September 10: Long distance

Hurricane news.

Crows relaying calls

up and down the river.

September 8: Hurricane 2

Hurricane season.

Radar shows clouds of songbirds

making their way south.

September 7: Hurricane

Tracking the hurricane.

Last night I dreamed

of staring ghosts.

October 29: Entrainment

Hurricane Sandy, Extra-tropical Storm Sandy, Big Huge Storm Sandy, or whatever you want to call it,  is headed our way after already wreaking havoc on the mid-Atlantic states on up. When a big storm system moves through during a migration season, some birders get excited, anticipating unusual southern--even tropical--species blown off course. Pelicans and boobies end up off the coast of Maine; seabirds end up far inland. If you and yours are safe and sound post-storm, that can be one of the most interesting times to be out birding. If this kind of storm watching appeals to you, eBird offers more specific information.

In reading on eBird about how this storm may affect various types of birds, I've learned a few things. Strong storm winds may displace birds--blowing around or concentrating large flocks, knocking pelagic birds inland, for example. Or birds may get caught up in the calm eye of the storm, especially one as large as Sandy, and get carried thousands of miles north along with the weather. That's how we end up with tropicbirds in Massachusetts. That's entrainment.

This song describes Van Morrison's definition of "entrainment." It seems to differ slightly from the ornithological definition. But the concept, however one thinks of it, has tremendous poetic potential.

Calm amid passion's swirl
yet still carried away,
dropped on a strange shore.

August 29: Hurricane

No, there's no hurricane here. Barely a breeze to rustle the shining green birch leaves out my window. It's a perfectly still, calm, beautifully sunny late summer afternoon. Crickets are humming, a stalk of goldenrod sways under the weight of a bee. A kettle of vultures soars gracefully above the river, tilting in the updraft, spiraling ever higher into the bright blue sky.

That's why it seems surreal to think of Hurricane Isaac, thousands of miles to the south, battering Louisiana with torrential rains, high winds, flooding, and power outages. Unless you've got loved ones in the storm's path or have Southern roots, it's so easy in this quiet little pocket of the world to forget that elsewhere things aren't going so well. Not that we shouldn't enjoy these halcyon days. But we should also be grateful, really savor them. And keep in our thoughts those whose homes and lives are in danger right now.

It's been such a wonderful summer here in Maine--so unusually sunny and warm. Conversations about the weather all repeat the same belief that we're going to pay for this perfect season somewhere down the line--with a big storm, a long winter, something bad. We can't help thinking that way. Such old-style Puritanism is bred into us as New Englanders. And at some point, we will get horrible weather, some disaster like Hurricane Irene a year ago in Vermont, so we're always right in the end. But really, we all know that Nature brings what she brings, regardless of what we deserve. And we weather it the best we can.

So calm this morning
vultures had to flap, awkward
in early thermals.

August 28: Tropical Storm Warning

The wind's picking up, although the rain has diminished. We've just gotten an actual Tropical Storm Warning alert for Camden, so presumably the trees will be swaying with even more energy before the night is over. Actually, it's still only Sunday afternoon. Full daylight. But I figured I should post before things get worse in case we lose power later. While it's slowed and been downgraded from a hurricane, Irene is still one monster storm, the spiral of clouds on the radar map covering hundreds of miles. Amazing what Mother Nature can churn up, with a little added boost from global warming.

The storm really does feel tropical, too. The air is heavy, moisture-laden, warm, swept up from the Caribbean and carried here by the swirling forces of nature. Birders I know have been hitting the coast, hoping to find that Irene's brought along some tropical birds, as well. One birder friend hopes for magnificent frigatebird and brown pelican, perhaps some unusual southern terns (scroll to the very bottom of this blog post to see all his predictions). So far reports of black and Forster's terns are coming in from southern Maine, and oystercatchers further up the coast, but nothing exotic yet. Here at our house, there's a house finch in the window feeder.

I've seen photos from Vermont today that show a huge washout on Route 4 that carried utility poles down with it. Friends up and down the East Coast are posting stories of floods, washouts, wet basements, power outages, and general mayhem. Here in Camden, my triathlete neighbor just returned from his bike ride. Another neighbor just walked by, on her way to the store and back, in an outfit that didn't look at all storm-proof: heels, short skirt, thin blouse. But somewhere out there I know boats are rocking on their moorings, branches are cracking, and birds are getting blown off-course. And right here, right now, I'm feeling all that energy in the air and pacing the house like a cat.

