To Fill My Cup with a Honey-Colored Brew

It is officially summer here on the Cape; after two months of nothing but clouds and rain and cold, the sun has a stronghold on the sky. It blazes down with fierce intensity, but alas, it doesn’t daunt that other tell-tale sign of summer: beachgoers. They now litter the beach with their half-naked (or all naked) bodies, obnoxiously brightly colored umbrellas, RV’s, trucks, blasting radios, plastic beach toys, beer, and rugrats. What once seemed a sleepy fishing/gay-and-lesbian-art-scene village is now a tightly-packed city spilling over with sun-dazed tourists. The population jumps from 3,500 in the winter to 12,000 in the summer, and on holidays such as the past Memorial Day Weekend, 35,000 (according to a disgruntled local, so I wouldn’t bet on that.)

So, needless to say, the past few days have been a bit hectic. People on holiday never think rules apply to them in the first place, and there are many rules indeed to protect the poor little plovers. Besides that, the sun and the heat make walking on the beach all day more of a slave drive than a stroll, and my face has been as pink as a pitaya for the last week. There have been some highlights: my coworker Dan and I saved a gull that was near death and completely disabled by a double-ended hook stuck in both its nostril and its foot (we saw it today flying, though it hobbled a bit when it landed), and another coworker and I attempted to rescue a juvenile bald eagle (who turned out to be all right, but we got a great look at it nevertheless!). But all in all, I’m burnt up and burnt-out, tired and grumpy and stuck in a rut. So today, when I instinctively knew that I had reached my limit, I decided to act and go somewhere new: Wellfleet Bay Audubon Sanctuary.

On the journey there I knew it was the perfect idea- driving with the windows down, singing loudly to music to lift my spirits, doing something completely different than the routine. And when I arrived, any doubt I had left my head without a trace. Cool pine forests welcomed me in, and as I got out of the car and started down the trail I almost cried it was so breathtakingly beautiful. Perhaps on a different day the foliage wouldn’t be so vividly green, nor the birdsong so sweet it broke my heart, nor the sunlight so perfectly golden as to cast a magical hue on every particle it touched. But today it did and it was, in my own words, totally awesome.

It only got better as I hiked to Try Island- a speck of forest among a sea of green marsh- and then out to the bay, where I saw shorebirds I couldn’t identify for once, and enjoyed watching them squabble over tidbits of food as they rummaged around in the sand at a frantic pace, peeping insolently at each other. From there I walked out to the ocean, barefoot of course, where the beach was so wide I could wade out about 40 feet from shore and stand as the only still point in the swaying surface of the sea. The water was warm and the velvety smooth touch of the ocean lapped at my ankles softly, beckoning me in, calling me further out to the warm embrace of my ancient home. It gave me chills, the desire was so strong to keep walking out, but I steadied myself against the pull and watched instead as horseshoe crabs deftly scampered their way around me, clambering clumsily onto each other occasionally to mate.

The sky was turning to rainbow sherbet and the sun a ripe Rainier cherry as I reluctantly left the sanctuary. My eyes drank in the light of the honey-colored water the sun so graciously brewed as a thin veil of moisture covered the forests and marshes behind me. I spoke to it as a forlorn lover, professing my gratitude, undying affection, love, loyalty, and promise of return. I could stay there in the arms of the sanctuary all night, forever maybe, basking in the beauty of nature and the unknown. But the gates had to close and I had to get back and prepare myself for another day of work, another day of the savage human civilization. At least now I’m a little more ready for it- I filled my cup with the memory of the honey-colored water and the warm reassurance of the sun that life is, without a doubt, full of good things.

p.s. my camera was dead, but I'll get some photos up soon!

Toxic Love

“Plastic,

like diamonds,

are forever.”

