“Humans are tuned for relationship. The eyes, the skin, the tongue, ears, and nostrils–all are gates where our body receives the nourishment of otherness. This landscape of shadowed voices, these feathered bodies and antlers and tumbling streams–these breathing shapes are our family, the beings with whom we are engaged….For the largest part of our species’ existence, humans have negotiated relationships with every aspect of the sensuous surroundings, exchanging possibilities with every flapping form, with each textured surface and shivering entity that we happened to focus upon. All could speak, articulating in gesture and whistle and sigh a shifting web of meanings that we felt on our skin or inhaled through our nostrils or focused with our listening ears, and to which we replied….Today we participate almost exclusively with other humans and with our own human-made technologies. It is a precarious situation, given our age-old reciprocity with the many-voiced landscape. We still “need that which is other than ourselves and our own creations.” (Spell of the Sensuous, David Abram)

“If we surrendered
to Earth’s intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.

Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making
and struggle, lonely and confused….”
(Rilke’s Book of Hours)

I went to Chincoteague this week. Was magic. I feel shifted somehow by the experience—it felt out of time, very expansive, unlimited. Hard to imagine I was there only about 24 hours.

I had been thinking going for a week or so, but kept not being sure if I wanted to spend so many hours of my week off driving. But as the day I’d targeted approached, it felt right, like I was being drawn there. So I just threw a few things in the car (including the critical camera, binoculars, and birdbook—I’m such a geek), and went. The drive wasn’t so bad—there are many interesting little places along the way, but many of them being devoured by development and the open spaces filling up. Even as you enter the outskirts of Chincoteague, crossing the causeway, there is the blight of billboards stretching out along the marshlands, one every few feet. I feel ashamed at such times to be part of the species that creates such ugliness. But the breeze (pure salty marsh) coming in my open car window went straight to my heart clearing out everything and leaving me open to the beauty.

From the moment you enter the refuge, a sense of enchantment envelopes you. I was completely alone the time I was there (at least in terms of people), and felt not a bit lonely, but rather deeply engaged. There’s something about the glowing white of egret feathers rustling in the breeze that just tingles me to life.

Every so many yards I had to stop as beauty after beauty captured me. Herons in mid-glide or poised to strike sparkling waters.

The sinuous shiny slide of cormorant.

A bright flying “V” of snow geese, flashing ebony and ivory, and on and on. Fortunately most of the other people behind me were also stopping every few yards to gaze. It was nice to see people being patient rather than honking or passing or revving engines, and nice to see such an interest in nature. But at times there was something strange about it—a little frantic or out of touch. All these cars with cameras poking out the windows, engines running, then on to the next sight. Sometimes as an egret serenely gazed and 5 huge zoom lenses bobbled at him, I felt like it was a zoo and we people were the monkeys behind bars. And then there’d be the occasional idiot who’d really take it to the next level and pull right up to water edge (forbidden by signs) where a heron was fishing, and sit there with engine running loudly. And the heron would pause a moment, not squawk or fly off like I probably would, but just calmly pause. There was something kind of British about it “Eh, excuse me old chap, bit of bad manners there, isn’t it? Trying to catch my dinner here.”

I walked and walked on the endless beach, not seeing another person for the most part, just feeling the rough silk of sand against the soles of my feet, inhaling the vibrant air, taking in the creaminess of the wave foam folding in and effervescing into nothingness. I looked up into the blue blue sky and felt like I was in my dream from the week before. The clouds were not dolphins but had that upswooping, joyous, expansive feel, just like my heart in that moment. A fountain of intense gratefulness bubbled up and overflowed through my eyes. I alternated between aimless miles meandering down the beach, and more focused gazing with camera along the wetlands. As evening approached, I took photo after photo of each movement of the fireball sun as it dropped through the twisted branches of a Serengeti-like tree. Feeling a direct connection with its journey to the dark underworld.

I drove to my B&B, checked in, went back out and got some oysters and a bottle of Frog’s Leap Sauvignon Blanc, came back to my room , and sat on the floor eating, drinking, going back through my photos, and reliving the day, feeling the nice warmth of a mild sunburn on my face, as the wetlands breeze came in through the sliding glass doors to cool it. As I fell asleep, I could hear the occasional squawk or chitter of a marsh bird. The best, however, was saved till last, when I returned to the refuge in early morning for a final walk before heading home. Ahead of me aways down the road I saw a dark indeterminate mass. “Oh no”, I thought, “surely no one would hit an animal here.” Then it moved, but in an odd way, not a snake slithering or a fox trotting—more like a lurch. As I neared I saw it was a HUGE snapping turtle—heavy ancient royalty. She(?)stopped in the middle of the road and lay down—just because. And who would dare suggest otherwise? Not me. I put my flashers on, turned off my car, and stayed put.
A ranger pulled up behind me and I waved him around, pointing to her. As he passed, he rolled his window down and smiled, laughing. Lucky man.

As I drove home, sadness descended. I just let myself feel it, rather than push away or try to analyze. But as I listened to a couple of my accumulated cell phone messages, I knew that some of the sadness is about how busy busy busy everyone is. And how it gets us unconnected. I know it’s harder for me to be with people that are distracted and not really present than it is to not be around people at all. Watching the animals at the refuge made me so aware of how plugged in they are, just fully alive and being what they’re meant to be—the air hummed with the energy of it. It scares me that where they live is called a “refuge”, that it is not a big part of our world, but rather a small protected enclave. I read one of the signs outside the welcome center that said there were wandering tribes (Gingoteague, Assateague, and others) in the area, living off the land for over 12,000 years, in much the same way. “A good life” it was thought, the sign said. Abundant fish and fowl, which was smoked for winter, along with dried plants. There were bear skins for warmth and deer. They used the quahog clam for its beautiful purple color. Little disease was present. I let myself imagine what that would have been like, and had this sense of vastness, of peace, of rightness. Then the sign said that the natives disappeared after about 200 years from the first contact with Europeans. 12,000 years—200 years.
Hard to write much after that thought.
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On a lighter note, the wildlife back home was experiencing some distress, according to Rafe. Had this email from her:

“Tonight Lilith and I are eulogizing my footstool. It died this evening, suddenly. I hadn’t been aware it was ailing. Lilith is distraught. I sought to replace it with a step-stool, and Lilith sat on the bed looking at it, and then at me as if we’d lost our minds. Oh well, I’ve had that footstool for 15 years, and I got it second hand.”

Poor Lilith. I plan to look for a new stool for her at the antique store this weekend.

Oh, a postscript. Just came across the following while looking through my pictures. I slammed on the brakes to pull in and look at his on my way home–is good the store was closed–I was just sure it was Misty and I was going to take her home:)