Sweet cat boat

Early morning at Cow Yard with the pups. The water is like glass with the slightest west wind stirring. I have come to love this catboat; at any time of day, in every changing tide it sits there looking so pretty. The beach shacks are the backdrop . The bright glints on the water sparkle

like a diamond frame around it.

90 seconds of fame

I've been submitting photos to Tim Wood, the editor of the Cape Cod Chronicle for a few months. The Chronicle is an well written weekly paper that I typically read from cover to cover, even in the off season when I'm in Concord.

The first photo published was a heron in flight over my favorite beach at Cow Yard Landing. The second was of a grandmother teaching her grandson to see reflections at the Mitchell River Bridge. Both were toward the end of the paper; they were small but they were there. I was pleased to be getting published.

On Monday evening, July 26th, I was coming out of a talk by Gary Skomal, a renowned expert on sharks. As we have been having numerous shark sightings, Lighthouse Beach was mobbed with people hoping to catch some excitement. The light over the beach was anything but magic. I noticed a crusty old timer with a big lens and wondered what he was photographing. Thankfully I heard him respond to someone asking a question of that nature. He said, " I'm waiting for the full moon, it's rising at 8:22." It was 8:10 at the time, I was tired and planned to go straight home. I didn't have my Nikon and the sky held little promise. As I headed toward the fish pier something inside me made me pull in. My friend Mackenzie was there finishing up her shift at Nickersons. We were talking when she said " Wow, look at the moon! " We stood and watched as the palest moon peeked over the outer bar. I went up to the lookout and took a series of shots with my point and shoot digital Canon. I stayed for awhile to watch nature's spectacular show.

According to The Farmers Almanac, " Full moon names date back to the Native Americans. The tribes kept track of the seasons by giving distinctive names to each recurring full moon. July is normally the month when the new antlers of bucks push out of their foreheads in velvety fur."

When I got home I loaded the photos onto my Mac and sent a few to Tim Wood. It was past the deadline for submissions so it didn't occur to me it would get in. Imagine my surprise at the grocery store when it was on the front page. Eureka, my 90 seconds of fame!

Purple finches and the shell wreath

For the past few weeks I have been watching a pair of purple finches nesting in the shell wreath on our kitchen porch. I found the wreath five years ago right after we bought the house. It was a splurge at the time and I remember thinking fleetingly that I could make one with all the shells I had collected. Truth is I probably never would have made one and it wouldn't have looked like this. I wonder if it would have had this kind of magic.

Each summer an average of two to three pairs of purple finches nest and have baby finches in the same cozy nest. This last pair had four babies and I watched as the mummy and daddy tirelessly fed them all day long. They grew incredibly fast and then yesterday I realized there was only one baby left. She sat alone in the nest all day long and I worried as I saw no sign of the mummy or daddy. I wondered what would happen to this last baby bird with no food from the parents. Then I saw the mother fly in. She didn't feed the baby. She just flew around her as if to say" Fly, come on it's time to fly." I took this last photo of her moments before she ventured out into the world. I watched as she bravely hopped onto the edge of the grapevine wreath. Suddenly she flew clumsily onto a heart sculpture nearby and then flew awkwardly to the sky. Was she gone forever? She was.

Will her parents return to lay another set of eggs or will it be another pair of purple finches?There is so much to know about nature. The more questions you ask the more you realize how much there is to learn

The Details

Life is in the details. The mourning dove perched on the weathered roof of an old fishing shanty. The dragonfly on the bell of a nearby cape cottage. The blue green reflection of a trusted dory as it waits at it's post. The sweet smell of a freshly mowed field.

It is also in the details of people passing by and in the sounds that fill the air . The grandmother teaching her grandson to see the reflections in the still morning harbor. The gentle ding of a sailboat mast as it sways on it's mooring.

This is "Why I wake early "

Oh the stories you could tell if only you could whisper to me. You sit so quietly on a sunny lot, wild grasses blowing. No sign of a mower here for many years. The dragon fly that sits on the door bell has been here for hours; is he watching over the house? I'm sure he too has tales to tell.

This is what the Cape looked like in the 1800's. Sweet little shingled houses dotted the roadside. These were the simple houses of hardy Cape settlers who lived by farming and fishing. I wonder who were the first people to live at 1066 Queen Anne Road in Chatham? Who lived there between now and than? I am told by my neighbor that the people who own this house come now and then to work on it. They come in a trailer and hook up to the electricity in the house. I peeked in the windows; there is much to be done but it looks like they have done some significant gutting. I am grateful they didn't tear this gem down. Two years ago one of the oldest houses in Chatham was torn down just down the road. I kept meaning to photograph it. One day I went by and it was gone. Just like that. The house they built in it's place is unspeakably ugly. I know, in many cases, it costs more to renovate than to tear down but how is it possible that one of the oldest houses in a town like Chatham can be destroyed just like that? All that history bulldozed in a matter of hours.

The wind blows through the trees as I sit admiring this special house. Thank you sweet house. I am happy I met you.

Blessing of the Fleet

On May 22nd we attended our first "Blessing of the Fleet" in Chatham, MA. The catastrophic oil spill in the Gulf weighed heavy on everyones hearts that day and who would ever imagine that thousands of barrels of oil would still be gushing into the Gulf everyday. I imagine people who live and die by the sea have a profound connection with with each other in spirit and in heart. I felt the love and concern that day. In the ten "Prayers of the People" two were specific to the oil spill.

"We pray to the fishing communities in The Gulf of Mexico and the fisherman who have lost their livelihoods because of the oil spill. Give them the strength and courage needed to survive in the coming years." Another prayer read "We pray that the oil pouring from the oceans floor will be quickly contained. Protect the fish and mammals that live in the Gulf waters. Look after the wetlands, the wildlife and the beaches."

Sadly the oil pouring from the ocean floor has not been quickly contained. It is close to two months and it has not been contained at all. Someone suggested they plug it with the greedy BP folks who sanctioned stepped up production in favor of the advised slow, steady and safe. They are lucky no one jumped on that bandwagon. It is easy to lay blame and yet I know there are no easy answers or quick fixes. What I do know is we are all blessed to have the sea, its bounty, its beauty and the fishermen and women who bless us with their daily catch. Here are a few last words from that amazing morning.

Excerpt from "Thanksgiving for Fishing Families"

Almighty God, we give thanks for all those who work at sea. We acknowledge our need for the food they provide. We recognize that they are sometimes in danger and their long absences often involve sacrifices in their family life. Help us show gratitude not only in our words, but also in our actions. Amen

God, we ask your blessing on all who care for fishermen and women. Strengthen them when the hours are long. Uphold them when the work is hard. Amen