-Capt. Charles Moore, Algalita Marine Research Foundation

As a hopeless thrifter and freebie magnet, I love to walk down the beaches looking for good trash that has washed up from the ocean. I've found a lot of good stuff- rope, buckets, sand-polished bottles, my new lunchbox (an old tacklebox)- the list goes on. But for every one piece of good, reusable refuse I find, I see a thousand other items whose only use now is to end up strangling some sea turtle or ripping apart some seabirds insides. Since I can't pick it all up, I focus most of my energy on two things: mylar balloons and plastic string (the colorful kind used to wrap gifts). These two seemingly innocent man-made creations are now, to me, the work of the devil of carelessness and consumerism. Along with other plastics, such as plastic bags and fishing line, they are responsible for the deaths of countless animals. I fill my pockets with the stuff, but at each step I see another little purple tapeworm of string poking its head out of the sand, another faded plastic sheet of "It's a boy!" blowing in the wind. So I decided to learn more about plastics, and the love hate relationship we have with them. I probably wouldn't be alive without the use of plastics in the medical industry, and use various kinds for all sorts of things in my daily life. I realize that I can't blindly condemn them, so I decided to learn more about them and their effect on the environment and our health.

Here's an interesting interview from Fresh Air on plastics:

http://www.npr.org/2011/04/19/135245835/our-toxic-love-hate-relationship-with-plastics

And an info pamphlet outlining the safety level of different types of plastics and the environmental impacts:

http://www.gogreeninstages.com/pdf/The-Hazards-of-Plastics.pdf

A nice article about the toxic effect on the land and sea, with good photos:

http://www.worldculturepictorial.com/blog/content/ocean-pollution-climate-change-man-made-disaster-or-

And one on estrogen levels in plastics:

http://www.npr.org/2011/03/02/134196209/study-most-plastics-leach-hormone-like-chemicals

We might have really messed things up, but there's no use crying over spilled milk. Here are some things we can actually do about it:

Consider alternatives to plastic in food/drink preparation:

Stop buying/avoid using single use items: bottled water

Use tap water- carry stainless steel bottles

Cook and store food in glass, stainless steel, porcelain

Cover leftovers in bowls with a plate

Avoid Teflon pans – use stainless steel

Avoid canned food

Use stainless steel/wood/bamboo/ vs plastic utensils, cutting boards

Use bioplastics and bagasse instead of paper or plastic plates, cups &

cutlery

I wish I could see the day that our garbage goes away, but for now, happy Earth Day everyone. This will all start with awareness, one person at a time.

(please no balloons to celebrate)

First Landing- Just Pictures

A Piping Plover, probably a female due to the incomplete collar.

Race Point North, the northernmost beach of the Cape (and a short bike ride from my house!)

Some lovely sticks and stones, artistically placed by a passerby or the hand of mother nature (she's a great artist.)

My shack. Had to take my strange yellow thrift store find down due to high winds.

A cranberry bog among the dunes. The cranberry plant is the little red stuff on the bottom edge.

Some sweet blooming cryptobiotic soil crust.

The Wood End lighthouse and a salt marsh from the breakwater off of the tip of Provincetown. I only noticed the storm cloud coming after I was over halfway out- so that's why everyone was going the other way....

A gorgeous sunset after a long day of exploring the Cape.

First Landing

After a week here on the Outer Cape, I finally feel I have some grasp on my feelings towards it.

First of all, it’s beautiful. The sea laps away at the soft sandy beaches, changing their shapes on an almost daily basis. Dunes rise from the beach, burying everything from fences to trees to houses. The trees vary from nonexistent to scraggly pines to deciduous forest packed with a dense understory. Everything is still bare here from the winter chill, but it has its own skeletal, delicate beauty.

It’s much different than other places I’ve been to and, in a sense, it’s a place I might usually avoid. The Cape is crowded with so many little buildings and summer homes, but these also lend a certain character and charm here. Most of them actually have style, unlike much of the development in places that were “settled” in later years, such as Texas’ KB homes and strip malls. One of the things I admire here is the amount of public/preserved lands. Slap a place like this off the coast of Texas, and it’d probably end up like South Padre- a mine field of chintzy chain souvenir shops with large hotels and resorts right on the beach. But here I can drive a few minutes or even walk a few feet from my house and be in a natural area. It’s wonderful! And even if there are a lot of people, they have all been very kind and friendly so far, so I don’t even mind. I am the outsider here, after all, so what can I say, anyway?

And speaking of tourists, I sure am glad I got here when I did cause pretty soon it’ll be packed. This time of year it’s cold and often rainy, with a big storm coming through just in the last few days. I’m grateful for the relative peace and quiet and cool weather while it’s here, and I hope I can keep my cool when the summer comes. The Piping Plover Protectors will definitely be needed then to guard the nests and hatchlings from sun-dazed tourists and their clumsy vehicles, which are allowed on some beaches.

