Off Season Dog Beach

Rents are low!

tidings of comfort and joy

mulcher

Last night my talent for sleeping failed for several hours so I was feeling a little skewey this morning when I passed this scene at the playground. For some reason the sight of this steaming pile of mulch, hot with decay, brought some odd feeling of relief. It's amazing to realize how much is happening in what appears to be nothing, and how much everyone changes every day without trying, modulating and striving for balance quiety and organically, as if the wisdom we can't help but accrue and the goodwill that we can't help but share has a chemical nature. Slowly, silently, so much is happening.

fishing line nest

My daugher brought this home the other day, perhaps it was blown down by the latest storm. I imagine that it might be an oriole's nest because it looks like it could hang like a little sack from a tree, and also because it is essentially made from repurposed fishing line. The Baltimore Orioles I see in Prospect Park almost always appear near the lake, darting in and out of the phragmites or perched on tree branches overhanging the lake, and those places are unfortunately rife with abandoned fishing line.

The little one plans to leave it in a tree hoping that it will be reused. It's certainly tough enough for another go.

sheen on a leaf

Since the branch suspended the leaves at eye level I was able to notice the copper that glazed their topsides. Surprise!

Thanks to the litter mob that manicured the Midwood so thoroughly this week, I'm sure the forest appreciates it even if those that toss their refuse on the ground hardly notice.

on the berm

We had a chance to walk along the top of the berm that runs along PPW this week, I like to think of it as the neighborhood's closest thing to the Appalachian trail. We found an evergreen weeping sap, a tree with a hidden charcoal-black recess, varieties of pine cones and needles, bottle caps and some rusted batteries. My daughter and I will go back and clean those up, and my son would like to but is worried about being caught in the act and considered a 'dork.' Don't judge him, though, he reminds me of how many young people must think it's cool to litter and uncool to bend over and pick something up. Often it seems that to be read as "good" by another is the last thing person wants, perhaps it even seems vaguely dangerous.

I saw a man on a subway platform suddenly drop a dollar on the ground, and at first he showed great concern, although he didn't bend over to pick it up. As soon as he saw other people had noticed, and when another man bent over to pick up the dollar and hand it back to him, the man acted as if he wouldn't condescend to touch that dollar. Is this pride in action? Is it an atavistic instinct to fear that as soon as one bends over another will see this as a sign of submissiveness and subserviance, just like pack animals read each other's behavior for signs of weakness? People are complicated and there's much to understand about why someone would throw or drop something on the ground and neglect to pick it up, and another would gladly collect it without worrying about how they'll be viewed. We all seem to be wrapped in layers of our values, conditioning, and instincts so thickly that we can't really understand each other's choices and tendencies very well. Seriously, call in the anthropologists, this city is full of diverse tribes.

What makes someone volunteer to pick up other people's garbage in Prospect Park? I would wager it's often LOVE for the park, plain and simple. Thanks to the park volunteers.

in the trees

more snow in prospect

Yesterday it seemed like marshmellow fluff. Today, globs of it caught in tree limbs, it seemed a lot like shaving lather, thick and in many places throughout the park unmarred. I don't think I'd have gotten far if it weren't for a network of ski trails that were tamped down solidly. I wanted to go see the waterfalls because of the smerfy feeling the snow's been giving me, what with every circular object wearing a gnome's hat. It wasn't so smerfy there at the falls, more straight up 18th Century gloom.

There was a moment I wish I'd captured, it was when the dark wood beyond the lake was shot through with the white marks made by a large flock of seagulls, flurrying their graceful white shapes, rephrasing the falling snow in avian form. Once on the frosty lake they were no longer white, not when set off by the white of the lake's snow-covered thin ice.

new coat

ice in the hoof prints

saturday evening

There's a meadow across from the dog beach in Prospect Park, one of only 2 feral grasslands in the park I think. The other is the butterfly meadow on top of Lookout Hill. This one's off limits, clearly distinct from the ball fields across from it. You can stand on the periphery and wonder what goes on beyond the civilized zone, especially when the low light cuts it half. It seems like times no one can remember.

small things in the park

adaptation

These ducks made themselves at home in a Prospect Park puddle that became a pond last Thursday and Friday when Brooklyn was seriously sluiced by hurricane Nicole.

lull

over there

I was looking for the young Night Heron who I seem to have developed an attachment to. Something tells me it doesn't share the bond. I saw one adult by the rustic shelter, another smaller one closer to the Binnen bridge, and believe I saw a flash of the youngster flying from around the same area. Later I spied it far away on the other shore so, following in the footsteps of a similarly telephoto-challenged friend, I used my binoculars for a boost. The young one looks tired to me, perhaps from all that night fishing.


Two Green Herons flew in on the near shore. They can seem so neckless, and alternately, like they are half neck. Tricky birds. Grackles were eating some kind of fruit from a tree overhead; I could hardly see them, but could hear the gentle sound of their bodies brushing against the tree leaves punctuated by an occasional echoing plunk as the berries they knocked loose fell into the lullwater.

finial

A bold Mockingbird was driving this hawk from perch to perch, repeatedly assaulting it from the back, claws first. At first the raptor appeared nonchalant, but after awhile the smaller bird seemed to get on its nerves, judging by the plaintive squawks of this baby-faced predator. The Mockingbird wanted it out of the vicinity and was heartily kicking its red tail. Protecting treasures such as these, maybe?

linden flowers

Yesterday in Prospect Park I found the Lindens blooming; these were photographed in the Long Meadow. Where were the honey bees, though? I thought the amazing scent of the Linden would draw at least a few but saw none - perhaps they seek out less narcotic pollen. In other years I've visited that subject in more depth.

So far this year I've only seen 2 honey bees, both gathering nectar from clover in Nelly's Lawn. Bumblers, though, I've seen them.

pollinator's palace

Last week, I finally came across a tulip tree in Prospect Park that had blossoms low enough for me to examine. A bug's life might be short and hard, but they at least get to crawl around inside these Godly places and eat from the altar. And sometimes they are themselves the offering, transformed into songbirds.

Solanum dulcamara

I know, it's an invasive weed. I know, it's poisonous, but I still love these tiny shooting stars and tiny egg-shaped berries.

Reminds me to regard with gratitide the ancient Inca for breeding the poison out of one of the major solanum staples, the potato (Solanum tuberosum). More on Solanum dulcarmara, also called bittersweet, bittersweet nightshade, bitter nightshade, blue bindweed, Amara Dulcis, climbing nightshade, fellenwort, felonwood, poisonberry, poisonflower, scarlet berry, snakeberry, trailing bittersweet, trailing nightshade, violet bloom, or woody nightshade, here.

Red-Tailed Hawk

The audience of three observing her feast didn't seem to put her off too much but we didn't stay long. Through the binoculars the lump between her feet resembled a pigeon.