Assateague and the Arts

Assateague is always a fun place to visit if its mosquito and biting fly season.  I met a gentleman from Tennessee who camped there with his family a few years ago.  He said he'd never experienced a mosquito attack while cruising on his bicycle.  But now it's mid March so we have a bit of time to play around there before the bugs come out en masse.  

We have been there twice in the last week, once to take a visiting family member to see the ponies and the vastness of the ocean.  Not that he'd never seen ponies on a beach.  He'd been to the Outer Banks in North Carolina and he'd seen the ocean many times.  He grew up in Connecticut.  But now he lives in New Hampshire.  And since he was visiting us, we wanted to show him around our stomping grounds.  

But I said we visited twice in the last week.  We went back to camp a night and see the sunrise.  Dave put the camper on the truck, got both all cleaned up and cleaned out and we packed a few items like food and water, binoculars and cameras, varied clothing items to deal with a low 40's night and low 60's day, both windy on the ocean which always means more layers than you may anticipate. 

We were only going to stay a day one night and most of the day. Its an hour and a half drive from our house.  We were going to catch the Frida movie (Exhibition on Screen (TM) - Frida Kahlo at the Cinema Art Theater in Rehobeth Beach, on the way.  We've been on a Frida kick since visiting (and joining) the Biggs Museum of Art when they had the Frida show "Through the Lens" of Nickolas Muray, the exhibition of his photographs of Frida but also "Unmasking Culture: An examination of the Ritual Masks of Mexico" and an exhibition of children's drawings of Frida from local schools.  We loved all of it.  I am also reading Frida by Barbara Mudjica.  It's a novel based on Frida's life from the perspective of her little sister who had the affair with Diego Rivera, Frida's husband.  And...we also recently saw the movie,  Frida, a film by Julie Taymar, on DVD, loaned to us by our son and his wife who are also Frida fans.   

So where was I?  Yes.  I was looking forward to yet another great day of art, history and now adding some nature into the day.  And this continues the start of a whole week of art and nature.  We started the week off by seeing the matinee, Victor/Victoria, at the Clear Space Theater in Rehobeth Beach on Sunday.  And btw, it was very well done we thought, and we are so excited to see more live theater there. We later picked up a copy of the 1982 Julie Andrews movie, Victor/Victoria, from the Dover Public Library and totally loved that too.  I don't know how I'd missed seeing it after all these years.  The instrumental music, the singing, the jokes and comments about gay life and straight prejudice and ignorance...it was way before it's time.  Or it was time and was time hundreds of years ago but I think it was bravery and truth to power in 1982.

So back to Assateague.  I wanted to go camp there to be right on the beach for the sunrise, especially if we could time it for a morning where there was some partial cloud cover.  That makes the best sunrises and sunsets in my opinion.  But I also wanted to do a long walk on the beach to see what I could find and also just for exercise.  I wanted this long walk to be done before tourist season.  Part of my motivation was driven, too, by a local television news spotlight by Jimmy Hoppa on the 1950's effort to develop what now is Assateague National Seashore but what was at the time supposed to be the beginning of a second Ocean City of sorts, that would be called Ocean Beach.  A "perfect storm" put the kibash on it though it was already struggling with flooding and shifting sands.  At that time there was also no such thing as flood insurance.  Jimmy Hoppa's spotlight on Assateague explained to us why last year when we'd hiked around Assateague we saw the remains of an asphalt highway, climbing up and down the washed out sections of it, and at that time, wandering about it's history.  So now we know and wanted to go back just to see it all from the perspective of what it might have been but fortunately isn't.  

But we didn't stay.  We got set up at a camp site, coming in a day before reservations were required, and coming in after hours so we could just pick an empty site not reserved according to the sheet posted at the Ranger Station.  We'd have had to return the next day before 10:00 to pay for the site.  Anyway, we parked (there are no hookups) so it didn't take any time, and we crawled into the camper and opened a bottle of red wine and sat to chat and just look out the windows at the sand and approaching sunset on the bay side.  We had about an hour before sunset so we decided to take a quick walk on the beach.  That's what decided our early departure.  The beach is a groomed beach and I guess I knew that from before, but had just hoped for more interesting things to find besides crushed shells and sand.  The closest beach to our house is Slaughter Beach and we love it because it's not a groomed beach.  It's funky.  And funky is interesting to us.  There's lots of nature washed up with each tide.  And also washed up with each tide is a bit of trash which is sometimes unsightly but also sometimes very interesting.  

So after walking only about five minutes on the beach (windy and cold, too) we turned back towards the camper.  I expressed my disappointment at the beach.  Dave quipped that if we were done we could just go home and belly up at a bar somewhere along the way for a drink.  Yes, I said.  We could go home and sleep in our own bed and read a book or watch a movie and just get up early and go to Slaughter Beach to watch the sunrise, which we could do, actually, any day.  

