Mastoids?

I hear that people from this area--Mastic, Mastic Beach and Shirley--are sometimes called "Mastoids" by people who don't know us very well.

However... today I went to Home Depot, and to King Kullen, and a few other places.

In Home Depot, I was asked if I needed help by a woman with red horns growing out of her head.

A bearded woman checked me out, at the same time as she was shouting for the witch to come and help her.

I found the witch; she was over the road, working the register in Rite-Aid, while outside Rite-Aid and King Kullen, a horde of teenage mutants were hanging out.

Neighborhood Road was full of giant butterflies, fairies, witches and a horse with two heads: its own, and a pretty little girl's.

Mastoids?

No... it's just Hallowe'en.

Have fun everyone!

Mute swans are not silent

"Mute" means silent, voiceless, but mute swans can and do make noise. They squeak but in a deep tone when flying. And when they water-walk on a calm, still, quiet morning at dawn, they sound like a tractor starting up...

Sunday

Very high water Sunday morning, high tide and the runoff from Saturday night's late storm. Water across the road at about 9 a.m., but it soon drained away.

Fishy

Moby is so much bigger than the other fish!

No baby fish this year, but the babies that survived last year's Raccoon Fish Festival are big and healthy. There are several new, small koi this year: one is orange with a lot of white, one is white with black and grey speckles, and one is almost all black-grey but with beautiful scales. They are "domestic" koi, hatched here. I'm hoping they will grow to Moby's size to keep him company.

They are basking in the sunlight, making the most of the days before winter arrives.

Wild, wild west

Another week, another trip, and now back home again on a beautiful sunny autumn Friday.

Was in Boise, Idaho, and for the first time really saw Boise in all her beauty. The fall colours are magnificent, the surrounding country so big and wild.

(In Boise you don't have roadsigns warning "wildlife crossing", or red triangles with pictures of running deer... you have signs saying "Game Crossing"...)

Was able to secure a window seat with no neighbours for the daylight flight back through Denver, and again on the second leg from Denver to La Guardia, New York.

Within moments of takeoff from Boise airport, you are flying over hills and land with nothing, and no-one, in sight. No roads, no towns, no villages, no visible signs of human interference. Across the bare salt-flats of Utah; nothing and no-one. Then the wrinkly, crinkly Western foothills of the Rockies... somehow I always expect the Rockies to loom huge and tall and spiky, but from the air they are like the wrinkles around an elephant's eye, and you are over them before you know it. Looking back West from Denver, with your back to the flatness that stretches over the curve of the earth, the Rockies are tall and pointy and imposing like mountains should be, but from the air they are somehow tamed.

Around Denver everything is square. Many-acre squares containing curving new suburbs or farmland with one barn, off center. One square had a flattened pyramid of earth, excavated from the square-next-door. A little further east, the squares contained irrigated circles, the square-outside-the-circle uncultivated and barren.

And then we crossed a weather front; on the left, to the West, clear skies and sun on the earth. To the East, a thin, constant layer of low cotton-wool cloud. Like someone had pulled a lace blanket between the earth and the sky. And the earth below the blanket glistened with frost.

And soon it was dark.

We passed the cloudy sky and the air was crystal clear. Outside my window, the Plough was bright and resting correctly on its base, like a saucepan.

The closer to the east coast, the more lights appeared. More squares, but smaller. Then villages and towns and almost no areas bare of light, apart from the Lakes.

We came into La Guardia over New Jersey. Lady Liberty was small and shining bright, Manhattan beautiful and picture-perfect in the late night.

And then I had to wait two hours in the airport for the shuttle home... watching CNN with the homeless and shuttle-less, waiting for morning.

First frost

Parts of the raised lawn were gently frosted this morning; just a touch, but frost all the same. It was gone within minutes of the sun moving higher than the reeds.

Sunday, cool and breezy and beautiful

Spent the morning at the gym, then the afternoon doing the housework; cleaning, vacuuming, dusting, iPod on shuffle (still haven't worked out how it chooses just the right song to follow the one before...) and by the time I'd finished it was 6 p.m.

Looked out of the window... and had "one of those moments".

Sky fading from turquoise through mauve to dark. Wetlands sandy-tan. Pools reflecting the sky. Everything calm after the brisk autumn breeze of earlier in the day. I hadn't noticed the wind drop.

How the heck did I manage to live in such a beautiful place?

Oh gourd!

The gourd vines are still flowering, still starting baby fruit, but it's getting a little late. I had to cut this gourd down today because it was weighing very heavy over a waste pipe and it didn't seem like a good idea. That's a 10" diameter plant pot it's standing next to: about a foot tall, and this is not the biggest on the vine. There is one that is huge! And another the same size as this one.

Autumn colour

The wetlands are red, sandy, and white, the far trees russet and orange and yellow and some still green and here-and-there, bare grey bark and branches.

Today a brisk northerly breeze scuds the cumulus across the sky, but the sun is still bright and working in the garden, it's not cold, but if you stop moving the wind is inside your pullover and cooling your toes. Low fifties today.

Some new ducks have arrived; black, with white bottoms. And the geese are singing all night.

Today was the Mastic Beach harvest festival and games at the pavilion on Neighborhood Road. Great to see all the children having fun. Lots of things to see and do. Good job everyone!

The sun was in funny shape this morning

Like it was trying to fit through a gap too small.

Recovered a few minutes later. Round as ever.

From now until the spring equinox, sunrise views from here will be amazing. Sunsets go behind the trees too early; have to go sit by the pond to appreciate them, but the sunrises, wow...

Shade to red...

After a week away in San Francisco, I return to a redder view; the trees bordering the William Floyd Estate wetlands are a deep red, several in my own garden have transformed to the colour of copper beech. A few odd leaves have fallen, not many.

The weekend was beautiful; clear blue skies, temperatures around 70 degrees. The ocean a calm baby. The beach is back; washed, shined and cleaned by the storms, it is big again.

Monday morning at the wetlands beach

Six great blue herons; one standing sedately, unflustered, hunched over the water, ignoring the other five that were jumping and flapping and wheeling overhead.

Four adult swans, and four cygnets, adult-sized now, but still with their grey feathers.

A few seagulls, very very low water, and such a calm, beautiful view.

Turquoise

Today's colours are turquoise, beige, fading green, and a hint of red. The sky has been huge; clean, clear after a few clouds passed this morning. October, but in a T-shirt, at least until 5-30.

This house loves the daylight at this time of year. It enters through the high windows and spotlights the begonia on the dining table, paints pictures on the high, sloping ceilings, and plays with my coloured glass.

The non-pampas-grass has suddenly sprouted reddish plumes. The gourd vine is covered in tiny gourds, and one giant that was revealed to me today when the breeze moved the leaves that had been hiding it. (The two that were on the east side of the deck/bridge are now standing on a trivet in the kitchen. That's as far as I have made it with genius ideas for drying them in a wetlands climate. The garage is not such a good idea... maybe they'll be staying where they are for the winter. If they dry properly, they'll be made into bird-houses next year.)

The sound of October

Reeds rustling in a strong breeze. Leaves, not dry yet, not falling, but moving in the air.

Geese honking overhead.

No powerboats.

Just nature making sound. And last night the owl was back.