Tag: kayaking

What Next?

As my daughter enters her last year of high school, I’ve joined her in pondering the question: where do I see myself in 5 years time? While I love this little house and neighborhood, the idea of no longer having to stay in one spot or to live life according to a school calendar, excites me. So just like Molly, I am researching and dreaming.

While floating out on the Long Island Sound, Rob and I sometimes concoct crazy ideas. He likes barges and imagines us living on this big metal stretch planted with a garden. No groundhogs – I like that. But where to dock? I’ve trawled around houseboat blogs that make it look enticing, but honestly, I think the perpetual rolling motion of being on water would get to me. I love a few hours of heaving-about but mostly, prefer land.

So my latest favorite fantasy involves a RV. Vintage Airstreams appeal to us  but we’re more inclined toward the less-cool, all-in-ones rather than dragging something behind us.  Tootling around at our leisure, we’d explore the country, scour garage sales and thrift-shops for hidden treasures we’d then turn into lamps, chairs and tables to sell to Anthropologie-type stores.

Tetley could come with us… but who would feed the birds?

Welcome Summer

Like clock-work, the heat cranked up, the clouds inflated into magical shapes, and the fireflies began their silent summer fireworks. Oh — and much to our dog Tetley’s dismay,  distant neighbors also started prepping for the dread explosions of July 4th. And we’ve had our first wild, summer storm complete with house-shaking thunder. Poor Tetley. He dutifully dons his Thundershirt – but it only makes him look more stylish while barking and running furiously through the house on 3 legs. (although he is much better – pshaw on the surgery!)

High tide was 3 PM yesterday and we launched the kayak out of Calf Pasture beach – my first trip of the season. There was a steady wind pushing us out towards the islands. We let ourselves get blown from shore, lolling lazily on the heaving tide. After an hour or so, we paddled back. We barely spoke.  A meditation beneath the passing clouds on lapping waves. Bliss. 

Saturday Kayaking

Recently, I have been wondering about a lovely author who came to the store for a signing more than 10 years ago.  Mary Parker Buckles lived on an island off one of the towns just south of Norwalk.  So close to this mad world of insane traffic, strip malls and a population scrambling in pursuit of the dollar, she lived in a perfect little pocket of nature out on the water – and paid beautiful attention.  A search leads me to Margins, her exquisite, now out-of-print book, otherwise there is not a sign of her on the cyber highway. Which seems perfect. I like to think she is still out there, so close but very much away from it all.  I fantasize a bit about having that be my life. Especially after yesterday’s amazing afternoon of kayaking.

Clear skies, a slight breeze and the incoming tide pushed us along with the occasional heave. As we paddled towards the islands, schools of tiny fish broke the surface of the water. First they splashed to the right of us, then to the left, then further out – a teasing chorus line of glittering fairy-like-fish.  As we came into a cove of the first island, a large egret stood beautifully white against the green marsh grass, posing elegantly before lifting off towards the trees.

Around the next bend, the water opens up and the Long Island is the only piece of land – hazy in the distance. From that expanse of water, we saw what looked like a moving head with something protruding out of the water. “What’s that?” we both said almost simultaneously and agreed it must be a snorkeler although there was no boat nearby and the swimmer was a bit far out.  We paddled closer and saw  —

Seeing deer is old-hat for some people but they don’t hang around my neighborhood much and I still thrill at the sight of one so close. And this one was swimming! From where? We followed — “not too close,” I said to Rob who, I think wanted to pet the creature.  It scrambled out of the water and bolted for the trees.

Then we found this little spot and for a bit, pretended it was ours. And for as long as we lingered there, swimming, sunning on the bit of weathered wood tacked onto the jetty, waves sloshing beneath us — it was.

Floating on the Sound

Floating on the Long Island Sound, the sweltering temperature drops by degrees as the breezes blow unimpeded across the water. Our blood pressure also lowers, as we shove off from shore leaving the hubbub of our small city to fade off as we paddle out towards the Norwalk islands.

Although, it’s still plenty busy out there.

Yesterday, there must have been a convention of dragonflies, so many hovered helicopter-like over the reeds.  An osprey floated so high above the water, I wondered how he could see his prey? Or perhaps like us, he was relaxing, letting himself be buffeted by the currents with no intentions whatsoever.  There were plenty of seagulls of course and yesterday, the more entertaining terns who dive down with a splash at the water to catch their fish. Swallows wove through the sky after insects only they could see.

Later, as we rounded one of the islands to a protected cove, we drifted close to white egrets, elegant creatures until they open their beaks with a strange, guttural grumble. Cormorants were out in force.  Peculiar birds, they sit together in a team on the rocks staring off into the distance, some with their wings spread open like a crucifixion before diving off under the water. On a little beach tucked beside a salt marsh, a swarm of sandpipers were invisible until one or two made an odd dash in pursuit of a nibble or took off into the sky, with a few more following in a frenetic flash.

I’ll bring a camera out today and try and capture one or two of these players and download pictures later.

Vacation’s Over

I like my job at the bookstore. People envy my position and it is enviable. But 13 days of vacation have been heaven and I wish I could continue to live like this. Time away in the Catskills doing whatever the hell I wanted (writing for 8 hours a day) was of course, delicious, but so were my days at home. Usually I started with some time with the garden, watering, pulling weeds, picking lettuce and the odd red cherry tomato. Many cups of tea were made between writing or reading on the front porch.  Chores were a pleasure – lots of time to hang the laundry (yes, I do that). Everything – leisurely.  