So I don't know why I got the wild hair to go to Assateague to camp.  Maybe if some ponies wandered into the camping area we might have been charmed and stayed.  There was plenty evidence on the ground that they frequented the campsites.   

So we stowed our stuff again, put away the barely sipped wine, and jumped back in the truck, turned on the audio book we'd been listening to (Elizabeth George, Something to Hide which takes the Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley series on a spin with London's Nigerian community and FGM or female genital mutilation).  

On the way home we stopped at one of the Matt's Fish Camps to have a drink and a couple appetizers.  We'd seen the Matt's Fish Camp restaurants strung along the coast but had not yet visited one.  They are upscale in a fun contrast to the name and first impression of the nondescript fishing shack outward appearance of the building.  

When we got home we quickly and fully unpacked as we do with each trip we take. We work together and get it done so it's not hanging over our heads as a dread and we don't have the irritation of getting ready for bed and remembering our toiletries are still in the camper.  

So here's some picture of when the ponies were out and about last week when we visited Assateague with Dave's brother from New Hampshire. 

The lighter colored pony is getting ready to nip the dark brown one on the hiney. And, below, the dark brown pony turns around and says, "Cut it out".  

The Sika deer on Assateague were kind enough to show themselves while we visited last week with Dave's brother.  They are native to eastern Asia and were brought here in the 1920's but I don't know the details yet.  They have lots of different sounds that they make, at least ten now known.  That would be fun to hear.  I have heard deer grunts before and am always surprised and delighted since they seem so silent and serene.  

Mallards are so common that I think we sometimes don't get excited about seeing them.  But the beautiful teal color of the head and neck on the males always delights me.  And that yellow bill and orange feet are fun too.  

So here are the two brothers at Assateague last week.  

And here they are on Slaughter Beach earlier that day.  It was cold and windy so we didn't walk outside too much either day.  

Weird Weekend In Ohio

Our grandson has gotten into body building.  His mom and dad are excited and supportive.  They are both into body sculpting and consuming exact amounts of calories in a timed manner and now their son is the apple falling close to their tree.  They couldn't take him to the Arnold Sports Festival Expo in Columbus, Ohio, last weekend so we were asked to step in. It's always an honor to be asked to do something with or for one of our kids or grandkids. We are happy they like us and include us in their lives. 

Our grandson is 16 now.  It has been interesting watching the things he has been obsessed with over the years such as video games, Rubik's cubes, bearded dragons, and skate boarding.  Rubik's cubes and skate boarding were my favorites.  I am not into video games and see most of them as a life suck in the same addictive and mind numbing category as TV, hours that you can never get back, that could be spent in so many other ways.  There is so much in this world to explore.  I say use your spare time, your free time to go exploring whether it's with a book or podcasts sitting in your own home, getting outside and communing with nature or participating in the limitless events in your area or planning a trip somewhere else. 

The Rubik's cube I liked because of the intellectual challenge it posed, it didn't take up much room, ha ha, it was quiet, and it wasn't hurting anyone unlike the video games which mostly celebrate indiscriminate killing of human beings and the Rubik's cube was portable. 

Our grandson was always more apathetic than athletic with most pursuits his folks tried to get him interested in. Except skate boarding.  And with skate boarding I think maybe he liked the culture more than he had the skill or accessible neighborhood area to master the basics. I think skate boarding is a respectable athletic skill though and gets less respect from old white people than it deserves. When we lived in a small town in the Southern Appalachians I was dismayed to see the town asphalt walking/hiking/cycling trail posted with signage disallowing skate boarders. If a cyclist can share a path with a pedestrian, why not a skate boarder?  I figured it was more a rejection of the skate boarder culture than a safety issue. 

As for our grandson's interest in bearded dragons and other reptiles, I was at first really excited until I realized this involved keeping a living being trapped for years at a time.  I've attended expo's for reptiles with our grandson and I hate it but don't say it.  And until now, after attending the Arnold Sports Festival, it occurs to me the people who seem to like that kind of thing are similar.  I can't quite put my finger on it but I wonder if the people who flock to each share the value of looking tough and acting tough, a kind of spit in your eye mentality a desire to shock or instill fear.  

So I certainly prefer skate boarding to body building. I have been introspective about why and am still not sure.  Is it the differing culture and skill? I think skate boarding takes skill. Does body building require skill? I'm no expert but I can see it takes some knowledge of how of equipment and muscles and diet.  Both undertakings require dedication to achieve desired states though body building is more a 24/7 thing. Body building involves lots of supplements, periods of fasting, timed meals with set calories and weighing of foods, very specific and timed workouts and periods of rest.  Body building is completely regimented and not at all compatible with the bohemian lifestyle that my husband and I live. It is contrary to our passion for wonderful food or curling up on the couch with a good book or waking up and just deciding to go for a drive or a hike or a long run. There is no spontaneity in body building.  None at all. Our grandson eats mostly white stuff that doesn't look like food. It looks gross.  His workout and food schedule dictate everything else. My husband and I sat in the car outside the Planet Fitness both nights in Columbus so our grandson could workout. He's not terribly independent, not at all street smart, and maybe a typical teenager in that he doesn't really have his head up thinking ahead for himself so we wanted to ensure he stayed safe in Columbus. We basically babysat him over the weekend.  But we learned a lot about this alien lifestyle he is joining.  

