notes from the kelp

…listen
…about the music

Ascended.

Another business trip, another thrilling puddle jumper flight! Returning home yesterday afternoon from my stint at the National Performing Arts Convention, I was welcomed by a spectacular summer day and a perch perspective even more so. It’s impossible to take this flight without my camera clinging to my palm, and my heart clinging to my throat. In a very, very happy way.

In the leftish-middle of the above photo is the wooded peninsula on which my little house rests, and the small wildlife preserve island that I claim as my personal front yard each time I kayak to it with a few short paddle strokes. Beyond to the east looms my volatile buddy, Mt. Baker. Should it ever decide to erupt, baking is precisely what its neighbors would be doing. For now, just like my own kitchen abilities, it sits blissfully dormant. Having returned from an energizing conference teeming with inspired peers, I sit here anything but.

…listen
…about the music

Neither muddy nor hot, these two.

Gee, do you think the metal one in my yard has any idea what’s behind it??

Off to Seattle today to hear dear friend Larry Karush perform his magical and truly unique music, and then down to my home away from home, SeaTac, to fly to Denver. I’ll be moderating and speaking on a panel about the arts and technology for the enormous National Performing Arts Convention, where I’ll spend four days surrounded by other equally [if, uh, delightfully] insane artist comrades in search of inspiration, enlightenment, professional schmoozing and free wine. It’s open to the public, so if you happen to be in Denver, come join us! Just leave some wine for the rest of us.

Back Sunday night, at which point the e-kelpfest shall resume!

…listen
…about the music

Music for specimens.

On Wednesday I spent a few hours at sea once again, on the marine science vessel Centennial, a significant tool for University of Washington’s Friday Harbor Laboratories. How I, a wannabe marine biologist and oceanographer, was so lucky as to end up living nearly walking distance from one of the world’s greatest research facilities, is beyond me. But here I am (in a couple of pix taken by my dear friend Laura). The people who work and study at the Labs are a great bunch; warm hearted, curious, fun. Over the past year I’ve gotten involved with FHL’s wonderful K-12 Science Outreach Program, and have also let peers know about their amazing Whiteley Center for visiting scholars.

We had a bunch of very sweet third-graders on board, and while I’m always tempted to use small humans as chum to attract the big sharks that would be really fun to study, I resisted the urge to toss any of these cute kids overboard. Instead, it was a delight to watch them enjoy the thrill of running their little hands through the muck and life forms brought up by the dredger from the bottom of the sea floor; about 30 fathoms at the point where we stopped. I get as much of a kick out of this as anyone. There’s an immediate, primal connection when one is holding bivalves, worms and crabs that only moments ago were oozing around in a far different world. My apologies to them all for bringing them momentarily into the light for our own edification.

Part of the Labs, as we left the dock.

The Centennial.

The dredger delivers its payload.

Mmmmmmm!

Yes, the sea really is this blue here.

Happy as a clam. Or any mollusk, for that matter.

…listen
…about the music

Still. Beautiful.

A friend of ours on the north end of the island enjoys this sight each time he walks in his front door, as do I each time I visit. This was the view from his deck two evenings ago: an archipelagenous melange (I love making up words) of boundary water humps ruled by the U.S. and British Columbia in theory, and by the glaciers of yore in fact. Even on an overcast day, the serenity is unmatched. Perhaps, especially on one.

…listen
…about the music

Steady and calm.

I love coming across random artwork at the beach. Anyone who can achieve this kind of balance in their life has my respect.

…listen
…about the music

In the wild.

Yesterday I went to the best beach on the west side of the island, where this is a common and wonderful sight. I stood as close as these photos indicate; foxes have no predators here, and thus no fear of a woman pointing a lens or anything else at them. Last summer a pup ate crackers from my hand by my driveway.

Just like us, within the same species they appear in all color variations: red, silver, black, and golden, and probably other hues I’ve yet to discover. The vibrant spring surroundings cause everything to pop in the brilliant sunlight of high latitude. The sea crashes immediately behind my camera, and the meadow rises up to bluffs blown hard and free of tall trees, filled only with wildflowers and grace.

…listen
…about the music

A slow approach.

A brief post to say hello, and to share a unique view. Seated close enough to give the pilot a neck rub as he brought the little puddle jumper down the Salish Sea from Friday Harbor to Seattle, (no, I did not offer my services), this was the intriguing line-up I saw last Monday as we approached Boeing Field. Impressive Mt. Rainier was a beacon for the runway, and the serendipitous alignment of the natural and the man-made, even in the early morning haze, was quite majestic.

