Tom Stock

After 22 Thursdays of two hours work for Nancy and me, we’ve come to the end of the organic farming season. Today, Nancy shoveled and carted wheelbarrow’s full or organic compost to spread on the new garlic plot.

I gathered hoses and sprinklers to stow over the winter. The farm is a lonely place in winter, bees sequestered in their hives, tools locked in the shed, walk in cooler turned off, irrigation valve shut off, tractor and attachments covered.  It is sad to end one season on the soil for the next is jackets and hats.

I cut down three vagrant trees growing in the row of raspberry bushes. Today was a slow day for workers so I took time to pick and eat what ripe raspberries were left.

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Still healthy

The boy within still acts up

Thrills over a nature discovery

Loves toes in morning dew

Hikes with Mark

Dinners with Nancy watching 6PM PBS news

Scouting the organic farm for ravens

Puttering in the garage

Growing spinach, chard, and zinnias

Writing poems and essays for tomstock.org

Coffee and New York Times in the morning

The afternoon nap

Making a stir fry

Time in the man cave

Shopping the produce isle at Best Market

Keying out a mushroom

Visiting Bob’s Lot in Edgewood Preserve

The dunes at Babylon Overlook

Presenting power point Secrets of Sampawans Creek program

Creating collages and constructions

Sifting compost

Grand kids Owen and Maggie, Daughters Julie and Jenny

Attending programs at the Walt Whitman Birthplace

Being on the Hempstead Plains

Visiting with friend Darrel Ford

Doing little science experiments

Going to yard and garage sales with Nancy

I am happy that after 21 years of retirement, I am fully engaged and am contributing to my      family, immediate community, and region

I am thrilled that I have a site on the internet where I can post samples of my writing. Writing is one of the most important things I do. I write about my nature experiences in essay and poetry. I believe that my writing is a “force for the environment”( Max Wheat comment)

Tom Stock

“What good is a nice house if you don’t have a healthy planet to put it in?”                                                                                             H.D. Thoreau

A nice house is useless if our bigger house is fowled. The pathology works from both ends, top-down and down-up. Let’s start with population growth. Boom, WAIT! This essay has to stop right here. Native American built structures that decomposed and left no toxic remains. Now, archeologists clamor to find remnants to learn about their lifestyles.

Our houses need water, electricity, food, clothing, petrochemicals for our gas grills and cars. YES – Remnants end up in our bigger house and has come back to bite. 9 billion residents in the big house is a bit much, don’t you think? But, now that we have them, what to do? While governments try to do the big stuff, we try with the little stuff. Still, sustainibility isn’t happening.

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I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate the first day of October than to tour the Hempstead Plains. We met at 10AM at the education center on the campus of Nassau Community College. Karen and I were there to lead a workshop on poetry and nonfiction. Since nobody else showed up, we joined the group from the Brooklyn Botanical Garden.

Betsy Gulotta, the manager of the Friends of the Hempstead Plains opened the gate. We gathered in the center for an introductory talk. Betsy retired as a biology professor at the college in 2001 to take over management of a 19 acre remnant of what is left of the original 40,000 acre prairie. She stressed the importance of this natural resource commenting “Nassau County is 97% developed.” She said in a gravelly voice. If there ever was a case for its preservation, this is it.

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Up and up and up and up, step by step, by step, by step, I’m going up to heaven. I’m ascending inside a huge lightning rod. I saw the ground wire so I know that if lightning hits and I’m up top, I’m safe.

Wind comes through the short door that leads to the circular balcony. I hesitated before stepping out. I was scared. I reached for the railing. I held my breath. I looked down, then quickly back up. I wasn’t ready for this. I had to acclimate. I stood flush against the wall and resumed breathing. Deep breaths and an outstretching landscape on all sides. I’ve had dreams of being terrified of falling. I’d be standing on a precipice looking down and very afraid. Waking up from dreams like these were a relief.

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Not a wisp of wind as I stood along the edge of Penny Pond. The reflections were perfect of the three line of Pine Barrens forest on the opposite side. I playfully ask myself “Which are real? Am I standing on my head? Yes Tom, the reflection is real.

No litter except a single McDonald’s French fry cup which I pick up to hold three specimens for “further study back home”. I found Round-leafed Sun Dew, Pipe Wort, and an all white mushroom to key out.

The recent drought has lowered the water level at least two feet. The exposed shoreline is at least 30 feet wide. The mud has track impressions of deer and humans.  This band of mud allows plants that sprout only during drought that exposes the edges. The Sun Dew and Pipe Wort that I found will not be there when the level of the pond rises.

The pond is isolated with no nearby paved roads. One has to walk a half hour from Route 24 near Bellows Road to access it. I immediately noticed the calm, the quiet, so much so it astounded me! It’s hard to find places as quiet as this. I designated Penny Pond as a candidate for my list of magical places ( a list of magical places and introduction are cataloged under Magical Places)

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Scratching makes it worse. Scratching doesn’t help. The chiggers are still there, just under my skin, having descended over a course of 4-5 hours. They touch nerves, little nerves that send impulses to the brain. These impulses are “Itch Impulses” that keep on coming as long as the chiggers are there. The skin is their home after hanging on low vegetation. They came with wild turkeys decades ago. This is my take on the situation.

OI picked up chiggers ( no capitol C) some place during a hike with Mark. We had decided to take a circular hike. Some place along the six miles, I must have brushed against low bushes. They landed on my wool socks. From there, they worked their way into my ankles and lower legs. The itching began that evening at bed time.

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