I'm not saying my husband and I have never lifted weights.  We have.  But we have never been body builders or been interested in doing it.  We prefer runners or hikers.  Runners can have the sticks up their butts on regimentation both with running, diet and rest.  Many are arrogant and competitive.  But many of them who are arrogant and competitive are quietly so.  They blend in on the street in street clothes.  Body builders are kind of like cheerleaders or runway models. Very aware of their looks. They are mirror lookers rather than outward looking at this big, wonderful life. I say good on having a body that can take us through this wonderful life using our wonderful senses to experience it.  I feel it is so hamstrung (to use body lingo) to be fixated on how you look and feel in the micro/macro way of body sculpting.  

My grandson told me I should be interested in body sculpting my own body because I like art.  I was speechless.  I love art.  But I can't imagine having only this one canvas, my own body, to work on or to see.  I can use my artistic inclinations to hang funky clothing and jewelry on this body and comb my hair into whatever twists or drapes meet my fancy on any given day.  

I've been online reading about body building and have run across many discussions of the self-absorption and narcissism of it and whether there are common denominators in personal motivation such as compensating for being shamed or belittled growing up.  Because there does seem to be an in-your-face attitude among the body builders.  Is it compensation? Is it a reaction to being shamed or belittled?  I don't know.  Do people get into body building to look tough or to shock others or feel superior?  I don't know.  I guess there are as many reasons for getting into it as there are for any pursuit or lifestyle. But there is something a little off-putting for me.

One thing I certainly can say I enjoyed at the Arnold Sports Expo was the body painting.  My favorite was this woman.  Not only was the artist amazing, but she was in character even as the artist worked on the finishing touches. 

The body painting was the only booth where I think I smiles enthusiastically.  I had a hard time looking at many of the people at the Arnold Sports Expo in Columbus, Ohio last weekend, whether it was the attendees or the competitors.  And there seemed to be a lot of T-shirts that said things like "Don't be a pussy."  That's sexist and demeaning.

To me the Arnold Sports Festival expo was a freak show. But where many people would consider the body painting freaky or wacky, it was my favorite.  It appealed to my bohemian nature. That's the kind of freak show I enjoy and where I use 'freak show' in the fondest way.  I love eccentric people.  I love the way this woman was in character even as the artist was putting on finishing touches. 

And here goes the rest of the freak show. 

The expo was named for Arnold Schwarzenegger who was actually booed by some of the attendees probably due to his politics and speaking out against Trump.  Arnold spoke right before the slapping contest.  You heard me.  Slapping.  Yeah.  It's a thing.  You can knock someone out with a slap like in boxing or domestic violence.  I couldn't see the slapping competition either on the stage or the jumbotrons which was a good thing because it is traumatizing to me.  It started with some 120ish pound dolled up women who my husband, who could see it with my grandson, described it as a lot of jiggly stuff going on that the crowd seemed to love.  And speaking of crowd.  Of all the events going on, this one attracted the most people in the expo.  It was body to body crowded around the stage.  Half the expo room was packed with spectators facing the stage and two massive jumbotrons.  The yelling and screaming of the crowd was scary.  It was like a gladiator competition.  I had been standing to the side rear of the stage watching the goings-on of the back stage work and the media and camera folks setting up and the competitors lining up.  The gentleman, and I use that term loosely, very, who knocked out his competition with a slap, had been striding up and down inside the fencing in front of the stage video taping the audience as it gathered before the competition.  He was tall and fit looking and very angry looking.  I guess he was getting into the zone that it takes to slap the shit out of someone.  Anyway, after we left the immediate area and heard the house coming down, it seemed, with all the shrieks of joy and amazement from the crowd as a human being was beaten to the ground, I couldn't help but look up from the other side of the expo and catch a glimpse in a jumbotron to see that, yes, the angry gentleman pacing back in forth in front of me video taping the crowd, passing his eyes over me with a dismissive yet contemptuous glare, was the "winner". It is upsetting to know human beings love a good train wreck, a good beating, a good lynching. I just hate it.

I don't remember wtf this was with the yellow and red costumes.  I think it was a take on the Renaissance Festival matches. 

And then we had some of the body builders where their bodies are a splotchy spray painted brownish red and they turn and flex and try to show every muscle to include, it seems, their vagina's.  I didn't quite catch that shot, fortunately, I guess, but every woman gave it to the crowd, so to speak. I guess the women need the spiked heels to show off their muscles, but the men do it barefoot. 

Gotta love the get-up of these two in the goth-inspired clothing.  Actually, that kind of look is more what I find interesting.  I love that the guy is walking around in his underwear.  

