|
30 Nov 99 - 10:47 AM (#142623) Subject: Thought for the Day (Nov 30) From: Peter T. Travel diary: We are walking, the Uruguayan naturalist and I, over the beautiful sand dunes by the Pando River that empties into the South Atlantic. It is wet and windy. Along the ocean beach, the brown waves crash -- brown from the suspended dirt that comes all the way down the vast Rio de la Plata from the ripped out heart of South America, the devastated forests in Southern Brazil. Out over the waves, a crowd of small dark sea birds dances absurdly, their feet barely touching the surface as they coast along looking for food. This tugs at my memory, and then I see the white rumps. My breath stops, I am frozen -- these are Wilson's petrels. I have seen them before, 5, 000 miles away, off the coast of Nova Scotia.
Yes, he says, they are on their way even further south, to the Falklands or Antarctica. They seem to have blown this way from some storm, but they are just resting for a couple of hours before heading south again. They go from Newfoundland and Nova Scotia, and elsewhere in the North Atlantic, where they live in summer, all the way down to Antartica for December. They weigh about a pound, fly maybe 60- 100 miles a day, and are part of the great Earth migration mystery. In Veracruz, in a corridor of 25 miles, 100,000 raptors a day will pass south during the season; flocks of Monarch Butterflies, who have never seen it, will head for one small threatened forest spot in Mexico; and Wilson's petrels, which number in the millions, will fly almost the whole length of the North and South American oceans, back and forth, back and forth, March-December-March. Little bastards. Here am I with my stamped passport and my 60 dollar visa, and 14 hours spent in airports, big jumbos, eating airplane food, being frisked by security and screwing around with travellers cheques, and my feathered Canadian buddies out there dancing on the waves just wing it. We go down to greet them, and we stand on the beach and jump up and down and wave, and wish them a good winter, and a safe journey back. I promise to see them on a beach in spring in the Bay of Fundy as soon as I possibly can. We turn around to go, and the wind swirls sand in my face -- that surely must explain the tears that stand in my eyes.
|
|
30 Nov 99 - 11:36 AM (#142645) Subject: RE: Thought for the Day (Nov 30) From: katlaughing Oh, Peter, welcome back! I don't care how you fly to and fro, as long as you come back to us! Yesterday, I was at a store, coming out into the parking lot. Earlier in the week, I had been saddened by the reslisation that I had not heard any geese, yet, this year. Then, in that mundane setting, almost to my car, I heard the wind-carried honk from high, high above. Shielding my eyes from the bright sun, I scanned the sky directly overhead and spotted them. A huge V of geese, tirelessly flapping their way south towards Colorado and parts beyond. I was so happy. Usually I would holler at teh kids or Rog or somebody to come see. That day, the only one around was my boder collie, Merlee, a very observant dog who rarely misses anything. He dutifully sat up and wagged his tail at me and made the appropriate signs of interest while I exclaimed to him, "Look, Merls, it the GEESE! First ones this winter to finally head south. Look!" It has ever been thus for me, since early childhood. Somehow, even though I know intellectually that the world is being decimated by humankind's consumption, emotionally it feels as though the geese flying south in winter, north in spring, are a declaration from the Cosmic, telling me that "all's right with the world". I have to believe it is, on some level of existence. kat |
|
30 Nov 99 - 11:47 AM (#142652) Subject: RE: Thought for the Day (Nov 30) From: Liz the Squeak I know it is winter now, I can see the huge satellite dish on the house down the road (I live in the middle of the short bottom row of a block,so see the backs of all the houses in that block) which means that all the leaves have gone from my B Service tree and all I can see on it is the clemetis that has climbed up through it. The magpies are laughing at me every time I go out into the garden, where there is still one single bloom on the 'Swan Lake' rose; there is sloe wine bubbling away in the dining room, pots of jam in the cupboard and an overwhelming desire to curl up and pretend I'm a hedgehog. Our geese left long ago, they would fly over every evening in the summer, from the river Thames, to the pond on the common, 3 miles away. We have the winter birds to look for now, soon the robin will be back, and will be able to see the cats through the naked hedges. LTS |
|
30 Nov 99 - 12:19 PM (#142664) Subject: RE: Thought for the Day (Nov 30) From: Neil Lowe ....."all's right with the world" - yes; for the geese and the petrels, maybe. As JFK told Kruschev, "It's going to be a long winter." As always, Peter T., your observations give me pause. Regards, Neil |
|
30 Nov 99 - 12:22 PM (#142665) Subject: RE: Thought for the Day (Nov 30) From: catspaw49 All well and good...but did you get my message on the other thread and did you pick up the Waylon Heron at the airport at 1:15 AM....or was he forced to walk home? Petrels my ass....Ya gotta' take better care of the Heron! Spaw - and,uh...welcome back |
|
30 Nov 99 - 12:34 PM (#142674) Subject: RE: Thought for the Day (Nov 30) From: Night Owl I am soooooooo glad you're back Peter...missed your writings. Observing, focusing on nature's "life cycles" gives me my foothold. Thanks for the thoughts ....and if you say so..."must" be so......sand can bring a tear. |
|
30 Nov 99 - 01:26 PM (#142705) Subject: RE: Thought for the Day (Nov 30) From: KathWestra Peter, thanks so much for that. Welcome back. I have little to add except Amen. I am always humbled in the presence of nature. The migration of birds and Monarchs is truly a wonder. I only wish that everyone who has been blinded to the wonder and the beauty, and desensitized to the abuses of our environment, could read -- and understand -- your words. Here's to petrels, Monarchs, geese, and all creatures with whom we share this wondrous world. And to you for reminding us that we do. |