Angry Raccoons and Mama Bears

I was only generally aware of the Angry Birds phenomenon. It was a phone game and spawned a lot of hats and t-shirts if I remember correctly. I do see live angry birds pretty regularly. I would be angry too if my wing were shattered in multiple places and a human, however well intended, was poking and prodding me. Mostly I see very nice birds. What I'm thinking about today, however, is angry raccoons. 

I have both bird and hummingbird feeders in my yard. Some mornings I would wake, totally baffled as to how the bird feeders, staked in large planters, were tipped over. I hadn't been aware of wind strong enough to rearrange my landscaping. And then there were the hummingbird feeders - sometimes drained of nectar right where they hung, sometimes knocked onto the deck in a sticky puddle. Usually the yellow centers of the feeder flowers were popped out and scattered. Then one night as I was about to let my dog out the mystery was solved. Just feet away from me a raccoon was on the deck railing, standing on his hind legs with his paws wrapped around the hummingbird feeder guzzling the nectar. 

Apparently I'm not the only one to discover this. A quick google search didn't even have to be finished before 'raccoon drinking from hummingbird feeder' popped up. Meanwhile in the yard three more raccoons were clamoring around the planter with the bird feeders and I watched it tumble, crashing the feeders on the ground, strewing seeds everywhere. As I opened the door they scattered leaving Mr. Nectar Chugger behind. I smiled and told him he was quite handsome as he casually sauntered away. 

They truly are beautiful creatures.

A couple nights later, knowing raccoons were in the neighborhood, I should have looked before letting Alex out for a bedtime potty break. Before I knew what was happening my nine year old, seven pound Papillon with a single tooth charged four racoons. They did what raccoons do. They defended themselves violently against the very dangerous aggressor. And I did what mama bears do. Without thinking it through I was in the middle of the mass of snarling raccoons kicking them, quite sincerely. I wish I had been swearing like a real bad ass but I think all I kept saying was, 'Git! Git! Git!' Talking later with my wildlife rehabber friends I realized I was pretty lucky I wasn't attacked as well. I give credit to my Xtra-Tuf boots (and maybe a little badassness). Alex ended up with three modest lacerations and a visit to the vet but no stitches.  All told, no serious injuries and a pretty cool story. I still think raccoons are beautiful. I'm just a little more cautious around them now. 

Photos from Google images.

When I Wasn't Looking

It has been a week of landmarks.

I really intended to catch the moment my odometer turned over to 100,000 on the only new car I've ever owned. It blew right past me on a quick trip to Astoria last week. Thank you, sweet lil' Subaru, for 100,000 miles of adventure.  (Please ignore the fact that I snapped this shot while traveling 40 mph. My bad.)

I have also been watching my blog counter as it closed in on 9,000 views. Missed that one too. Thank you to all of you who tune in and share your support. It means a lot.

I did not miss today's landmark.  One year ago today I piled the final load into above mentioned Subaru and made the final move to my beloved Seaside. I miss my people in Hood River but feel like Seaside is the place I've spent a lifetime finding.

Here in Seaside I've carved out a life. It is full of the local coffee shop where I work; the birds at the Wildlife Center of the North Coast; a sweet dog; a new cat; a very fine gentleman named Bart and the wild and salty sea I love so much. My oldest daughter is graduating from the Seattle Film Institute next month; my boy is immersed in the final year of a degree in Computer Engineering at UW and my youngest daughter is traveling, at this moment, from San Francisco to Portland to set up her first apartment with a couple girlfriends.

I'm wallowing in gratitude for a full life in which I, and those I love most, are happy and moving forward with what we all love. Can't ask for much more than that.

Much love to you from me and my blue spot on the map.

Ocean Time

I am revisiting Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gift From the Sea.  A fine read for anyone but a must read if you love the sea.  It feeds that desire within me to immerse myself wholly into sea life . . . to live by the tides and, in the words of Joan Anderson, A Year By the Sea, to live a wild and salty life.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh says, "To dig for treasures shows not only impatience and greed, but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea."