Moon's pull and storm surge,
tugging on my very cells--
crazy energy.

August 27: Storm Prep

Lovely afternoon sunshine has finally burned off the giant fog bank that lurked atop Camden all morning. I thought about sitting out on the back porch to write this, to soak up some sun and take advantage of this last day of relative calm before Hurricane Irene arrives. But then I remembered that I'd already put all our outdoor furniture in the shed. So now I'm sitting on the back step as the sun brightens and a light summery breeze shakes the prayer flags. Although Irene is supposed to have calmed down to Tropical Storm status by the time she hits Maine tomorrow, we're still probably going to get a lot of rain--thus, the dams have been fully opened on the Megunticook River to allow the extra water to flow through rather brim over in the lake. What this means for me is that the river is running a little higher and faster than it has been for most of the summer, its loud rush a counterpoint to the breeze in the beech leaves.

No matter what kind of storm Irene turns out to be when she passes coastal Maine, the peak will coincide with the new moon high tide tomorrow night, so things should be interesting on the waterfront. While I feel our house a mile inland is safe enough--we got a new roof this spring--the trees around it always respond badly to storms, tossing branches everywhere. Just last week the tree guy came by to look at the limbs I want trimmed this fall, and I've been eyeing them all day wishing he'd been able to get to them sooner.

But really my only concern is losing power. So I've spent most of the day dealing with little tasks that potential high winds and power outages necessitate. Fresh batteries in all our flashlights (and why do we have so many, anyway?)? Check. Oil in the oil lamp? Check. Fresh candles strategically located in each room? Check. All electronic devices fully charged? Check. Laundry done? Check. All lawn furniture in the shed? Check. All hanging plants tucked away in a quiet corner of the porch? Check. Bird feeders filled for anticipated pre-storm run by the chickadees? Check. Last minute necessities like a fresh bag of tortilla chips, boxes of rice milk, blueberries, and mango licorice purchased? Check. I even succumbed to a moment of preparation panic and bought a case of bottled water. Even though we're on town water, the sight of all those almost-empty shelves in the water aisle made me feel like it was the right thing to do somehow. Everyone else was doing it, after all. And it was only $4.99, and now I feel so much more, well, prepared.

Right now, though, it's turning into a sunny summer afternoon, and other than the run on water in the grocery store and the unexpected double-header Red Sox game (because they won't be playing tomorrow), you'd never know that a big, fat, wet hurricane was hustling our way. (Well, also the arthritis in my hand is particularly bad today, but I feel like an old lady saying that: "My hand aches--must be a storm coming.") Now that I've completed our storm prep, I plan on enjoying this calm before the storm as long as I can. And we'll see what tomorrow brings.

Hurricane Irene--
before August is over,
you'll wash us all clean.

August 30: Calm

As I look out the window at a perfect blue sky and feel the warm breeze on my bare arms, hear the rustle of leaves and the pulse of the crickets, it's difficult to imagine that a few thousand miles away down the coast, Hurricane Earl is gathering force. Declared a Category Three storm this morning, with sustained winds of up to 120 MPH, Earl is on track to hit the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico in the next few days. Up to 12 inches of rain is predicted for some of the Caribbean islands, in addition to the storm surge caused by the high winds. By this coming holiday weekend, we could potentially be seeing waves and residual rain from Earl on our coast. But right now, on this beautiful summer afternoon, all that turmoil seems unfathomable. It feels more like tropical siesta time.

With a major storm like Earl brewing to the south, I think of the migrating birds. Many meteorologists predict that global climate change will bring more frequent tropical storms and extend the hurricane season. So these storms are going to overlap more and more with clouds of southbound birds headed right toward them. Birds have a good sense of air pressure and know enough not to fly into the face of a hurricane, but when a hurricane is heading toward you, staying perched doesn't help. So in addition to the obvious human impact, these weather patterns will affect migrating birds, bats, and butterflies, as well. As if they didn't have enough trouble on their journey negotiating the gauntlet of skyscrapers, cell towers, highways, cats, and oil spills...

Serene summer beach.
Yet in this same ocean brews
hurricane turmoil.