Being home when Molly comes home from camp, being there to feed and water her, even to drive her where she wanted to go, was sweet. Even she said so. And Tetley of course, loves having me around 24/7 — and what handsome company for me, don’t you think?  Other than going to the store to buy provisions, I barely ventured away from this almost quarter-acre corner.  Happy to putter, read, write, cook, garden, write and read some more between the front porch, the back deck, the table by the window, the couch and these past sweltering days, the air conditioned bedroom. Maybe a pause to wash the kitchen floor or at least some dishes.  The other day we kayaked, going just as far as a sandbar about half a mile from shore. We jumped out of the boat and floated in the gentle waves of the incoming tide, listening to the sea grass, as a tern swept back and forth and back again, finally dive-bombing the water with a little splash.

Farewell vacation.

No Place Like Home

Here I am, getting all women’s magazine-y, between yesterday’s travelogue and today, I cannot resist posting these photos of our corner of summer bliss. But how better to illustrate why I am happy enough to be an armchair traveler these days. After a few hours of kayaking around the beautiful Norwalk Islands – only minutes from this magical spot under our grape arbor.  

For dinner I grated summer squash and a let it simmer in the skillet in a bath of olive oil and a massive clove of garlic.  This I mixed with the garlic scape pesto I’d made earlier in the week and a few cherry tomatoes thrown in for color to coat the pasta.  Between bites, we wondered what to do with all these grapes.  Any ideas? 

Dahlias

I’m a sucker for email seed and plant offers.  Dahlias — that’s what I bought this morning. What a deal! Apparently critters don’t like them. The problem I foresee is that you are supposed to dig them up at the end of the season and store them.  That’s a stretch for me — especially because by the time autumn comes around, my gardening energy is on the wane and I’m more likely to catch the last days of kayaking than to remember to dig up bulbs. But maybe this year will be different — and in any case, they were on sale.

Dahlia’s are a big deal in Japan. I remember pedaling my bicycle through the narrowest of old streets in Kyoto – and squeaking my brakes (all bicycle brakes seem to squeak in Japan — better than a bell?) stopping to marvel at blossoms the size of plates growing in pots lined up outside a rickety house. Oftentimes, the usually-ancient gardener would be out tending their prize worthy plants.  This year, I will try these myself – filling my own boxes to tend on one of the decks Rob attached to the house over recent years.

It’s almost March — enough snow has melted so I can see the snowdrops popping up down the street and warm enough this morning that I could smell the earth and I’m thinking garden again.

Beach Morning

I pushed aside the curtain to the yoga class and knew I was too late. Chock-a-block sticky mats only inches apart from each other, guarded by their owners in various twists or (my favorite) corpse pose, waiting for the teacher to start. With so many bodies packed together, the room already smelled. I left. Maybe later I will pick up another class to shake out kinks from a week of too much sitting. Instead, I headed to the beach.

Parking near our kayak launch spot, I zipped my jacket and pulled up my hood. A cloudless sky but a decent wind made for brisk walking and I headed over to the sandy beach, deserted but for a distant man with a fishing rod stuck in beside him.  It was still early – not even the gulls were out to explore the morning’s pickings. This beautiful spot is only minutes from our home. During the summer, we get down here whenever we can to paddle away from shore in our yellow kayak.  We rarely step on to this sandy stretch – the beach where swimmers and sunbathers crowd. I am drawn here only when I know it will be deserted – early or late or during a storm. This morning, the water like glass barely lapping against the tightly packed sand. No waves today, at least, not yet.  Looking out at the islands we kayak around, I was tempted to rush home and pull Rob out of bed to join me in yet one more outing on the water.  But we get wet in our flat ocean-kayak and the thought of sitting damp in a boat with a stiff wind blowing was enough to keep me on my sandy trek up, and then down again, the length of the beach.

At one point, with a nod to the yoga class I was missing, I stretched. Hanging over, my arms heavy, releasing my back and gradually loosening until my fingertips barely touched the sand, the moving tide seemed also to be trying to reach my toes.  Breathing in and out of my nose, filling my lungs with sweet air and releasing again while marveling at the beauty on my doorstep. As a child growing up in NYC, I longed for such access to nature. Just to go outside, I needed to ride the creaky elevator and although magnificent VanCortlandt park was just across the street, I could not venture into the woods for fear of scary men. Remembering this, I feel grateful for my world and the morning’s too crowded yoga class.

Fleeting Summer

These days the seasons seem to change back-and-forth between autumn and summer – almost daily.  This morning, the sky thick with clouds, I dug a sweatshirt out of the closet to ward against the chill, while yesterday was hot enough to kayak.  We rode wide heaving waves out just beyond the first island and then, with our paddles out of the water, lolled luxuriously in the heat of the sun while the current and tides carried us back to shore. Climbing out of the boat, as relaxed and mellow as if I’d just had a massage, I wondered if this would be our last day a-float for the season.  There may be the sweet Indian Summer day or two, but with less daylight, it’s tricky to find the time to get out on the water.

So yesterday, I studied the horizon, the school of tiny fish leaping out of the water in a flash of silver, and each salty, deep breath I took in, came out as a sigh, the melancholy that comes with the end of something wonderful.  A sense of this being the end of things makes everything more vivid – our mind’s way, perhaps, of preserving memories.  At least, this is what I do: psychically save scenes of beauty and peace to conjure up when I need them – in the dentist’s chair, for example.  When the metal scraping in my mouth seems unbearable, I transport myself back to the heat of seashells as I lay on the beach of an island on the Sound with only the plaintive sound of seagulls and rhythmic waves around me.

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