| Friday, April 23, 2021 | | Eyes on the Skies | Since my last blog, we had a mild start to March, followed by typical blustery March winds, and an Easter that was pretty enough to let us worship outside that Sunday morning. This is the time of year that the Milky Way makes its annual entrance, after being below the horizon all winter. We’ve also had some dramatic sky shows and more than one rainbow since my last blog. Hence this blog’s title: eyes on the skies.
In March’s second week, I got up for sunrise. The skies were mostly clear at dawn and what caught my attention was the change of hue over two hours’ time, from the deep blue star-studded sky of pre-dawn through twilight and then sunrise itself. You will see what I mean below. That morning, the ocean was more like a lake and at times I had to strain to see where sea and sky met. Pelicans were patrolling in force and I liked their silhouettes against the dawn’s changing palette.
Shortly after, someone told me a Mother Goose had settled in to incubate eggs on the Osprey nest platform by Sunset Grille in Duck. Sure enough, there she was, with Papa Goose paddling below. Geese don’t build nests aloft; they nest on the ground, so this was odd behavior. Given that this platform has been occupied for at least the past four seasons that I know of by an Osprey pair, I could not imagine the Osprey would allow her to stay. Nor did they. I missed the confrontation, but in April, well after the Osprey had arrived, she was there one day and gone a few days later and the Osprey had settled in. Immediately they began the work of rebuilding the nest for themselves. As for Mother Goose, I felt sorry for her--all that work of laying and incubation for nothing. I had hoped perhaps she had nested early enough that her goslings would hatch and be out of the next before the Osprey came. I learned that female Canada Geese, unlike other birds I watch, never leave their nest during incubation—I mean, not to eat, not to drink, not to preen, nothing. They fast, they don’t take even a sip of water. Papa paddles close at hand to defend the nest from predators—that is his sole job. I am sure a fracas ensued when the Osprey returned and decided to oust the interlopers. Hopefully both parent geese survived and she can try a more traditional site next spring.
In other bird news, the Purple Martins have returned to their houses in Duck, a sight I especially welcome since they eat mosquitos (and presumably midges) which makes evenings on the boardwalk much more pleasant come warm weather.
That brings us up to April 11th. That evening, Ray Matthews and I rendezvoused at midnight to drive over to Lake Mattamuskeet to photograph the Milky Way over the lake. The forecast predicted calm winds along with clear skies; the winds, however, did not get the memo and the night was breezier than I would have liked. The air temperature was brisk enough to encourage me to wear my down vest but not so cold as to require gloves. And the Milky Way over the lake was spectacular. We got to the Lake around 2 a.m. and the arch was at a perfect height. Once it rose too high to make a compelling photo, Ray said he was going to walk down the shoreline to the closest tall trees and photograph the Milky Way from that spot. I tagged along behind. As we got close to the trees, Ray said, doesn’t that look like a giant bunny, eating a broccoli tree? And I replied, it DOES! And now that I see the bunny, I will never not see it! I told Ray it was his image to market, since he first spotted the bunny, and it was his idea to walk over there in the first place, but that I would share it in my blog. So it is below! Immediately I thought of Jimmy Stewart’s Harvey. If you love, love, love the bunny and just have to have it, Ray’s version is available in the gallery.
Much of nature photography centers around patience. We wait out the right light. We wait out a season when birds or animals are most active, and hope they will return to their usual spots. Many years, they don’t. My little red fox family I so loved during 2019 has not come back to den the past two years. At Mattamuskeet, we waited out dawn that turned out to be less spectacular than we might have wished. We drove back just after sunrise, after which I took a shower and then worked another gallery shift. In all, I was up just about 38 hours straight, but seeing the Milky Way rise on another year made it all worth the sacrifice.
Fast forward a few days later, and my Pete was suddenly very short of breath and wound up in the OB Hospital—first in the ER and then in a room upstairs for a few days. I am thankful he did not have Covid-19 (we are both weeks past our second vaccines now) but he did have a viral pneumonia. At any age, nothing to play around with. He came home Tuesday and is getting better s-l-o-w-l-y. We would sure appreciate your prayers and good thoughts.
Saturday was his toughest day there, and that night when I left the hospital, I saw a dark heart, darker than the surrounding asphalt, right behind my car. Something had spilled there and formed the exact shape of a heart—as if to remind me, Love never fails. We are buoyed by love.
Monday evening when I left the hospital to come home, I walked outside to “rainbow light” – that slate blue sky I associate with rainbows. We had misty rain earlier, and it was sprinkling just a little as I walked to the car, and sure enough, there was a rainbow to my south! I drove to a nearby beach access and reminded myself of some of the promises I hold most dear: that we are never forsaken, never alone, and that God’s strength and peace are always available.
The rainbow faded, I started toward home, and then the opposite end brightened! I pulled over once more and walked out to the beach again to photograph the other end of the rainbow. As I was standing there, a group of gulls came flying over and then surrounded me, swooping ever lower as if I had tasty treats (I did not). They stayed with me a long time, calling out, (a sound I love) until that side of the rainbow faded. Then they began to spread out and fly away in different directions, and I walked back to the car to drive home. For years I attended a twice-yearly women’s retreat here for women in recovery; the parent organization was called Deo Volente (God Willing) and informally the group was known as The Gulls. I thought of “Gulls” who have since passed from my earthly sight, but not from my heart, and I took their “experience, strength and hope” with me, reminding me of the importance of living one day at a time.
I say this over and over--Nature nourishes me. Nature reminds me of the truths I know but can forget in a crisis. Since Pete has been home, shortly before dinner, I ran a couple errands and saw one more rainbow sliver to the south. Nature also reminds me that nothing stays static. Moving through change with grace, with love, that is my goal. Time outside gives me strength and courage to do just that.
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click for larger image | Poor Mama! All those weeks of fasting and waiting! I hope she nests down on the ground next season. |
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click for larger image | I came out of the hospital after a long, hard day to find this reminder of Love's presence waiting. |
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posted by eturek at 6:38 PM |
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