Category: Short Essays Page 6 of 14

In the beginning, God created the heavens and earth. There was great darkness that covered the waters of earth. And god’s spirit stood over the waters of earth.

God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw that light was good, and God divided light from darkness. God called light ‘day’, and darkness he called ‘night.’ Evening came and morning came; The first day…

God said, ‘Let there be heaven to divide the waters.’ And so it was. God made Heaven, it divided the waters above heaven from the waters below heaven, evening came and morning came; The second day…

God said, ‘Let dry land appear.’ And so it was. God called the dry land ‘earth’ and the mass of waters ‘seas’ And God saw that it was good.

God said, ‘Let the earth produce plants and fruit trees.’ And so it was. God saw that it was good. Evening came and morning came; The third day…

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I bought a t-shirt to support the Center for Environmental Education and Discovery. A naturalist friend of mine, Eric Powers, is raising money to restore a building in Bellport. Since I too am a naturalist, I find it absolutely necessary to spend a few minutes fleshing out the brief but spontaneous mission statement THINK OUTSIDE:

I agree with thinking outside. Me and thinking outside go way back. Ias a child, I played outside practically all the time. I had no computer back then. And Television was so new I only had three stations to look at. There were no cell phone interruptions when I played solt ball with my buddies.

I made forts and camps outside, played tennis, basketball, ran around playing tag, mowed my grandfathers lawn, played at the edge of his pond. I did almost all of my thinking outside. How glorious a boyhood can one have?

What did I think about outside? Here’s an incomplete list:

1. felt good not being enclosed by four walls, floor and ceiling.
2. felt dam good being free to shout, scream, bicycle as fast as possible
3. feel the weather – wind mussing my hair and sunshine on my face.
4. feel scared by wasps, marvel at carpenter bees with mysterious flight patterns.
5. feel the shadows of tree branches and leaves in summer, the coolness of those shadows, the bark, the trunk, the branches, and the bird nests.
6. feel the mystery of the night sky, the moon, stars, planets, meteors, dawn and dusk.
7. feel the strange motion of big puffy clouds passing overhead.
8. feel the earth beneath my feel while walking, running, standing still hearing sounds that come     from nature.
9. feel the torture of those incarcerated, bedridden in hospitals, housebound, sitting in front of a      computer screen for hours
10. feel the excitement when making discoveries, my discoveries, how they satisfy.
11. feel the companionship of friends when I go hiking, play sports, go to the beach.

Thing outside. You bet. Today, more than at any time, I see people not engaged with nature, not enjoying nature, not discovering or observing, or relishing time outside.

Tom Stock                                       life member of the New York State Outdoor Education Association

Farmers order seeds in January. This is startup for the growing season. By late February, the action begins. Planning for what goes in each bed and bed location has already been done. Starter mix, organic manure, and other supplies have been delivered. Serious startup is unfolding.

Tractor repairs, and other chores where taken care of over the winter. Interns have been hired as well as full time workers. Seed planting in greenhouses, also called hoop houses or tunnel houses is underway.

Manure is mixed with starter mix. This combination plus water and seeds provides a good matrix. Plastic cells of all sizes are filled with the growing medium and leveled off. Don is the farmer at Homecoming Farm in North Amityville. He likes to work along starting his seeds. It is quiet, and with tropical warmth he and his seeds await germination. Don labels every tray and waters at least twice a day. Seeds must be constantly wet and warm to germinate.

Startup work at CC Farm in Southold is the same. Workers fill seed trays, plant, water, check, water. Eventually sprouted trays are strong enough to be set outside. The average daytime temperature hovers around 60 degrees. Night time temperature has to be above 50 degrees. Many hoop houses have heaters that kick on at night to keep the temperature steady enough so there is continuous growth. During daytime, fans blow out hot air As soon as plant out starts, drip irrigation is laid down. Onions go in early. Trays of onion sprouts are put on tables and workers gather around to separate the roots of the onion plants. Other workers are on their knees setting the sprouts along a string line on down the row. For me, personally, there’s nothing better than working with others to create food.