Work is great- outside all day when it’s good weather, inside when it’s bad. We fix fences, put up exclosures around nests, and monitor the plover population here on the northern end of the Cape. It’s sometimes exhausting, but somehow I still manage to fill up my afternoons and evenings by biking and hiking around. I’ve already found what I think will become my favorite hang-outs, and I love meandering through the forests on the many unofficial paths in the area. Provincetown, a cultural and artistic centerpiece, is just a few minutes away by bike, yet I am far enough from town to not hear the hustle and bustle of the busy little city.

And lastly, the wildlife here is awesome- I’m learning so many animals I’ve never even heard of, and I’ve gotten to see so many neat marine creatures just one week. Today we came upon a harp seal (an Arctic native) on one of the beaches we were monitoring; it picked up its head with lazy effort and blinked its big black eyes at us for a moment, then rolled onto its back to warm its belly in the sun, completely unconcerned with our presence. There are lots of whales here, too, and of course plovers and plenty of birds and non-mammalian marine wildlife. I think I'll have plenty to keep myself occupied and satisfied for the next 2 1/2 months, with some of my favorite things- art, nature, and of course, exploring.

Harp Seal

(unfortunately, not my photo)

Roadtrip Highlights

Natalie and I left in the late morning to begin our journey northward, buying such essentials as kolaches at the Czech stop and LoneStar for our Bostonian friends (I don't know how they survive without it!). After that it was driving nonstop for 4 days, the second of which we were engulfed ALL day by a gnarly thunderstorm. On the 3rd day we experienced, what I deemed, a sign from god.

After a frost bitten, dinnerless, and sleepless night spent illegally camping in the cold Pennsylvania woods and an even colder, darker morning spent getting away from the scene of the crime, we were famished. I must've dreamt of eggs, and Natalie of hashbrowns, for all we could think of was getting a deliciously greasy diner breakfast. Each diner billboard left us drooling, though we somehow managed to miss every exit leading to a Cracker Barrel or truck stop restaurant. Frustrated and and fed up with no

t being fed, we pulled off to try our luck in the tow

n of Bethlehem. Heading for what we hoped was the main street, we hit a little congestion on the tiny two lane road. Lucky for us, we saw to our left a shining beacon of hope- a little old diner, surrounded by a herd of parked cars. Through the window I I saw an old, grey-haired woman sipping a cup of coffee, perfectly framed by wood and the name of the diner: Chris's Cafe. Natalie and I turned to each other, grinning. Perfect.

We pulled in as more senior citizens labored towards their parked cars and got some stares, probably in no small part due to the bike strapped to the top of the car and the two haggard looking young folk in the front seats. Nevertheless, we braved the strange looks and opened the door to what seemed heaven; a small, clean, cozy interior with a handful of little tables, middle aged waitresses and a cheerful chubby aproned

cook behind a barstool counter. Once again the patrons, aging and with varying degrees of hair loss, turned to stare at our unfamiliar presence, but we were so giddy with delight we hardly cared that we stood out like two sore thumbs. Plopping down at a table, we admired our surroundings while purusing the black and white menu above the the counter (the kind where you can change out the letters and numbers!) The little clusters of people soon returned to their chatting and socializing with the other regulars.

Our waitress, kind and friendly but not overly so, brought us two strong, hot cups of coffee and menus. For Nat, Chris's special: 2 eggs, hashbrowns (perfectly done), toast, and scrapple, a strange sausage-like thing fried like a pancake with a mushy center- $4.95. For me, a cheesy veggie omelet with hashbrowns and toast- $4.95. As we sat groaning over our food, Chris himself came out to greet some nearby regulars. He was at least 80, still donning a cooks' apron and shuffling around slowly in shiny black leather sh

oes. We finished our meals, completely and utterly satisfied, nursing our coffee and reluctant to leave such a pristine place. I went up to pay a waitress, who was sharing what sounded like some juicy gossip with another at the register, and we chatted about Texas and Massachusetts and scrapple.

The old woman I had seen under the sign was still there, alone, sipping her coffee, but just as we headed out a woman, obviously her daughter, came in to meet her with a kiss on the cheek. May Chris's live on!