Where are the guy's high heals?  I love that the body paints make skin color all the same. 

These are wooden, I think, statues.  Lovely, don't you think?  I want one just outside my front door.  No wait.  I want one in the corner in my dining room.  

So there you have it.  My view of the Arnold Sports Expo.  And the word "sport" is used loosely here. 

But wait.  There's more to our lovely Columbus, Ohio trip.  My husband and I had been listening to the audio book, The Aviators, by Winston Groom, about Eddie Rickenbacker, Jimmy Doolittle and Charles Lindbergh.  It is one of the best biography books I've ever read.  I've read lots of books are the air war in World War II and the development of strategy and tactics of bombers and fighters.  My uncle was a navigator on a B-17 that was shot down over France.  Some of the crew survived.  My uncle did not.  So before and after my husband and I escorted my folks to France years ago, to visit the crash site, meet some of the French citizens who witnessed it and even a French Resistance member who helped a survivor escape, I read dozens of books.  But this one, The Aviators, taught me things about Rickenbacker, Doolittle, and Lindbergh that I'd not yet heard.  As my husband and I travel around, we 'pull threads' from what we learn and explore further.  So knowing Rickenbacker had grown up in Columbus, Ohio, we took the opportunity to visit his childhood home.  

This home was outside the city of Columbus at the time.  They grew cabbage in the yard and had goats, giving them enough milk to sell.  The house held Rickenbacker's six siblings and two parents until his dad was killed in a fight when Rickenbacker was young.  Rickenbacker's life story was amazing.  He was second generation, a bootstraps riser, an amazingly curious and hard working talent with a heart the size of Alaska. I paid my respects. 

Twelve Mile Trek on the Beach

We keep extending the distance of our walks from Slaughter Beach south to Prime Hook Beach.  We walked almost 12 miles yesterday in weather that reached into the low 70's.  We started first thing in the morning, wanting to enjoy this day to the fullest.  There was a possibility of rain but who cares?  We just geared up for it. 

A warm morning with a dramatic sky,
an outbound tide and the contrast
  of the fat, red buoy floating just offshore.

As we walk the miles, my feet sink in an inch or two, sometimes more, sometimes less depending on where on the beach we walk and how firmly the sand is packed.  I was curious about the science of this and looked it up on the internet. The first thing I found was "What Makes Sand Soft?" a New York Times article by Randall Monroe published November 9l, 2020.  Turns out, the answer lies in a field of physics that is still evolving (as if any field of physics could ever be finite).  There's so much not yet known about how the size, shape, strength and texture of grains of sand affect other factors such as firmness under our feet.  And, of course, moisture overlays these factors as well. The softness of sand on the beach may be appreciated by sunbathers walking barefoot or stretched out prone on a towel. But for us, firm sand is good though I admit, soft sand gives us a better workout.  We feel the effort of all those small muscles and tendons during long walks.  But the more we do it the less post walk pain we feel.   

With the tide out we see just a little of "what lies below".
I love it.

Our walks on the beach are always an out and back thing, a linear trail defined thus by a large body of water on one side and sand dunes, marshland or human boundaries often on the others.  The walk out never seems long even as we press further and further south, exploring, experiencing.  For me, I guess it's the anticipation. Looking forward to the newness of any given day on the beach and the differing views all around, the birds, the animal tracks, and all the interesting things washed up on the beach keep the walk feeling like a great sightseeing tour or a science class, a great tease of the brain and sensory existence. 

In fact, there is so much to see on any given walk that I often don't even know where to look and have to make myself slow down yet make myself look up and around, give all aspects of the journey a good appreciation.  I go back and forth between studying what's in and on the sand, to watching birds, the ships anchored or moving offshore, planes, especially the huge seemingly slow movers out of Dover Air Force Base, changing clouds or the subtle changing shade of a clear blue sky, swaying blades of the beach grasses in the dunes, the wave action... Like one of my favorite John Burroughs quotes, "To learn something new, take the path that you took yesterday."  This is true for any walk in nature but even more obvious along a beach.  

Crossing from Slaughter Beach
to the beach fronting the
Prime Hook National Wildlife Refuge.
This view evokes for me pictorial images of wartime. 
I much prefer this one. 

Psychologically, the return walk back on a beach walk always seems a bit longer even though we still find things we missed on the way out and all around us the details of the scenery are still changing. I think it really only seems longer because we are digging deeper into the sand with our extra few pounds of weight caused by carrying our beach booty.  That, combined sometimes with the warmth of the rising temperature during the day, can make for a slightly more challenging walk. We can go out cold in the morning, layered up for wind or forecasted rain and come back with an outer layer or two tied around our waists, draped around our necks, drooped over an arm or stuffed in bags and sweating. 