There is an air of excitement as workers reunite. The start of the season can be described in single word…hope. Watching the weather, insects, Canada geese, all play a factor. Farmers are aware of all these factors. They are making decisions constantly like a conductor of a symphony adjusts the tempo, and sound levels of an orchestra.  A poet friend of mine sent me a poem titled FARMERS ARE RICH. Indeed they are. Atheir are outdoors, hands in the soil, planning, assigning tasks, checking crops, and on and on. Their satisfaction not only comes at harvest time. It comes every day as the huge task of keeping things going. Another big factor in the greenhouse is the various maturity times when the plants are strong enough to tolerate “hardening off”

Startup happens all summer and well into the fall. Garlic cloves are planted traditionally around Halloween. Mulching, weeding, culling, taking water breaks, observing progress of plants, harvesting, distributing. Although there are many steps,  in the process of farming, there is nothing that can beat the fresh produce on pickup day.

Once the farm and farmer shut down for the winter, it’s time to change gears. This doesn’t last very long.  For about two months farm soil rests. But still, farmers are thinking about what new variety to grow, what failures need to be addressed, what workshop or conference to attend. Start up, in reality, is every day of the year.

The 47^th Earth Day shows readers a tiny white spot not readily seen on a black background. On my first view, I didn’t see it. A moment later, there it is…Earth. The newspaper chose Earth Day to show Earth as a speck. From our perspective, a speck doesn’t mean much. However, this image precipitated some thoughts. Why present Earth as a speck on Earth Day?

I’ve always been struck by the Earth population statistic, probably off by perhaps a few million, it hovers around 7 billion. As a collage artist, I challenged myself to represent this visually. From space, we never see human life. I doubt we see it if all 7 billion of us were brought together – then Cassini might detect us. I wonder how many species other than human out number us? I found it necessary to create a fictional story based on the “speck theme.”

It’s impossible to live on this speck. There’s no room. We are elbow to elbow. Our speck metaphor is like a jam-packed elevator with not a single square inch for another human. Same comparison can be made for a subway at rush hour. Once I was two inches from the ear of the man next to me. This is way past the survival of the fittest. We are all going to die. No such thing as carrying capacity. We passed that a century ago.

Our home, an insignificant speck of rock, water, and air is covered with us. We are so tight we can’t even push people away from us because our arms are pressed against our bodies. We all know that the end is near. People are dying and they don’t even fall down. A while back, we crawled over each other like ants. There was shoving and fighting – all useless because the winners were instant losers. We’re all losers. Who will live? Maybe a small group of people are hiding in cave some place and they will be the only survivors. But no, the cave is jam packed; the mountain where the cave is located is covered with humans – no water, no food, dying by the millions. The stench of decaying human flesh doesn’t have chance to start because a dead human is stripped of muscle in minutes.

The catastrophe is well under way. Masses of people are swimming into the ocean, only to drown. As more and more die, space opens up and they fall. The ground is completely covered.

I feel my feet becoming numb. Now I can’t feel my legs. I am wobbling and bouncing off people near me. I’ve lost my sight, hearing, touch. I am dead.

I’m through with the grieving; through with the anger; have passed the point of forgiveness to the person who sprayed blue paint on that rock. Up to the time the rock was clean, I pretended I owned it. It was my spiritual place. I concluded that it is no longer my spiritual place. The rock has been violated. I have been violated. That’s all over now. However, I would not lament if a forest fire burned past this sacred boulder and burned off the paint.

I forgive the rock and the glacier and the Connecticut hillside from which the rock was plucked.  And lastly, I forgive myself for acting way over the top like a crying baby. It is time for me to return to the rock and get on with it and to reestablish my connection with the rock as my spiritual place.

It is nonsense to continue carrying on this complaint.  It has become a burden. In one sense, the rock invited the vandel as defenseless inorganic matter.

I will visit the rock and pray.  Pray for the vandel; pray for myself; pray for all those who come past this rock. I will use the rock as my teacher. It has taught me that even rocks change very slowly, sometimes change happens quickly. The rock also teaches me that it is still sacred no matter what happens to it.

I apologize to myself for such an impulsive response to this defacement. It was childish.  My tantrum is over and I’m ready to move on to the next one.

March 30, 2017

Today was a sad day in the Manorville Hills.  A large glacial erratic, one of the best in the entire park, was vandalized. Blue spray paint on two sides. This beautiful, gray boulder, is an oasis, a welcome break from thousands of trees, brown straight forms until one comes upon an “elephant back”. It looks as if a live elephant was buried here. I am shocked because this is the first time I’ve seen this kind of thing. Earlier, it was ATV’s. Now this. I thought the hills were going to stay perfect. I can’t walk this way any more. Or else I have to fix this.

“It looks like a witches sign.” Said Mark. “Look at that star in a circle. That’s the sign they use.” Coming upon this was very disheartening for me. It will take hours of work to clean these lines off. “They make paint spray removal.” Said Mark.

