Rue Not This Day

If not birders, they are at least respecters of the natural world, the older couple that stopped in their tracks today when they saw two great egrets light a good distance ahead of them on the boardwalk. They were crossing the marsh on Fripp Island, where I am visiting for another writing retreat.  From my writing house, I happened to be watching the egrets through the binoculars when the couple came into view.  They are people I'm sure I would like.

Everything about their standing still there was a measure of love.  Their stooped posture, their slow progress halted, and the way they supported each other in the act of not disturbing the egrets, did for me what Robert Frost's dust of snow must have done for him when he wrote:

"The way a crow shook down on me,
The dust of snow from a hemlock tree,
Has given my heart a change of mood,
And saved some part of a day I had rued."

The couple did not continue on the path until a third egret flew over, and the two on the banister joined it in flight. I had rued this day for not getting any of the work I came to do done.  The couple and the egrets changed everything.  dkm

Low Tide, High Tide, and Hurricane Irene

 Approximately every thirteen hours, low tide turns the marsh on Wilmington Island, Georgia, into a vast expanse of what first looks like nothing but mud and grass.  On closer inspection, the mud is riddled with holes and crawling with tiny crabs the exact color of the mud.  The crabs are many, well-camouflaged, and in such constant motion on the surface of the mud, it looks like it's boiling.  They're all over the boardwalk, too---on it, under it, and between the slats.  At first it seems impossible to avoid stepping on them, but they scurry fast at the last second before footfall.  No wonder the green herons and the egrets, both great and snowy, hang around at low tide.  And no wonder they wait so still and long.  It requires a swift silent stab to surprise a crab. (No rhyme intended, but I'll take it :-) These crabs are about the size of a nickel,  gifted at eluding shoe or camera, and don't stand a chance against beak of egret. 

 (See comment from Mike B. on my last post  re: the blood vessels in the egret's neck when it so stabs---and while you're at it, check out Mike's blog---some amazing nature photography.  You can get to it by clicking on his name in the comment box.)

  

High tide comes about six and a half hours later, when the marsh fills with water deep enough for kids and dogs to splash in.  It was about waist high the day I saw two young brothers having high adventure hiding from each other in the tall grass.  I kept thinking about the crabs under their feet, and had to ask their father.  They wore special shoes, he said, and the "mud" is not actually mud.  It's fairly solid clay which explains why the water was remarkably unmuddy, even where the boys stirred it up.

Ordinary high tide on Wilmington Island looks like this from the boardwalk:

 Enter Hurricane Irene---well,  more like pass at a safe distance--- but close enough to make herself known.  Nobody played in the high tide that came with Irene.  The storm was intense, if short-lived.  The trees whirled.  Massive sheets of rain whipped over the marsh.  The lights went out.  It came and went in less than an hour, followed by the proverbial calm after the storm.  But the power stayed off and the water crept higher, until the marsh looked more like a lake.

Here's Irene's high tide, taken from about the same spot on the boardwalk:

By the time the water got to within ten yards of the house,  I became a bit concerned, but like the crabs, it reversed its direction in the nick of time.  This shot is from the deck on the back of the house:

Unlike the crabs, it retreated slowly.  Within another six hours came the mysterious hollow popping sounds I've heard before at low tide.  I think it's the crab holes opening up as the water drains back to the ocean.   I'll ask three locals and let you know what I find out.  dkm

Tomorrow:  John Muir, on the eternal grand show of nature.   

Of Cranes, Herons, or Egrets?

 It's a lesson I have to keep re-learning---that it's all in who you know---that is, who you talk to, and in this case, what who you talk to thinks they know.

Being a girl from the plains of Kansas, I know little of island life, and less about the barrier islands of south Georgia, where I am now, on my latest self-imposed writing retreat.  Stepping from a dock onto a boat terrifies me, despite being not a bad swimmer.  Even in Kansas, we had to take swimming lessons at the municipal pool of the nearest town, seven miles up the road.

But one can learn a lot from the locals, so on Wilmington Island, I ask questions of those I meet.

First, after hearing Guy #1 (and many others)  refer to the tiny island of solid ground in the middle of the marsh as the "hammock," I asked how to spell it.
Just like it sounds, said Guy #2, h-a-m-m-o-c-k.
In the context of the marsh, I wanted to know more, so I asked the next guy. Tell me about the hammock.  Are there snakes here? (I was nervous about walking across the roots in sandaled feet)
You mean the "hummick," grinned Guy #3.
Really?  How do you spell that?
Just like it sounds, h-u-m-m-i-c-k.
I looked it up.  Dictionary definition:  Hummock:  A piece of forested ground rising above a marsh."

Next question, next day, new person on the dock:
What are those tiny creatures all over the boardwalk that scurry sideways when your foot falls in their territory?
Guy #1:  I don't know, little crabs, I guess.
Guy #2:  Baby crabs.  They'll grow up to be the big blue crabs we eat.  But some people will tell you they're fiddler crabs.
Guy #3:  Not the same as blue crabs. That's as big as they ever get.  They're just food for the birds.   Lots of people fish with them.

New day, new question:  (in preparation for this blogpost---call it research :-)
Me:  Are those herons---the big white birds in the marsh?
Guy#1:  You mean the cranes?  Nah, they're just cranes.  I don't know what kind.
Me, with rephrased question of next guy:  What kind of cranes are those?
Guy #2:  They're not cranes.  They're herons.  White herons.
Gal #3:  Neither crane nor heron.  They're great egrets.  Aren't they spectacular birds?

I'm going with great egret.  Gal #3 sounded like she knew what she was talking about.  Besides, it's so poetic.

Gal #3 turns out to be a horticulturalist.  Judy.  She and her husband Buddy and dog Dylan took me out in their boat at high tide.  In addition to being lovely people, they were fountains of knowledge about the islands.  Judy assured me there are no snakes on the hummock.  Only legless lizards.  Comforting.

Tomorrow:  Hurricane Irene

 dkm

Some Great Egrets on Wilmington Island

On the distant dock

Mother and youngster?

Too close for comfort. 

Brilliant in the sun

View from my deck

It's called a boardwalk for a reason

From Buddy and Judy's boat

Lift off

 Buddy and Judy and Dylan

Thanks for the ride!  dkm