I wiped away the weeds & foam. / I fetched my sea-born treasures home... Ralph Waldo Emerson







Friday, May 18, 2012

First Farmers Market






 The farmers market opened yesterday! It has been rained out the past couple weeks, but here it is!


So fun and festive...vendors happily greeting loyal fans, customers oohing and ah-ing over fresh breads, organic soaps, Amish farm eggs and pickles.


Despite the endless fog!



Not for the short of cash, though! Only the bedding flowers were a bargain!



These are for a crock by my back door...



I sidestepped all the gorgeous asparagus, the kale and swiss chard, the few tiny first baby strawberries---and made a beeline to the Italian market guys from Brooklyn.



Had to stock up!
Ravioli, and Sicilian artichoke hearts..



cheese..fresh mozzarella,, and its oh so yummy cousin scamorza, the aged dried version.....




Then roses...palest cream with a hint of pink, like a seashell...




  and with my few dollars left I got my pansies and marigolds.




Next week I'll be more prepared, with a LOT more cash in hand.




love

    lizzy

...gone to the beach





Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Message in a Bottle

 Oh how fun! The other day I found a message in a bottle, washed up on the high full moon tide.




The sender was smart to put it in a Mason jar, sturdy and eye-catching. I'd definitely stop to investigate a Mason jar, you know.
It was from a woman in New Jersey...nice letter, lots of sweet thoughts and good wishes for the finder. She set it adrift from New Jersey on March 12, so it took two months to float up here to the beach! It could have come twenty miles...or 100, she doesn't say where in NJ she put the jar into the ocean.
Picture this little jar..and its letter, so carefully inscribed---for two long months, bobbing across NY Harbor, past the Statue of Liberty, past the giant tankers and cruise ships! And then it landed on my beach!



For the sender it is maybe not as exciting as if it took years and she was contacted from, oh...Spain? Or Northern Canada or England, or Ireland, more likely, since it was carried on the Gulf Stream. But I was pleased.

In all my years here I have found three other messages in bottles, so this makes FOUR. One was dropped from a cruise ship by a young couple. It had a note, a swizzle stick, cocktail napkin, and a five dollar bill! Another was from a child. It had a sweet drawing, an questionnaire, and cute colorful beachy charms and glitter. The final one had pornographic Xeroxes! In color so it wasn't very old but the pix were very 80's, guy with leisure suit [then NOT, lol!] white boy Afro and moustache. Very scented too. So odd. I felt sad to show the less risque pix to my kids who had been so excited to find a message in a bottle. I think it too had money, a couple dollars?

Other finds: the eternal question, why do coconuts wash up on northern beaches? here's an amusing link by a photographer I admire. here The  comments and discussion are amusing, scroll down! Occult thing? LOL!



It's fun to think the coconuts are swept north by the currents, all the way from the Caribbean. But more likely they are local trash, they are sold here in the stores, of course.



I always am hoping one will grow! And we'll have a palm tree!

  


And this wonderfully old, c. 1940? or older wooden fishing lure. I think fishing lures were made of plastic by the 19502, though I am no expert.



I love its green glass eyes. How long has it too washed about in the ocean until the tides brought it ''home'' for me?



Here it is with a repro lure, so you can picture how it once looked, all those years ago.



And here: a moon shell egg case. All the eggs are hatched! Yummy snack for the birds!



And last, a bird update: this oystercatcher mama is smart!




She has laid her eggs on the dunes...and far from the usual shoreline.




But again, the water came so close. Within a foot of her nest! [You can see the waterline in the top picture.] She must have been so afraid...but she should be safe now, her babies will hatch before the next full moon flood tides.




And the willets have returned! Year three! Just one pair, with their long slender bills and stilt-like legs. Very rare here on the beach....


The arctic and least terns arrived this week too [grrr! they're mean!], and the black skimmers yesterday, huge clouds of them, on Mothers Day.

More soon...including hopefully some not-foggy, not rainy pix!




love

               lizzy

................gone to the beach







edit: Moonshells are a common seashell found on Atlantic beaches. They are round, large, snail-like; not particularly treasured. In the spring the creatures burrow and rotate into the tidal sand and secrete a substance that mixes with sand and forms the distinctive curved case. The shells are about 3-4" high and the cases are maybe 4- 5" . One side of the case is then covered with hundreds of tiny, rather icky eggs...a very popular food for the shorebirds. 

Google images pix below.


Saturday, May 12, 2012

Mist and Fog



Ah, May...the month of mist and fog at the beach.
And yet, there is a certain monochromatic beauty, a serenity, as  a hint of expectation.
Summer is just around the corner, waiting to burst with endless hot sunny days... 



 So, come! Walk with me...be sure to check out the little film at the end!





 














                                  






love

                  lizzy

......gone to the beach




And a wonderfully odd little treat from Dylan Thomas, all about a springtime night in a seaside town. Long ago and ...far away?

To begin at the beginning:





It is Spring, moonless night, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched, courters and rabbits wood limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea.

Hush, the babies are sleeping, the farmers, the fishers, the tradesmen and pensioners, cobbler, schoolteacher, postman and publican, the undertaker and the fancy woman, drunkard, dressmaker, preacher, policeman, the webfoot cocklewomen and the tidy wives.

Young girls lie bedded soft or glide in their dreams, with rings and trousseaux, bridesmaided by glow-worms down the aisles of the organplaying wood. The boys are dreaming wicked or of the bucking ranches of the night and the jollyrogered sea. And the anthracite statues of the horses sleep in the fields, and the cows in the byres, and the dogs in the wet-nosed yards; and the cats nap in the slant corners or lope sly, streaking and needling, on the one cloud of the roofs.


You can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing.


Only your eyes are unclosed to see the black and folded town fast, and slow, asleep.


And you alone can hear the invisible starfall, the darkest-before-dawn minutely dewgrazed stir of the black, dab-filled sea where the Arethusa, the Curlew and the Skylark, Zanzibar, Rhiannon, the Rover, the Cormorant, and the Star of Wales tilt and ride.


dylan thomas