Finding a deflated mylar balloon, metallic blue, stuck in the shrubbery I grabbed it. Exotic colors are totally out of place here in this pine barrens forest.picking this up to dispose of didn’t relieve the dull pain I’m  feeling. I came here to escape graffiti and now, here it is, in the middle of hundreds and hundreds of acres of knobs and kettles, valleys, and trails. The boulder was a surprise when I first discovered it. It was a highlight. Not any more. I feel like I’ve been robbed.

I thought of a response. Fence the entire park; post a guard at the rock 24/7; use guard dogs; drones; motion sensors; hidden cameras; patrols; bring people who have to do community service to this rock to clean it;

There are other boulders here and there. Will they suffer the same? These boulders stimulate my imagination as to the power of the ice. I’ve studied them, finding cracks with blueberry bushes growing out of them, moss, lichens, major cracks fro lightning strikes.

Vandals have little to fear because there is practically no chance that they’ll be caught. This is a wakeup call that no matter where I go, there will be signs of uncaring people. Where to go next? Perhaps the best thing to do is to eliminate the trail that leads to the boulder.

As a naturalist, I expect to come across environmental destruction. Even a Styrofoam cup is destruction. It reminds me that these people have no strong connection to the outdoors. Thank god I have many friends who feel the same way I do. Hanging out with them is as close as I can come to remove the thought of that painted boulder up in the hills. I’d love to call them together so we could clean the rock, deepen our friendships, and strengthen the strong bond we already have.

Six museums over a two night stay in New Haven, Connecticut. The Port Jefferson Ferry and a short drive along the Connecticut coast and we entered New Haven.

The city has several buildings with great architecture. This might be expected in the vicinity of an ivy league University.The Yale campus and spires are limestone and sandstone. Handsome is the word that comes to my mind. No cookie cutter design here. Four story dorms, blocks of secret societies. A town square open to the sky.   Skyscrapers in down town New Haven may reach 25 floors.

The ferry swayed as we crossed the Long Island Sound. Strong westerly winds rocked the boat enough to warrant an announcement. “Attention.  Please stay seated or accompanied by someone”. I watched the horizon rise above the window sill, then dip below. A March Madness basketball game kept my attention.

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Sixteen power point presentations, each 40 minutes long, in the semi-dark auditorium of Berkner Hall on the campus of Brookhaven National Laboratory. Presentations were made by well-qualified presenters who have done scientific research on Natural History subjects that focus on Long Island subjects.

After two talks, the morning break buzzed with conversation in the display area. There was networking, reconnecting, and not much doom and gloom from like-minded people who have strong connections to the out doors.

A new crop of young enthusiasts manned many of the displays. They were anxious to engage visitors in their particular organization. Eric Powers, long-time naturalist, showed off a new “startup” called Center for Environmental Education and Discovery. The group is raising funds to restore a house in Brookhaven to conduct environmental education programs.

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KOOKABARRA

Spinach comes in several varieties. I discovered Kookabarra in a Johnny’s seed catalog and liked the characteristics. One is savoyed leaves which are bumpy rather than flat.

I planted the round, white seeds according to instructions. A week later I saw small leaves in the shape of propellers. I dropped the seeds in furrows by hand. It is difficult to space them evenly. Some of them were too close together. I transplanted these rather than thin. Thinning is another name for killing. Upoon germination, Kookabarra starts sending down a tap root to insure a good supply of water.

It took over a month to see savoy pattern in the leaves. Soon after, the harvest was enough for two small portions. I harvested all summer long. We may have had 15 spinach side dishes with our main courses.

I watered frequently because Suffolk County was in a drought. This drought is going on two years. It has been called a severe drought by meteorologists. Some marshes have dried up. A shallow lake is only dry mud cracks. Some creeks have shortened due to the dropping water table.

I harvested kookabarra all winter long. I pulled a plant and discovered one reason the plants did not respond to drought. The root was an extremely long tap root able to draw water from up as much as ten inches deep.

I covered many plants with clear plastic caps. Those plants grew larger leaves than the ones with no caps. I have yet to see this variety bolt.

In the meantime, I ordered more Kookabarra seeds. “We are out of stock”. W woman on the phone said. No wonder. Lots of other people besides me know about Kookabarra. I decided that the only way I can get kookaburra seeds was to let the old spinach plants flower and go to seed.

I have never had such success growing leafy plant as with Kookabarra. I don’t know how this name arose, but that’s some reader whose curious will find out. Please tell me.