I was hiking Tuesday morning when my sister Mindy called to tell me Dad had passed on.
I’m still processing this. I’ve pored over his lifetime in photos, written three essays and I’m working on two obituaries. I phoned his home, and heard his voice on the answering machine. It was oddly comforting, like watching a classic movie or concert footage of a deceased performer.
I knew Dad’s time was near. I wanted him to check out before post-polio claimed his mobility and his dignity. I’ve forgiven him for not buying me a horse when we lived on a working farm. I will always be grateful that he was the definition of “resourceful.”
While I’ll miss him, I am so glad that he did not have to endure the worst of post-polio syndrome. His mind remained razor sharp to the end, but polio robbed him of mobility first when he was a teenager, and later just as he was about to embrace retirement.
My Dad’s mantra was “everything happens for the best.” Despite his positive focus, polio was a fact of his life. While polio presented specific choices and obstacles, it never defined Bill Fogelman, who saw opportunity in every situation.
Sitting in a lean-to on a DEC-blazed trail that starts at Alder Lake in the Catskill Mountains, not far from Livingston Manor. It’s a refreshing day – breezy with low humidity.
I’ve hiked 2.25 miles on a gradual uphill and I need to stop. I’m completely out of shape. My hiking has been curtailed by a combination of this oppressively hot summer and the car accident. The drought has hit here, too. All the wild berries are dried out.
There are two identically built nests in the rafters of this lean-to and a parent bird has returned and is scolding me for sitting too close to the nests.
I thought the chirping was a chipmunk at first. Before getting out of the way, I took photos and video and left some sunflower seeds, which is silly – this bird is a flycatcher. If I had heard the song, instead of the call, I would have immediately figured out this was Sayornis phoebe. Midday light and shadow are not ideal for photos.
nolink]
No longer between the parent and the nest, I am now sitting on a log in a swamp. Wood nettle is everywhere. In this season it stings worse than common nettle and it’s only good to transplant or harvest in spring and fall. I still do not have a good view of the nests, unless I’m willing to lie down on my tummy on the wood nettles.
I do have an amazing opportunity to observe this bird and its behavior in detail in a natural setting. What a gift. (more…)
I got out the door to experience first light in spring for the last time this year. My thoughts are not as light-hearted and hopeful as in the past. Still, I am able to inhale the warm scent of a summer morning, not the noxious fumes of spilled oil.
This is not as compelling a photo as my 2007 solstice image, but no two years are the same.
I’m just grateful to have the opportunity to spend time in the woods.
Years ago, when I began observing the natural world while hidden in a blind, I used to set out bird seed, which attracted more than birds. The squirrels would typically startle the birds and then ravage the feeders.
It took me a very long time to realize that a naturalist cannot interfere. Every time I tried to discourage the squirrel “invaders” I created my own physical and mental obstacles to blending in and really seeing, not just observing.
Over time the actual squirrels have become a metaphor for writer’s block. (more…)
This is the story of how my younger sister Mindy “vanished” temporarily when she was a toddler.
One year, during mud season Mr. Maybeck’s truck got stuck after picking up a load of 250 cases of eggs from our chicken farm. The truck was finally liberated, leaving deep ruts in the earth. By summer, the grass had lined the ruts, making these depressions a perfect place for wildlife to curl up and take a nap.
When I was growing up, most kids spent summer days outdoors from daybreak to dinnertime. One of the places we played was an open area in front of the chicken coop on our family farm, where honeysuckle and wild berries grew all through July and August.
Human toddlers are a lot like wildlife. When my mom called us to wash up before supper, no one could find my three-year-old sister, Mindy. For the next hour or so, our neighbors scoured the neighborhood calling and looking for my sister.
Who knows how much longer we would have searched, but Mindy, fully rested, woke from her nap and popped up out of the hole, like a woodchuck. She had been in such a deep sleep, or perhaps shielded from sound by the earth, that she never heard anyone calling. She had also been so well camouflaged that she was, in fact, hiding in plain sight.
No two members of my family recall a shared experience the same way. Except for this memory. Years later, my Dad, Mindy and even my Mom, for whom the retelling of most tales made them taller, have told this story the same way.
The snow is waist deep. I’ve been snowed in since Thursday. It’s fun and at the same time, scary. What’s up with that? When did I become afraid of nature?
The dense heavy snow is good for making a quinzee. But considering I spent close to four hours moving enough snow away from my door to squeeze outside, I’m inclined to save my energy. My neighbors and I may be pecking at this with shovels until May.
My car is under this snow somewhere. The snow plow guy is not avoiding me. He needs to come back with a bucket loader. This rural driveway is too challenging for a suburban truck & plow. (more…)
I’m preparing tracking programs – age of participants and size of group varies. Despite the bitter cold, the snow has not been deep, making it a spectacular winter for tracking. Now my photos look like what I study in Tracking and the Art of Seeing.
I understand my subject matter. Making it memorable, in the way that Gary Lincoff or Tom Volk does – that’s my present is to show, not tell while speaking.
Since tracking actually involves all the senses, what can I do that’s engaging and memorable before we hit the trail? One option is coffee cup tracking, although I plan to use yogurt cups.
I know that everything the President of the United States does is a matter of public record. Swatting a fly seems hardly newsworthy to me. If I had swatted the fly, I’d have eaten it. I believe in eating what I kill.
Flooding and all water-related issues have dominated my life this year. Our CSA farmer says he’d rather have a dry year than a wet year, especially when irrigation is an option.
The universe is still laughing at my plan to spend most, if not all of the lengthening days of June outdoors under the stars. (more…)