Our normal beach trek goes like this:  Outbound, we pick up goodies that are small, or larger ones that we are afraid we might miss on our way back. We usually don't have to worry about other beachcombers snagging all the booty. This would be a worry, I guess, for groomed beaches in the summer.  There aren't that many other beachcombers out in the winter on the non-touristy beaches that we prefer.  On our walks back to our vehicle we pick up trash and always have to be somewhat selective even though we contemplated the wisdom of rolling back a huge plastic drum once.  Normally we bring back smaller items, things that can get swallowed up by sea life and end up compromising the circle of life. The exercise involved in bending over to snag trash is a nice counter to walking. And sometimes that bending over act involves digging and dragging and unraveling and pulling off nature's globs of tangled grasses wrapped and grown around fishing wire or ribbons or whatever.  It is always a great or not-so-great adventure in trash collecting.  But the bending over stretches out our backs a bit.  

We have unusual sculptures that were beach finds - 
ladies shoe bottom alongside two empty fuel canisters,
weathered from the water and sun. 

An exception to picking up trash on the return trek is if the trash is something we find interesting that could be upcycled into some kind of sculpture, or even as a stand alone sculpture such as the bottom of a woman's high healed shoe and two empty fuel canisters all weathered from water and sun.  

One of the most common category of trash we collect, and that fortunately is not heavy, is the mylar balloon and accompanying ribbon.  Unfortunately they tangle up inside and outside the bodies of sea life.  We've also seen and heard tales of raptors trying to use them in nests and getting tangled up needing assistance from the local fire department. I admit I used to love mylar balloons and when I was much younger I would let them go, rising up into the sky and wondering where they might float off to. I was not a hiker then, not a wanderer and not as tuned into the crisis in our environment.  But I am now and now I know where those mylar balloons go to die and often to take critters with them.  It's not a romantic speculation anymore. In our years of hiking we find them in the most remote areas, tangled in trees 100 feet off the ground, on the ground in the woods, on the beaches. I remember the first time the color of a mylar balloon caused me to pull out my binoculars thinking there might be a brightly colored bird in a distance. Now I'm more suspect. On any given walk anywhere we are bound to find at least one. Our last walk on the beach yielded at least half a dozen which on a beach is not atypical. Some of these balloons were relatively fresh from Valentine's Day.  As much as I despair about all the mylar balloons released in the wild I can't help but also wonder and imagine stories about who might have purchased them and who received the "temporary gift" and who released them into the wilds.  Those actions were probably well meaning. The actors did not know or really think through the results of this seemingly ethereal but ironic act of littering. But before I judge too harshly, I recall a Malcom X quote that resonated with me in a lot of ways but also as pertains to these seemingly happy, harmless mylar balloons released into nature:  "Don't be in a hurry to condemn because he doesn't do what you do or think as you think or as fast.  There was a time when you didn't know what you know today."

Sea glass and other small treasures are picked up whenever we see them.  Other finds include smallish rocks that are interesting due to striations, color or shape, pieces of drift wood, shells and weird items of trash. 

With each mile and the accumulating ounces to pounds of beach finds I sink into the sand more and my body works harder for each step.  My hands get sore from carrying bags of shells and a couple times I've made my jacket into a modified backpack, swearing that I'll actually start wearing an empty backpack just for this purpose. 

I collect shells only if they are empty of life.  They include channeled and knobbed whelk, oyster drills which look like miniature whelks, oyster shells, occasionally angel wings, shark eye shells, jingle shells, blue mussel shells, bay scallops, periwinkles, all the typical Delaware beach shells. I pick them up if they have interesting colors, or maybe nice vintage (weathered) look.  I've been collecting a lot of whelks to use wired in drapey clumps with my handmade bows for outdoor holiday decorations or as a kind of trellis under our deck in the back yard.  Also, I've turned pretty, sea-worn flat oyster shells into necklaces.  

I have lots of booty, not just from beach walks in Delaware but also from walks all over in our travels and from running roads and trails and streets.  Stopping to examine "road kill" is something we do, and even if we are driving, we often will make a U-turn or go around the block or take an exit to come about and pull over to retrieve someone's trash, whether it was something tossed or something lost. 

Magpie!

Walking the Wrack Lines

Since we moved to Delmarva we've been exploring beaches.  We got lucky and moved to an area close to several non-touristy beaches such as Bowers, Big Stone, Slaughter, and Prime Hook National Wildlife Refuge.  

We check the tide charts and try to head out at or near low tide making sure to consciously note whether the stretch of beach we are on will still be there if the tide is rolling back in. We often walk for miles.  Our longest walk so far this year has been just over nine miles out and back.  