I have been that person who goes out to find as many sand dollars as I could carry; to urgently grab the treasures I found on the beach. That is changing.  Now that I have the luxury of living, full time, in this place I love so much, I am becoming more patient. I don't need to pick up every bone I find.  I don't need to grab all the sand dollars - although I was super excited to find handfulls of sand dollars in Manzanita last weekend to share with some of my most favorite people ever.  I don't have to be present for every high tide. The reality of living here is that, along with everyone else, I have a job and laundry and floors to mop and a dog to walk and sometimes I'd rather sleep in than wake up for the 4 am clamming. But don't think for a moment I take any of it for granted. I am learning patience.  I am learning trust. I am learning faith.

And now that I'm closing in on nearly a year by the sea, I'm feeling a little wild and salty (I'll see you in March, Joan Anderson!).

Here is today, on  the beach, in Seaside. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Today.

Subtle Differences

Today

the ocean smells unusually fishy.

A subtle difference to

a student of the sea.

Odd gull behavior too.

A couple dozen instead

of the couple hundred

who nip cat food

from my hands.

Perhaps better pickings elsewhere and

while unable to identify

the source of the smell

I am sure I will.

In time.

The ocean’s time which

I would argue

is different from
beach time.

Return to Darkness

I received the gift of an extra four hours today. One from the time change, the rest from getting off work three hours early.  (I have an awesome boss.)

I took Rupee for a walk, attempted some vacuuming, emptied and re-loaded the dishwasher and ran a load of laundry for the second time because it hung out wet in the washing machine one day too long.  Oops.  But the best thing I did with my bonus time was sit with a friend over tea for a couple hours.  We processed a lot. I listened a lot. I didn’t have a lot of answers.  I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the point.

I heard many bemoan the return to darkness today.  I’m the oddball.  I love the dark.  I have a fantasy about living by the light cycles and not using electricity - this includes taking showers in the dark. TMI, maybe. That fantasy ends abruptly when it comes to actually hauling wood, sweeping ashes and pounding my clothes clean with salt water and rocks - but it did prompt me to buy a dozen kerosene lanterns a couple years ago.  I have one lit now.  In its warm glow I’ve watched a furious sea and an exceptional high tide fade to black and, at six pm, am feeling delightfully sleepy.

 I like this photo of my lantern and computer.  It seems to be about the right balance of old and new. 

The wheel has turned and we are solidly into fall. I wait all year for this. I’m feeling content in my little spot by the sea today and I wish the same for you wherever you are.

P.S. I have eleven lanterns to spare if anybody wants one

Why I Wake Early

It's my day off.  I stayed up till midnight watching a movie, knowing I could sleep in.  Wouldn't you know it?  At 5:30am I was wide awake. I didn't know there was a  -1.1 tide at 6:35am. Clamming is closed so on a morning when there could have been thousands of people frantically digging their limit it was just me and that bald eagle perched on the sand, daring the crows to try and take his breakfast. In the second it took me to scan the beach to the north, he was gone.  Had he really been there?  I bet I could have found the footprints.

I did marvel at the intricate sand snail trails turning the beach into a huge etch-a-sketch. I stomped around and smiled at the clam shows and wished them well. I picked up and kissed the most enormous slug I've ever seen. I found more sand dollars than I could carry.  I watched the rising sun light up the sea gooseberry blobs like iridescent glass. Most importantly, I thanked the Universe for not letting me sleep in.

Mary Oliver published a book of poems titled 'Why I Wake Early'.  Here is my favorite poem from that collection:

The Pinewoods

Just before dawn 

three deer 

came walking 

down the hill

as if the moment were nothing different

from eternity --

as lightly as that

they nibbled

the leaves,

they drank

from the pond,

their pretty mouths

sucking the loose silver,

their heavy eyes

shining.

Listen,

I did not really see them.

I came later, and saw their tracks

on the empty sand.

But I don't believe

only to the edge

of what my eyes actually see

in the kindness of the morning,

do you?

And my life,

which is my body surely,

is also something more --

isn't yours?

