The strangeness of nature

 

"The turning of the year brings a change in the valley, as the first leaves begin to turn to gold and scarlet," wrote Gladys Taber from her seventeenth-century New England farmhouse and its lovely surroundings. "It is no longer the green, green world of summer. Suddenly one morning I look out and see the swamp maple ablaze. I feel the strangeness of nature all over again."

I awake early and drag my feet.

Today is the day that we officially close the summer house.

We drive along coastal roads under cobalt blue skies and overarching tunnels of leaves, vibrant in reds, yellows, greens and, unfortunately, crinkled browns.

I trace the coastline, attempting to memorize the picture before me of whirring white foam slamming the rocky shore.

When we arrive at the summer house, I turn on the switch for the water and climb the well-worn painted stairs. Mom removes the screen from the front door, and I head to the bedroom to lift and carry the heavy glass window.

Struggling to align the glass to fit in the slots, we finally give up and save that chore for my husband another day.

Next, we attempt to defrost the old refrigerator, but it seems to be frozen in place. We tug the freezer door to no avail, and I think I hear it chuckle. 

Mom starts filling pans with water to boil and place inside the fridge. A half hour later with both of us pulling the handle as hard as we can, it opens. 

We try to scrape off the ice in the freezer, but it is an unmovable mass.

No worries, we can fill more pans with boiling water. Mom turns on the faucet, and nothing drips from the tap.

After a harried call to my husband, who makes a harried call to the plumber, we give up.

I remove soft drinks and half-empty condiments from  the fridge, as well as the leftover groceries still in the cabinets; and I carry them all to the car. 

Exhausted, I lament the day's turn of events. 

We bounce down the rutted, bumpy road, and I hear the sea gulls laughing. 

Walk with me by the sea

Colorful wildflowers lead the way to the seashore.

 

Gray clouds collide with blue skies in the Heavens.

Boulders point the way to Europe.

Follow the unbeaten path until the tide changes.

Get ready to jump. The waves are rolling in.

A wildflower thrives in a bed of rounded rocks.

The season of our discontent

Whipped by wind, water and sand, I stumble along the seashore for the first time in this new season. I shiver in the cold, but persistence carries me forward.

Just as the pandemic kept me locked inside for far too long, I am determined to break free from the confines of time and space of these past few years. 

Splattered yet defiant, I trip over rocks and sink into wet sand as I long for escape.

Overhead, sea gulls circle and cry. The angry sea crashes and curses at my feet. Where have you been all this time?

Well, it sounded like a good idea . . .

Instead of winterizing the summer house from November to May, why not keep it open all year long, as a hideaway from whatever life, climate and circumstance hurled at us?

Fill the oil tank, crank up the heat, stock up the old refrigerator, keep the mice at bay and head to the summer house whenever we wanted. Holed away inside its cozy confines, I could write unimpeded, at a whim, or just read to my heart's content.

In the late fall, Fogland beckoned: my favorite chair, overflowing bookshelves, Mom's warm afghan, a hot cup of tea, and a vacation whenever I wanted.

Then the unthinkable happened:

Mice moved in for their long winter vacation, leaving mementos in all the drawers; the inclement weather triggered my asthma; the freezer iced up and locked us out; the stairs made a slippery slope coated with ice; the frosty air seeped through the huge and heavy air conditioner; the oil tank needed constant refilling; the cooking stove emitted little heat; the water pump stopped pumping; the overworked plumber promised a long wait; the winds lashed the house with a vengeance pushing two windows inside on the floor; and the oil burner seized and there was no heat . . . 

So now the new season begins anew. There will be a long list of things to do. I sit on a big boulder at the beach and wait for the kids to catch up. I listen to their laughter and screams as they run and play.

All's right with the world.

Escape

Stuck between a rock and a hard place?  

Turn your back on these troubling times and escape.

"It is solved by walking," wrote 5th-century saint, Augustine of Hippo.

Come with me.

Let's walk along the seashore together.