Its been sad but interesting and even amazing to watch the tremendous beach erosion and how the beach-side residents and state employees try to maintain the properties and beach access.  It looks like they are losing, frankly.  These beaches we walk are mostly in the Delaware Bay tucked just inside from the Atlantic Ocean but the ocean is relentless and the bay is bigger than it looks on most maps. There is the daily sea rise that is seemingly transparent but then there are the low pressure systems and when combined with strong onshore winds it can exacerbate high tides or even seem to dismiss a low tide.  There doesn't have to be a huge storm it seems, to pull huge chunks of the beach away.  I was unaware of that until moving here.  We used to live on the other side of the Chesapeake Bay, in Maryland, and had a 30 foot Bayliner in the Magothy River, and before that, we had the boat in the Anchorage Marina in Baltimore. We were out in the boat a lot. But like many pleasure boaters and with working full time we didn't delve all that deeply into NOAA issues.  Not that I am now, but I'm ticking my toes in the water, so to speak, just a tad bit more as I learn about our area.  

I've found some really interesting things on the beaches.  Near Ocean City a year ago I found a small, dead seahorse, frozen solid, lost in the detritus of the wrack line. 

Another time, just recently on Slaughter Beach, we found a juvenile snow goose alone on the beach.  It looked like it was shivering.  It would flap it's wings but couldn't seem to take off.  We'd seen huge flocks of them moving across the Delaware Bay and in the surrounding farm fields and wetlands.  A state employee with a big earth mover working the lost beach issue told us it had been shot.  We hadn't noticed the small greenish spot just behind the left wing.  It's hunting season for them and the Prime Hook National Wildlife Refuge allows hunting.  The gentleman was nice.  He said the snow geese are tough and sometimes they can recover after having been shot.  As I said, he was being nice.  We'd been contemplating whether we should try to pick it up and take it to some wildlife rehabilitation place.  We had very little cell phone coverage on Slaughter Beach so we couldn't find a number to call.  Of course, learning it'd been shot kind of changed our assessment of whether anyone would help.  

You just never know what views or adventure awaits you when walking on the beach, especially one that is not groomed for sunbathing tourists.  We find different things everyday, washed ashore, both manmade and nature's goods.  The sky is different each time with the coloration changing with clouds or fog and lighting.  Birds and other critters vary with the time of day and season and our luck.  The breeze is always different as are the waves and the sounds.  The view is always spectacular.  

I love taking in the air, breathing deeply and feeling happy and content to have the opportunity to be there.    

Lookout Wild Film Festival

We just got back a couple days ago from Chattanooga where we attended the Lookout Wild Film Festival (LWFF).  It was iffy on whether they would hold it in person or go virtual.  They postponed it from the initial date in January.  Last year they held it over several weekends in the summer outdoors in a public park.  This was the tenth year.  We attended in 2020 right before the pandemic kicked in and when we were still living in across the border in rural North Carolina.  

We travel at least half the year and lived on the road with no house, no basecamp, for about five years.  When people ask us where we liked visiting the most it used to confound me because nothing jumped out.  I thought about it and realized it was serendipity that determined our favorites.  It was in meeting certain people, getting lucky with being in the right place at the right time, attending events, volunteer gigs, seeing unusual wildlife (albino deer, and squirrels).  Even though we found out about the LWFF when we were living in a cabin (our base camp) in the Southern Appalachians and had sold our 38 foot fifth wheel and bought a slide-in camper, it is still one of the best experiences we've come across in our adventures.  

We moved to the Mid-Atlantic from the Southern Appalachians in February last year or we'd have attended the weekend showings of the  2021 LWFF in Chattanooga.  This year we were watching the weather, prepping to drive.  We looked over campgrounds and also discussed the possibility of stealth camping or National Forest camping with no amenities.  We have a generator.  Sleeping in a camper is always more cushy than in a tent on the ground so even if we couldn't use water due to cold, it was still a possibility.  We could wash up each day using the gallon jugs of water I take when we travel in the winter.  But we opted for three nights in a campground with a shower house.  

On the way to Chattanooga we dodged the weather.  The fastest way there would have been through DC and down the Appalachians on I-81 to I-40 to I-75 but a storm of freezing rain or snow was coming northeast up the range so we went the long way, due south then cutting west and circling through Atlanta before vectoring to Chattanooga.  We drove a fish hook, basically.  It added a few more hours but we didn't have to worry about being in the mountains in snow, sleet, heavy rain, black ice. And we made sure we had time to negotiate nature.  On route, we stayed a night behind a Cracker Barrel in Greenville, South Carolina.  We had left on Thursday to give us all day to drive, plus all day Friday since the film fest didn't start until Friday evening.  Breakfast Friday morning was, of course, at the Cracker Barrel and I also bought a Harry Potter puzzle for my daughter, the Harry Potter fan (but really, who isn't, it seems?), and a little yellow rain slicker, size 2T for our newest grandson, from their always fun gift shop. 

We stayed at the Chester Frost Park campground in Hixson, Tennessee.  I'd researched campgrounds before we came and this one had the right price (less than $30 a night with electric), bathrooms and showers that were rated decently, and beautiful views of the Chickamauga Lake.  I love me some good sunrises.  It was cold each night, dipping below 30, but we had heat.  The campground was quiet and not overly lighted.  We chose our spot right in front of the bath facilities, being practical.  We fly on the cheap.  If we were fussier and had a bigger budget we'd have stayed a a nice hotel in downtown Chattanooga.  But we live small and are cheap about certain things.  But we are free.  We don't work and haven't for ten years now.  