I suppose the deer waited 

to see the sun lift itself up,

filling the hills with light and shadows --

then they went leaping

back into the rough, uncharted pinewoods

where I have lived so much of my life,

where everythig is so quick and uncertain,

so glancing, so improbable, so real.

More Serendipity

I love it when the universe conspires with me, sometimes even before I'm aware of it.  I think it corresponds (tranlate: is the same thing) to the idea of God answering prayers even before you breathe them.

It was Sunday evening. I'd put off the assignment for my Monday afternoon writing group until the last minute. It had been a busy day and my mind was spinning.  I threw some mellow music on Pandora and drew a hot bath.  Mentioning the epsom salts sounds very senior citizen, but what the fuck. I have recived mail from AARP.

So I'm in the bath tub, winding down and have started contemplating the subtle things you hear at the end of the day . . . the sounds that emerge when the hustle and bustle has died down . . . when you can hear the white noise of the ocean, hidden all day by next door's construction equipment . . . when you can hear the song sparrows saying goodnight to the day . . . when you can hear the drips from the faucet falling into the water you are soaking in . . .

Then the music started to register and it was so compelling I hopped out of the tub and ran, towel wrapped and dripping, downstairs to learn the name of the song.  It was a piece called 'Silent Hollow' by Robert Linton from his album "Whisperings at Nightfall".  For real.  You can't make this shit up.

Pull up the link, push play and read the poem.  The only cool thing you need to know is that every 2nd line is transposed to become the next line.  It was a challenging and fun puzzle.  I'd like to thank Robert Linton,  wherever he is, for the beautiful inspiration.

Whisperings at Nightfall

There are some things you only hear

among the whisperings at nightfall.

At nightfall I sit among the whisperings

which ride beneath the surface.

The surface rides beneath,

and mingles with, the static of the ocean

Which is not a static ocean at all -

carrying on, indifferent to our awareness.

Carrying awareness indifferently

among the whisperings at nightfall.

Stinking Dead Things and Lessons on Time

You can smell them from the Safeway parking lot. You can smell them from the intersection of Broadway and Holladay. You can smell them in my living room with the back door open. The Velellas are back by the millions and they are dying.  This happened in July last year.  I posted about them here. Somewhere I have a journal I purchased at the time to start recording the cycles of the ocean and what I find washed up on the beach.  I have yet to write in it. I better get after it.

It's been a little over two months since I moved permanently to Seaside. It's been a whirlwind of a couple months, settling into my 'sugar cube' house; starting a new job in a new coffee shop; volunteering weekly at the Wildlife Center; writing with a fun, creative group at Beach Books.

Last weekend my best friend of (cough)thirty-nine(cough) years flew in from Reno to celebrate my becoming a published poet. The poem I shared here has been published in the North Coast Squid. Yet another milestone, of many, Glenda and I have shared together.

After Glenda's visit I made a quick dash to Hood River to celebrate Taylor's eighteenth birthday.

I drove back to Seaside on Monday and got back in time to catch the tail end of a decent low tide and half a limit of razor clams. As I was heading back to the house I heard a voice say, "Hey, baseball bat!" I looked up to see Walt, my clamming guru from last spring.  You may remember him and Gizmo from this post.  We made a date for clamming on Wednesday.  It was great to reconnect!

The next morning I was driving to Olney, where the Wildlife Center is located, for my weekly volunteer shift.  The drive was soothing and beautiful and for the first time since my move I felt settled.  My Tuesday routine has become . . . routine.

 My life is busy and full and I am very grateful.

Here are some pictures I took today. In spite of the fact that the Velellas stink to high heavens, it's a remarkable phenomenom.  They are a reminder that life moves in cycles here in this part of the world.  I need to pay attention becuase in a few days there may be very little left of the Velellas and we'll be on to the next thing.

 I am thinking about how time flies . . .

Thirty-nine years of friendsip, 

eighteen years since the birth of my last child, 

one year since I learned to clam and saw my first Velellas.  

Before I know it the Velellas will be here again. 

What will I have done  with my one wild and precious life in the meantime?

*Thanks to Walt Pisarczyk for the clamming photos!
* "my one wild and precious life" excerpted from Mary Oliver's 'The Summer Day'.