Breathe in the salt air. Embrace the stillness. 

Plod on... even though we may stumble.

When the wind shifts the sea grasses, choose a new path.  

Amid the seaweed, await the crashing waves.

Look around and see how everything fits together seamlessly.

Observe the Creator's art. There is nothing better than this.

The summer like no other

It is a summer like no other.

Nature is at its peak.

Day after day the sun shines with short bouts of cooling rain. 

Birds of every hue sing in the trees. 

Hydrangea blossoms burst out of cottage gardens. 

Sea and sky mirror each other, painted by the Artist's hand in brilliant shades of blue.

   

Yet a hush has fallen over this seaside village.

In summer's past, the sounds of summer by the sea reverberated throughout this jetty of three tiny streets.

Today, the sound of surf rushing over rocks is deafening because the inhabitants of this place are mute.

Tucked inside their cottages, they mostly seek sanctuary from the pestilence that has gripped even this obscure part of our world.

Down the hill at the town beach, bathers are social distancing six feet apart on this sweltering summer's day.

It is the summer of living separately.

Seaside walkabout

Come to the seashore and walk with me.

Hide from the world awhile among the beach roses.

Stand atop these standing stones and watch the surf slide in.

Sit in sand by the water's edge and listen.

Explore the ocean floor laid bare.

Walk into the waves and wade.

Feel the caress of God's great blue Heaven above.

Solitary woman

Once in a blue moon, I find myself alone on the beach.

A late weekend afternoon, the sun is a torch; but the relentless wind propels and cools me as I wander along the deserted shoreline.

Craving silence, I hear the deafening crash of waves hurled with a vengeance at my feet.

I seek an unobstructed stretch of sand, but waters and winds conspire and throw rocks in my path.

I long for inner contemplation and escape from the noise of everyday life, but all around me nature cries out so loud that I stop in my tracks and acknowledge the presence of the Artist who created it all.

I'm listening, Lord.

Kneeling in the sand, I await the pounding waves.

The finery of wildflowers: Queen Anne's lace

One of my favorite places: a sandy crevice in the rocks.

Stairway to Heaven?

The Creator's artwork

Remnants of the Ice Age

Nature thrives in its rocky bed.

Blossoms

Elizabeth Barrett Browning said it best: "Earth's crammed with Heaven, / And every common bush afire with God."

Blossoms, big and small, dot our landscape.

Life slows to a saunter at the beach.

Look around; and along with blue skies and waters, seek the Creator's handiwork.

Puffs of fuchsia rhododendrons color our world.

Alongside a stone wall, violet blossoms light up the roadway.

Pink beach roses thrive amid rounded beach stones.

Bunches of white flowers reach for the sky.

Daffodils burst with buds of yellow.

Tiny purple flowers hide in sandy beach soil.

Somewhere to be quiet

Going around in circles? Don't know which way to turn?

Backed into a corner? Need a place to hide?

Stuck? Frozen in place?

Come to the seashore

Swiss  theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar said, "Harassed by life, exhausted, we look about us for somewhere to be quiet, to be genuine, a place of refreshment. We yearn to restore our spirits in God, to simply let go in him and gain new strength to go on living."

For me, that special place is the seashore. I come from a long line of island dwellers, and I feel the primeval pull of the sea.

Caressed by wind and comforted by the cadence of waves, I hear the voice of the Creator.

Where is your special place?

Come and see

It's ten days after Christmas, and the warm feelings we associate with the holidays are beginning to fade. So what now?

Come and see.

Sit a spell.

Hang out with close friends.

Do whatever floats your boat.

Horse around.

Reflect on God's blessings.

Get your ducks in a row.

A late winter's day beside the sea

Tired of being barn-bound, a horse takes advantage of the late February thaw.

An oyster fisherman rows to his vessel to check on his beds.

A seagull gets a bird's eye view atop a piling.

Currents create curves on the serene Sakonnet as calm as a lake.

Standing stones offer a seat from which to ponder the Creator's blessings.