We attended all five sessions of the LWFF to include the time lapse films Saturday and Sunday that start at 12:30.  I love the photography, the scenery that the filmmakers chose for these.  I sit there like a happy child and take it all in.  The only film we didn't attend was probably their feature film, The Alpinist, on Saturday night, but we'd very recently seen it - and thought it was great - but just didn't want to sit thought we'd get back to our campground, get a good sleep and go exploring Sunday morning.  

We had many favorite films.  I love the diversity of the choices made by the selection committee. I actually started my favorites but ended up with almost all of them and felt bad about leaving out the few others because I liked them too and they all had their place in this festival.  I am so happy to see films about diverse people in nature, having adventures, and films about non-white people, disabled people and people from other countries. I love that we had some political/environmental topics too though some people may get edgy about that.  It's part of the world we live in and frankly, has always been. Let's examine it in a respectful way, I say, and apparently LWFF is also doing that.  

In 2020 when we attended the LWFF there were several things going on in the lobby of the Tivoli, a beautiful vintage theater and part of the fun of the LWFF.  What sticks out in my mind the most is the free s'mores buffet.  Who'd have ever thought of that?  Well whoever did think of it, I bow in reverence.  It was one of the best foodie experiences I've ever had.  To have all that melted goo in a bowl was just disgustingly wonderful.  This year things were paired down due to covid.  That's OK.  I appreciate when events and groups are paying attention to public health and science.  

We hope to join the movie selection committee for future festivals.  Now that we have high speed internet in Delaware, we should be able to screen submissions.  When we were in our cabin in the Southern Appalachians we only had our hotspot wifi's and even at that we had to go to the second floor and often play with the device, orienting it this way and that and even going out on the deck with it if it wasn't cold or raining.  Sometimes we went into town to the library or a coffee shop or even rented a hotel room to watch campaign debates, sports, or to take Red Cross volunteer courses on-line.  Now we can sit in comfort in our "base camp" home in Delaware.  

Thinking About My Mother

My mother has been in a nursing home for a couple of years now due to strokes and Lewy Body Dementia which is not like other dementias in that her memory doesn't disappear from most recent and go backwards in time and there are some hallucinatory kinds of experiences and rearrangements of time and circumstance.  

The nursing home caregivers are doing doll therapy with Mom.  It seems to keep her focused and I assume, less lonely, less agitated.  It gives her a sense of responsibility and control.  She raised seven kids and took care of many grandkids over the years.  She was proud to take care of her grandkids, to be able to help her kids in that way.  

The way Mom responds with the "baby" is interesting.  Though few family members of the dozens that live within ten miles of her visit her, those that have have been upset seeing her with the "baby" even though they've been warned.  One thinks it's funny and rather than understanding that she sees the baby as a grandchild, he remarked with dumb humor that we have another sibling. 

I live several states away from Mom but do weekly video calls with her, facilitated by the nursing home which I am so very grateful for.  I try to visit her every three months which hasn't happened on schedule due to the pandemic and lockdowns.  I write to Mom almost every day.  

Mom has hearing issues and doesn't always wear the one hearing aid I guess she still haves though I don't know the history of that since I thought she lost both of them a couple of years ago.  That, coupled with the dementia and maybe a life long predilection towards a slightly slower comprehension when communication is verbal and out of context from what is expected makes communication with her a bit more difficult.  

Communication with Mom requires patience and simplicity, a focus on her and adaptation to how she perceives and responds.  Some people think you just have to talk slower or louder or baby-like.  That's not the simplicity I mean.  

Like me, Mom seems to process and recall information better when she sees it such as the written word.  Fortunately she can still read pretty well though the writing has to be clear and neat and of course, large enough.  When I write to her I don't use cursive anymore.  Hell, I can't decipher my own cursive scribble after a paragraph or two.  My hand can't keep up with my brain.  But printing each letter forces me to slow down.  But even my printed words have to be neat, I've learned.  For instance, one time when I was on a video call with Mom she read one of my letters to me and got to the end and said, "Huh, this one is from Jan P".  Actually, rather than be upset about that, and focusing on another loss, it made me laugh to myself.  Humor helps us cope with this journey.  

Each day now when I write a letter (and for at least two years now I finish with each one with "I love you Mom")  I sign it "Love, Jane" but as I do that I say out loud to myself, "Jan P" as I print out J A N E.  The joke will be on me if I start actually writing Jan P since I know that sometimes our hands, as with the rest of our body, follow through with what the brain is thinking. 

