...a whole week early, as St-Patrick's Day is their estimated day of arrival.
I think my pleasure comes from a childhood filled with nature walks and birdwatching. My mom was not one to have us sit inside after school; she got us out for long walks filled with observation , fresh air and learning. She always watched for, and carefully noted , the first robin each spring [hence one of my nicknames...]; and we watched the brown frozen garden daily for the first daffodil shoots, for the first snowdrops and crocus. And her pleasure never waned, she was as pleased by a late January witch hazel bloom at age, well, whatever---as she'd been when she was a twenty-something stay at home mom.
So....Friday when I went for my walk---not a single bird, not even a gull or two. Then Saturday:
And also on Saturday, in the high beach near the dunes were telltale little scurry-scurry footprints of the piping plovers. They too return each year and nest in exactly the same spot.
the carefully posted signs from last year, all about the plowers.
Too bad. Each year there are fewer. Once upon a time we'd have as many as 16 plover nests, last year only three pairs stayed and raised chicks. I noted at least five nests that the sand plows destroyed in early pre-egg laying stage.
But these birds are survivors. As are we all...
~~~~gone to the beach
|at the end of my hike, |
an early spring fog bank rolls in, oddly from the north...
|self porttrait with washed ashore clamshells|