Moods of the Delaware

March 9, 2008August 29, 2011 / still a dreamer / 4 Comments

It was a long, grey, stormy day in which torrents of rain fell hour after hour. Puddles swelled into small lakes in the streets. There was no point in getting the mail. Each momentary letting up was quickly followed by sheets of rain cascading from the sky. It had been predicted to end around 5 pm, and indeed small patches of brightness blew in and right on out, chased by more, though shorter, bursts of rain.

In one of those brief intermissions, I caught sight of the Delaware River at the end of my block. Lying between her banks, as there often is in damp weather, was a cloud. No fog brushed the earth, just a cloud exhaling on top of the waters. I ran down with my camera – it was nearly gone by the time I got there, but still visible.

And then came the wind. No sooner had the rain stopped and pushed in an obligatory patch or two of sun, than extraordinarily high speed winds whipped through the trees, dislodging anything not secured on the ground. Electrical failures began switching off lights all over the area. I was thankful – mine stayed on. Between the rain and the winds, the Delaware was predicted to reach flood stage at some points along its banks nearby.

Here, late Sunday afternoon, the sun was heading down in the blue western sky and the Delaware rushed madly by. Brown-ish blue, the water was very high and its speed dangerous. But in all its moods, whether languidly dreaming or racing to the sea, the river is a richness and a gift to be near.

Just in … my friend who had been up visiting last year had also taken a beautiful photo of the river. It was summer and the Delaware was in her glory.

Jeanne

Box in the Road

August 30, 2007July 11, 2012 / still a dreamer

What’s better than spending a weekend with your oldest friend in the world? Spending a weekend with your oldest friend in the world AND helping an animal survive!
The day was getting late, and our plan to head on over to the local farmstand looked like it might not happen. Then I remembered they had that wonderful little deal that you can actually still find in places like this – a secure lock box! A testimony to faith in human nature, a secured box for payment of roadside fruit and veggies so customers can come at odd hours to purchase them still amazes me. Customers are trusted to pay the right amount for the produce they choose and to not steal whatever cash is currently in the box, (or the box itself), until the farm owners come out and remove it. That’s one of the reasons why I like living in the country. But that’s not the box I’m writing about.

We left for the farm – about a 3 or 4 mile drive, and about what it takes to get to any decent thing you want to get to out here. As we drove down the two-lane blacktop, I noticed something in the opposite lane. It looked like a large rock, but not really. When animals occupy such a large portion of one’s brain, red flags go up fairly often. `Did you see that?’ I asked, already wondering at its odd shape. Kathy, on the passenger side, hadn’t gotten any better look, so we agreed to check on the way back.
After getting a small stash of seasonal goodies, we turned back to go home and whoosh! we watched the car ahead of us whiz down the lane, straddling the not-so-likely rock. Shortly after, we did the same, and I wasn’t convinced a rock had gotten in exactly that spot. So finding a safe area, I turned the car around once again.

On the return trip, I pulled alongside and rolled down my window for a better look, and my suspicions were correct – the `rock’ was a box turtle. Probably had a big idea to cross the road, and with just enough cars, became petrified to go further. Luckily, there’s not a whole lot of traffic on that road and he was smack in the middle of the lane. I pulled over.
My partner in rescue jumped out and picked up the stranded box turtle, who peeked out at her briefly before slamming his shell and plastron shut. But she’d noted which way he was headed, and walked him into the brush a good 10 feet and far enough away from danger. Hopefully, that was his direction and he continued on into the woods to his home.

One of the best feelings there is … whether the beneficiary be animal or human … is saving a life. And we both smiled a good long time after our turtle rescue. Good luck, little guy!

Need professional illustration? I can help!

Does A Cricket Matter?

August 11, 2007March 14, 2009 / still a dreamer / 2 Comments

On a recent Wednesday night I came home rather late, but being as I wasn’t tired yet, decided to watch a Will and Grace rerun. Settled in to the TV room, I was aware of the usual summer evening sounds – tree frogs, katydids, crickets. One cricket in particular seemed quite loud, possibly on the porch roof right outside one of the windows. I went over to listen; it really was quite loud. Then I realized the sound was, in fact, coming from inside the room. The cricket had somehow managed to get up to the second floor and in the corner behind the kitty litter box. It was too dark for me to see him, so on and on he sang, while I wondered how I was going to get him back outside.
Trapping and releasing insects is not new for me, but I do like to have the advantage of seeing them first and ideally, not having them jump or crawl on me. Daylight would work better and I figured tomorrow would be soon enough to figure this out. I went to bed, listening to the cricket in the next room singing … singing for a mate despite the odds of finding her in the room of a house, singing for help, singing his last song … I couldn’t tell.
In the morning I moved things around and got a quick view of him – a good-sized black field cricket. But he jumped further back and was lost to me again. I didn’t want him to be mangled by the cats, nor to die without even some grass beneath him, but there didn’t seem any easy way to get him.
That evening, back in the room, it was totally quiet … had he died? Then I heard a quiet little chirp. I did whatever a human can do in reaching out to an insect … just opening myself to let him know I’d get him back to his home if he’d let me help him. Amazingly, not too much later, he appeared on the carpet in front of the TV … no big jumps, probably tired and dehydrated. Or maybe he knew his window of opportunity to get home had opened. I checked the cats and they weren’t noticing, so got a box lid and quickly covered him. Slid the piece of cardboard under him and ran downstairs – front porch lights on, and laid the makeshift rescue trap on the walk’s edge next to the grass.
I lifted the lid, but there he sat. I tapped the cardboard and yet he sat.
`C’mon, little guy – it’s your grass … go!’ and I tapped the cardboard again. This time he did a cricket sized leap into the dark, wet lawn. He made it.
Does a cricket’s life matter? It did to that one. And I’d say, by the quiet little grin that stuck itself on my face for the rest of the night, that little life mattered to me, too.

Please visit my website for this and additional writing samples and animal art.