What I have found works nicely with Mom on the video calls and in person is to mostly be quiet and let her talk, even through the silences.  She doesn't seem to notice the silences as awkward in the way we might.  That's our own head space of anxiety wanting to yap constantly and our discomfort in dealing with someone who has changed so significantly, spelling loss for us and grief.  I agree that it is hard to watch people we know and love have their live diminished before our eyes.  More on that later.  With the silences, I just wait, confident now that more will come from Mom.  I find if I wait for it, additional thoughts get verbalized by Mom.  I respond with simple things, trying to keep to what she may expect so it stays in context for her.  For instance, if she asks an open ended question such as "What's going on with you lately?" I answer, "Not much"  or "Staying busy".  

This whole communication process with Mom, which is so changed from what I knew for most of our lives, hers and mine, could provoke so much internal focus on grief and loss.  I nod to that. I give it it's due. It is true.  Mom is 88 and has lost her independence and much of her ability to comprehend.  She has many physical limitations to include the inability to use the bathroom safely alone or getting her hair fixed the way she wore it for 50 years.  But I think there is still a rich journey here with Mom that I am grateful to be on with her.  I am unafraid, fascinated and so glad she is getting good care, is not alone, and is not in pain.  In fact, she is pretty chipper and shows much of her lifelong sense of humor which is sometimes blunt and cutting, making things interesting and unpredictable with her dementia and diminished hearing.  

I have learned so much more about my mother, about what is important to her, things that happened in her life that I never gave that much thought to being her child and always in the receiving and needy mode as we tend to do with our parents. Even as adults, we still have kind of the unwritten rule, the expectation, that our needs are more important than our parents, that they have to take care of us.  I think that is why so many adult children and adult grandchildren don't visit elderly and partially incapacitated loved ones.  Whether conscious or unconscious, I think they just can't focus outwards, be curious. 

I feel as if I have now discovered some of the depths of the person that Mom is, things that you don't see growing up with a parent.  I feel these moments with her often produce rare gifts for me.  I've always been in the position of visiting her, calling or writing over the years since I left "home" for college and jobs. When Mom was put in a nursing home against her will, I started the visits, the calls, the writing, wanting to give her company and comfort, wanting her to know she is appreciated and not forgotten. But as her child, and as I have discovered, I am still receiving things from her. that I think of as gifts. These things have transcended the usual, the gifts we children are accustomed to receiving.  How do I really describe this journey?  In a way, I feel we are into the PhD realm of child-parent relationships, if you will.  I am getting glimpses into the human being that is more than what I previously knew of my mother.  I am learning things that were, that are, important to her that I never fully appreciated, never really heard about. 

 

Biking, Sewing, Reading, Writing, Running, Hiking

Been busy. We got our bikes out and rode to Slaughter beach on Delaware Bay. I love living where I can actually ride my bike to the beach. It's about 12 miles one way, but that's a decent bike ride. The route is mostly country roads, corn and beans growing along the sides, after cutting through a few blocks of the nearby small town. 

We were really excited to find the public boat ramps too. My husband and son took our boat, (dubbed "Dad's Little Dingy" by our daughter and it stuck) out for trotline crabbing for the first time. None of us had ever done it. They researched it, got the appropriate licenses and my husband built a little contraption to sit on the side of the boat to aid in pulling up the trotlines. They were successful! They nabbed a couple dozen crabs for their efforts and we steamed them up later with grilled corn on the cob drizzled in honey, cayenne and melted butter. A feast fit for us. 

I've been sewing a lot. My latest activity is designing a pair of funky comfort pants made from a faded blue cotton sheet with a paisley pattern. I bought the sheet at a thrift store a couple years back. I used another pattern just as a starting point to get the general curves and distances around the hips to the legs then added extra inches since the pattern was for stretchy material and a more form fitting presence. I added a waist band, happily using the folds already sewn in on top part of the sheet and threading thick elastic through part of it for the back waist. I am almost done except for deciding if I want elastic in the ankles, harem style, or just baggy, breezy legs. 

I've been reading Annie Dillard's Teaching a Stone to Talk, which has moments of serenity and also comparisons I find refreshingly honest and also bizarre between church-going behaviors and polar explorers. What will I read next? I keep buying more books than I can read. A good problem to have.

Along with getting started blogging again, I want to try my hand at writing a ten minute play for our Whooopee night at the local theater guild we joined.  The group is very welcoming and fun loving.  We are really excited to find this gem of a place with great people.  

I started running again.  Running just seems to be my zen thing.  That and hiking.  I started carrying my two cameras again and as luck would have it, towards the end of a hike that was right at about ten miles of total mileage for the day, I tripped and went down with my D-60 and though its not the first time, I think it's the last, at least with this particular 300mm lens.  I've fallen before with it but this time I think I've really wrecked it.  The camera took the brunt of my fall, the camera bag which is cushioned, probably kept me from breaking a rib.  First to hit the ground was the camera lens, then camera, then camera bag, then me on top of it all.  You see, I keep the camera out so I can have it ready when I see something great like a butterfly or bird or moth or deer or fox or....

These little goslings were in our yard this Spring.