I parked just outside Bethpage State Park and walked the Nassau -Suffolk trail north. I came to an entrance road to the polo field and was able to view a lot of green. Cutting left to stay along the edge of the fairways, I viewed the red course with light green greens and darker green fairways, sand traps and the dead stalks of little blue stem grass. Over the forest to the east, a huge hump that looked like a gray whale surfacing. No, it is the Farmingville Landfill. V-shaped water spouts added some drama. Along the hike, I picked up a few balls that had “smiles” from iron shots whose golfers made swings that didn’t make square contact with the ball. One such ball, embedded in dirt attracted my attention. I edged it out. It had a root coming out from the smile. This was a keeper for sure. I saw the clubhouse and headed up hill in between the boundary of red and black course. I asked for the pro shop in order to get a map. “You’re not allowed anywhere on the golf course.” I was holding my walking staffs, a dead giveaway. I headed along the edge of the yellow course looking for an exit. I stepped through an opening in the chain link fence and found myself back on the white blazed trail that I started on. I marveled at the abundance of acorns along the edges.
Sand tongues from two strong nor’easters have encroached on the thicket all along the Jones Beach barrier island. I parked at the Overlook Beach with the intention of a beach walk to the “sore thumb, an isthmus 1 ½ miles east. It pokes out into Fire Island Inlet, and offers great views of the Great South Bay.
The fog was burning off as I started out. The forecast called for sunshine in the 60’s.I wanted to take advantage of the beach because Babylon Town just opened the gate for beach buggies. Soon the beach will become a giant parking lot. Week days are less crowded. I only encountered two buggies.
Sand tongues are the result of over wash during strong storms with tidal surges. Upper beach sand becomes liquid a suspension mixture of salt water and sand. It pours through openings in dunes, flows landward, and engulfs plants. I walked as close to the thicket as I could. I encountered one sand tongue after another, clean of footprints, rounded lobes as clean and smooth as a baby’s ass. The water receded and left sculptures, one after another.
A BIG, GRAY GRANITE ROCK
A MID-SIZED STATION WAGON
HALF BURIED IN PINE BARRENS SOIL
ONE DAY, I SPLAYED MY BODY
ACROSS ITS BROAD BACK
RIDING THIS ELEPHANT
OVER 10,000 YEARS
WEATHERED TO THE PATINA
OF A GRAVESTONE
I LAY FACE DOWN
TO STARE AT TWO SQUARE INCHES
A SMALL CITY OF LICHEN, ALGAE, TINY MOSSES
MY TOUCHSTONE
MY KEYSTONE
MY OASIS
IN A BROWN/GREEN FOREST
CLOSETED IN ISOLATION
A MAN WITH A CAN OF BLUE SPRAY PAINT
DECIDED ON A MAKE OVER FOR MY BOULDER
HE SQUIGGLED CIRCLES
HIS INITIALS
HIS BEARDED FACE
HE STOLE MY GEM
MY ISLAND RESPITE
MY JEWEL IN THE CORE
I carried a bench frame on my back up the Paumanok Path in order to set up another place for visitors to sit. Manorville Hills County Park is “primitive.” There are no refuse cans, bathrooms, or places to sit. There is a parking lot, signage, and a bulletin board. There are ticks. With places to sit, walkers can avoid sitting where there may be ticks.
I managed another good weather day. The past three hikes have been sandwiched by cold, rainy, windy weather. Somehow, I have avoided that. My destination was twofold: place the bench on Sperry Hill, and photograph the boulder vandalism.
From the parking lot, I hiked into what I call the “epicenter” of the park. It is a departure from the rest of the area which is hilly Pine Barrens. There is a small charming, sun
Right on time
Like it was yesterday
Dependable
Necessary
No wait time
You call, we answer
No voice mail for you
Heartbeat, yes
Breath, yes
It’s all there,
The rhythm
The rhyme
It’s going to happen for sure
On time
Every time
24/7
The moon
The sun
The tides
It’s all clock work
Regular
You know it will happen
Before it happens
I like it that way
It does what’s it’s supposed to
I know you’ll be there
When we agreed
It is what it is
One bodily function
Needs a tune up
Needs regularity
Fiber, more fiber
To Dr Jeffrey Ashkin
Tom Stock
Young praying mantises have hatched. I found them holding on to a wall in my office and decided to catch them and bring them outdoors. The stiff, foam, gray egg case was taped to a large piece of paper that I put in a folder. I managed to catch and release dozens of these miniatures. A couple of questions arose. What do these perfect imitations of adults prey on? Will the released ones survive?
The egg case was attached near the top of a dead mugwort stalk in an abandoned lot, a fenced in area in the heart of the Village of Babylon within a short walk. I happened upon this area and decided to explore through a breach in the chain link fence. You say “Mr Stock, you’re trespassing”. You are correct. But…I have a worthy, noble, friendly, environmental cause. Curiosity drew me into an opportunity to trespass, to survey nature raging in the face of thwarted human “progress”. I am contributing to science…the ecology of abandoned lots. Earth herself has a built- in mechanism to restore herself. Look at an abandoned parking lot. You’ll find cracks with weeds coming up.
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.
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.