOME AT ‘THE HOOK’

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Vultures Gather Bombay Hook July

AN OMINOSITY OF VULTURES AT ‘THE HOOK’

Mary and I ignored her GPS most of the way, choosing 295 South, to the end of our New Jersey, to zoom over the Delaware Memorial Bridge.  She’s named her navigator “Jeeves.”  His commanding voice directed us on Route 1 South and 13 South in various combinations.  Bombay Hook is near Smyrna, below historic New Castle.  Whitehall Neck Road took us into the Refuge.

At this point, Jeeves complained, “RECALCULATING”.  We had a good laugh, as I mused, “Mary, we have to remember, butlers don’t spend a lot of time in wildlife refuges.”

We couldn’t believe the swiftness of the ride, nor the mostly green beauty on 295 and the preponderance of 1 and 13.  (Admittedly, Delaware’s fringes leading to the bridge are exercises in tackiness, –but briefly.)  At one point we drove through blue-green just-tasseled corn on both sides of the road — “high as an elephant’s eye”.

I’ll do another blog on New Castle for our (very late) lunch — in Jessop’s pub, whose building is 300 years old.  I was served Thomas Jefferson Ale in a stone mug, and a sumptuous Colonial crab pot pie…, by a ‘serving wench’ in the garb of the era.  In the church next door, Lafayette had given the bride away…

Thomas Jefferson Ale Jessop's Tavern New Castle Delaware 2017‘PARADISE ENOW’

 

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POOL READING, Lawrenceville Haven After Work

Pool Late Light Society Hill

A year ago July, I discovered that my new home, Society Hill (named for Quakers of Old) has s saltwater pool.

A year later, I return, carrying Genet, a Biography of Janet Flanner, by Brenda Wineapple.  I had evidently carried it on my first pool experience, finding notes about that day on the back page:

I’m not so sure about swimming – cannot remember last time I did so, nor where.   I think Island Beach and Sandy Hook, and even Whitesbog, over and over, in the romantic summer of the year 2000.

It’s a perfect day, sun and high clouds in a periwinkle sky.  Pretty windy – hard to keep my place in the book.  Tall, lush evergreens seem to be singing above me.  Singing and dancing, even waltzing.

Two vultures play the wind.

Beside this very American pool, which looks Hollywood from the shallow end, I am reading the best source on Paris in the 20’s, –what and who might be chic; what and who definitely is is not.  Josephine Baker is a Flanner favorite, the infamous banana dance, and a rare person of color rising to fame in that challenging city.

But this shockingly blue sky, these high winds, these mountain-trees carry me right out to Montana, yes, to Big Sky Country.  Where I stood, equally storm-tossed, at an outdoor telephone, as my husband in Princeton read me the acceptance letter from Princeton University.  The Creative Writing Department had examined my poems, which no one had ever seen nor heard.  Accepting, they put me into Advanced Poetry (as a 35 year-old), with all those brilliant children.  My teacher would be the Founder and Editor of the Quarterly Review of Literature, Ted Weiss.  My knees buckled, hearing this impossibility, on the windswept Montana mountaintop.

Here I lie back on a lush towel on a solid chaise, wondering whether the tiny, supersonic raptor overhead could be a peregrine.  Word has it that they fly 200 mph.  Not in this wind, but he’s making a valiant try.

I think about getting into that water.   Hmmm…   there are plantings in tubs around the pools, neglected marigolds, faltering, going to seed.  I go around and deadhead every tub – once a gardener always a gardener.  My fingers, turning Genet pages, smell of old marigolds.

I shall wash them.  Walk straight into that water and set off, my lazy butterfly stroke that will never win me any medals, but does convey me to the other side.  Water on my tongue proves our Society Hill rumor, that we have a salt-water pool.  I’m grateful – not exactly the Salt Lake, but it does render a certain buoyancy.

Pool 'My End; Society Hill

Even though this is the pool of a development, I am absolutely alone, in what seems an endless reservoir of aquamarine, my favorite color.  Back and forth, back and forth.

Back on the chaise to dry, a dragonfly comes to sip from my upraised knee.

Janet Flanner is being her usual anecdotal, acerbic self.

I glance up to discover a great blue heron arrowing directly over me, east to west.

I feel cleansed within and without by my time in the saltwater, enriched within and without by Genet’s rapier wit and refusal to be easily satisfied.

I decide to weave Flanner qualities increasingly into my too-compliant being.

I gather my towel and my book, and stroll back to 23 Juniper, more alive than I have been in years.

Pool Evergreen Reflections Society Hill