| Tuesday, June 7, 2022 | | Wendell Berry and The Peace of Wild Things | Wendell Berry and “The Peace of Wild Things”
I owe the theme of this blog as well as its title to my friend and fellow artist E.M. “Liz” Corsa. She posted Wendell Berry’s poem in its entirety on her FB page following the tragedy of another school shooting. I know the poem, but needed the reminder of its words to help me reorient my personal compass, one more time, to stubbornly put one foot in front of another in the direction of Peace. As she did, I am going to quote it here in its entirety.
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s
lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the
great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with
forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still
water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am
free.
- Wendell Berry
The multi-day storm right after Mother’s Day with its wind and rain and gloom challenged my optimism too, especially since I had planned a special treat for out of town friends who are fellow professional photographers—all of whom were visiting in mid-May specifically to photograph our wild horses at that time of year. That trip was impossible as the northern beach was nearly impassable. So now what??
“Now what” turned into a wonderful weekend of sights and sounds, of incredible hospitality for my friends from Dawn and Darold Shaffer of the Colington Creek Inn, and plenty of chances to photograph. We drove to Alligator River Friday evening in spritzing rain after everyone arrived, primarily to scope out what we planned for the next morning. The rain lessened, the sun broke through to give, first, incredible light and then a brilliant double rainbow over the rain-washed fields and trees. The next day, we even made a spontaneous excursion over to Lake Mattamuskeet! The weather there was iffy, the water was not still, but we still enjoyed our time outdoors together.
I have spent a lot of time in the region’s refuges these past weeks, seeking refuge, seeking solace, seeking beauty, seeking peace, seeking joy. As Wendell Berry, I have not been disappointed. My sightings and offerings may be different than his, but the end result of deliberately choosing to go outside always helps heal my heart-hurts. One morning recently, needing to go to Tarboro and rendezvous with two potters whose work I was bringing back to the gallery, I got up at 2:45 a.m. (yes, you read that right, no, that is not a typo) and drove with Beverly Meekins to Pantego, to the Pungo unit of the Pocosin refuge. We had a great excursion over there, I went on to Tarboro, and came back via the Alligator River refuge. Starting and ending my day outdoors definitely made up for the lack of sleep and filled my senses with sights and sounds and smells I don’t typically see seaside.
While I have not yet seen a Mama Bear with baby cubs, I have seen on several occasions a mother with two yearlings. The smaller of the two is definitely spookier and less confident than its sibling. Both stay fairly close to each other and certainly within range of their mother but I can see the growing confidence particularly of the larger one.
I have also seen, several times, a mother owl and baby owlets at Alligator River. I spotted two smaller alligators, doing their part to show why the refuge has its name. One obligingly yawned for me several times, often enough that I could discern its “tell” – it would pump its pale throat several times before oh-so-slowly opening its mouth. The parent owl, on the other hand, rarely gave a signal I picked up on before it exploded from its perch in a fast dive down to the canal to nab a crawfish and carry it back to the trees. Speaking of spotted, I also spotted a Spotted Turtle. These are not common; their status seems to be under review but has been listed as endangered. I saw what I assume was the same one twice, on two different days. One day it was crossing the road from south to north and the next time I saw it, it was headed back, in the same spot, north to south. Both times it stopped just shy of the safety of the grass and I thought, there is a life lesson for me in that too: keep going, don’t stop short; you are almost there.
As I mentioned, my photographer friends stayed at the Colington Creek Inn, where they (and I!) were spoiled with delectable breakfasts as well as chances to photograph the Inn’s feathered residents, Colin and Caroline Osprey. The pair put on a nice show which helped make up for the disappointment at not reaching the 4wd area of Carova. Caroline was incubating eggs, and Colin was attentive to bring her fish and take his turn in the nest to give her a break.
Their trip also coincided with a full moonrise over the ocean, and a couple hours later, the full lunar eclipse! We went to Bodie Light and I wound up making an image requiring three different exposures and clicks of the shutter: once for the moon; once for the starry sky we could see especially as the light was dark; and once when a car came by and obligingly lit the lighthouse itself for a few seconds. Had we been out there alone, we would have “light painted” the lighthouse with a flashlight, but there were several other photographers intent on photographing the eclipse too and we did not want to potentially affect their literal or creative vision and images.
After my friends left, I still did not feel comfortable taking my vehicle out on the beach, so I booked a horse tour with Corolla Outback tours and saw Cedar, daughter of Rambler and Orlanda. I was concerned to see only the mare and foal by the water when we first spotted them. Where was the stallion and the rest of the harem? By the time we came back down the beach, we saw the whole family reunited, by the water. In 2020, I photographed Rambler and Orlanda with their filly Alma; I was glad to see Rambler’s whole harem still looking healthy at the water’s edge.
The day I drove up to take the horse tour was Dragonfly Migration Day! There must have been hundreds of thousands coming ashore, as I drove through ongoing swarms from Kill Devil Hills all the way past Duck! I got to stand in a swarm briefly near Kitty Hawk Pier, and then had to continue north to make my tour, but this past Friday morning in Alligator River, there was a comparable swarm at the corner of Milltail and Sawyer Lake Roads. I suspect many of the dragonflies that came ashore earlier in the month kept flying inland and finally reached the refuge. I stood watching and marveling, listening to frogs and the trilling song of a prothonatory warbler whose bright yellow feathers reminded me once again that my keyword for 2022 is supposed to be Joy.
Saturday evening I made a quick dash around suppertime to TJs to pick up a dozen eggs and saw towering, glowing clouds. Dinner can wait! I went home, put the eggs in the fridge, and headed to the ocean to watch the clouds bronze and gild and eventually turn a deep pink above an ocean that went from navy blue to shimmering pale turquoise in the waning light.
I am giving myself the gift of flexibility these days, realizing, slowly, that I am able to respond spontaneously to these impulses, whether to drive to Alligator River at dawn or dusk, or walk a quiet evening beach, or book a horse tour if I cannot drive myself. Life presents choices. Whenever I can, I am choosing beauty. I am choosing peace. And slowly, in those choices, I am finding joy.
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click for larger image | When the sky turns this color in spritzing rain, always look for the rainbow. You can see it faintly beginning here. |
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click for larger image | One of the 'gators that gives the refuge its name. No, it is not being aggressive here; it is yawning! |
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click for larger image | As the sun set in the west, the eastern sky began to illuminate with the sunset's color reflected in the clouds. |
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posted by eturek at 1:02 PM |
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