This was the start of my epic journey to New York City, one that always takes exactly 14, count ’em, 14 hours door to door, given two flights, shuttle, airport layover, taxi, and whatnot. But I really don’t mind; it’s wonderful having the time to think, to breathe, to observe people and geography. There’s even a quiet little wine bar at SEATAC for a civilized rest and repast. And as I’ve posted before, the potent communications combo of laptop, Treo and book (you know, that antique thing with pages you have to turn) provides plenty of entertainment and activity. I’m never, ever bored.

More thoughts and photos this week, as always. It’s a gorgeous shiny day, the outdoors beckons, and I obey, happily.

…listen
…about the music

Quite a water voyage.

Few words are needed to describe the utter joy of hopping in a kayak on a bright sunny day, and paddling for miles from island to island in this never-ending archipelago of tree-strewn gems. Still fewer words can be mustered to express the awe at having such an experience in one’s own backyard. So without all those unnecessary words and just a handful of descriptive ones, I offer a mini photo log of how I ditched all my work and spent Thursday floating on the Salish Sea. Its stunning remoteness is not remotely akin to how I will spend this coming Thursday, awash in a sea of concrete and humans, back on that other small island I visit from time to time, Manhattan. By the time you read this I will be nowhere near my idyllic home, and am hopeful that these pix will hold you until the weekend. They certainly will hold me.

A riot of wildflowers in every meadow. Can’t you see their little picket signs?

There are occasional signs of life in these uninhabited coves. We beached our kayaks on the shore in the foreground, hijacked this cool little power boat and took off real fast. Naw…

Arbutus trees, aka Pacific Madrona, are island treasures. Their incredible bark is arbeautiful.

Squint and you’ll see my house across the water, smack dab in the middle of the photo between the camas petals. What? You only see trees and water? Yeah, that’s why I live here!

Surrounded by moss, grows a cactus! When meteorological worlds collide.

Tons of these beauties, everywhere. They are E Pluribus Enormous!

At high tide, this spit has been spat out and these become separate islands. Looks a lot like Gilligan might be here…

Thus concludes your self-guided tour of the San Juans. Don’t forget to tip your docent, and have a great week!

…listen
…about the music

A tune for a snooooooze.

Have a wonderful weekend! Next blog installment will be about the beautiful time I had yesterday kayaking around the San Juan Islands. Playing hooky on a Thursday never felt so great! Just ask these two, who are just as happy to skip the kayak and rest up on a piano bench for their next adventure of chasing catnip mice and ping pong balls around the floor.

…listen
…about the music

Dance of the big feet.

There’s a lot of recent history waiting to be read in the mud flats of a low, low tide. Geese and gulls and far smaller birdies all leave their prints for a detective to decipher. Who went where? When? Why did they turn around? Where were they going? It’s a dance of chaos and delight, like one of those old step-by-numbers ballroom cha-cha charts gone insane.

…listen
…about the music

What a pair.

I’m going to take a wild guess that most of my kelp-readers are old enough to remember that silly, pointless-yet-trance-inducingly fascinating yellow and red drinking bird toy from the 70’s. Often, two would be placed opposite each other to share a glass of water.

So now you understand why I post these photos, taken today from my desk chair. These two served as pointless-yet-trance-inducingly fascinating distractions from my work, and I thank them.

…listen
…about the music

Slow and sticky wins the race.

And yet, more fur! This week has been like a big debutante ball for island insects. Just as you’ve recovered from the furry bee (and thanks to Glenn are now quite well educated on All Things Apidae), today I greet you with this adorable caterpillar, the latest addition to the ever-lengthening queue for my diabetic coma-reversing Insulin MedEvac services. He is clinging to/sucking up the sticky sugar water remnants on the hummer feeder. It took him four hours to make it across the three inch span of the jar top. And you thought the L.A. freeways were slow.

Also seen today: several inchworms, beetles, slugs, and the first of the dragonflies– bright blue helicopters of joy buzzing around the woods. Plus several variations of spiders, including one harmless-but-enormous wolf spider lookalike with a thyroid condition, squatting defiantly in my hallway and spanning an impressive four inches stem to stern. The larger the visitor, the easier my job as Director of the Benevolent Shapiro Arachnid Relocation Program. But if they get much bigger than this guy I’ll need to invest in larger drinkware to use for transport services and field trips. Oh, and I’ll need to start charging for size and weight, just like the post office. Wish I had a photo to share, but the camera was in my car at the time. So you’ll just have to imagine a spider so huge that I nearly tripped over it, like the ottoman in the title sequence of the Dick Van Dyke show. Really ;-).