What the geese said

I heard about a photo contest a local developer is running, selected entries to be displayed in the company's model home and perhaps used in its promotional materials for "Stillwater Harbour."  The theme is the "New Bern life style," which ideally might incorporate images from that neighborhood-in-the-making itself, right down the creek from me.  So I rose before the sun was over the horizon's clouds and drove there with my camera.

One newly built, attractive, and so far uninhabited house sits on the former quarry, with another house under construction beside it. Sixty-two additional vacant lots--er, "homesites," staked and sprouting various accoutrements for utilities--ring the water. (I think I've mentioned this place before in this blog.)

I went to the farthest lot, on a potentially picturesque overgrown outcropping.  Beyond the askew "sold" sign, weathered mobile homes and houses rested beside the unseen creek.  A rooster crowed.  Below, in the genuinely still water, some Canada geese glided by.  They had a few choice words for me: "Whaat, whaat, whaat, are you crazy?"--sounding, then, a little like my husband. "You're going to take pictures that'll help these guys sell our habitat?  Ya know, first it's 'a naturally-inspired lifestyle you’ll adore,' as the web site says, and then it's 'these stupid geese are a damn filthy nuisance.  Let's get rid of 'em.'"

Geese at Stillwater Harbour

So I said to the geese, "Oh geez, what was I thinking? Sorry." After all, the geese are our allies.  Not our buddies, of course; they are wild animals.  Yet, they have taken onto their feathery shoulders, unbidden, the responsibility of guarding the shade under our crabapple tree.  And, as I write this, one pair generously has brought their eight goslings into our unmanicured lawn to eat grubs and who know what other pests.

After snapping several shots of geese, water, and the tangled, muddy banks of the "Harbour," I headed home, resolved not to share my photos--probably not brochure-worthy anyway--with the contest sponsors. I don't resent new houses bringing new neighbors; that's inevitable, and no doubt beneficial for the city's economy.  And here we are, encroachers on creek and into Croatan, with our little herb garden in what used to be forest. Species snobs that we are, we save the cypress and massacre the mimosa. We grant safe passage to visiting geese but crush entire colonies of fire ants.

Despite such hypocrisies of my own, I wish Stillwater Harbour had a different strategy. What gets under my skin is the "mega" aspect of the place: "exclusive" and "luxury," with 100 (!) boat slips--yet, "peaceful and untouched"?  Yeah, right.

So, I won't be contributing to the marketing campaign by uploading a photo to their Facebook page. 


Although, a photo of a noisy, messy ol' Canada goose just might slow the juggernaut....  

 

"Moody" and "Flight"

Tim at Grand Canyon

Plein Air at Night (artist Brenda Behr)

Here are two of my pix that got 1st place in the Coastal Photo Club of New Bern "mini-competition" for January.  The theme was "moody."

Today is a "moody" sort of day.  It rained all day yesterday, and most of today.  The geese swam in a line upstream, then swam in a line downstream.  That kind of day. It is a day to delete over 100 old e-mails from one's in-box.  A day to think about working out, but probably not actually doing it. Ditto finishing the bathroom painting project. A day to download from National Public Radio a free blues number by Gregg Allman. A day to consume a small packet of trail mix that was in one's husband's Christmas stocking.  A day to abjure the writing of poetry about rain and the photographing of geese--both phenomena compelling to contemplate, with the recognition that it's impossible to convey their essence with any originality.

Tonight, however, will be a lively sort of night.  We are attending an ECU Pirates basketball game.  It is convenient that the Pirates have the same team color as the Lord Jeffs; one can re-purpose one's purple hoody.   There's just something about all these people wearing purple, the odd exertions of cheerleaders, and drama of sport that is reassuring.  Especially if one's team wins. As members of the Pirate Club (at the Buccaneer level, I believe), we have reached another level of integration into our new community.

Hosting a gathering of the Newcomers Club book group was another milestone in resettlement. I served homemade mango lassis and the salty/spicy snack chana-chur, since we were reading The Space Between Us by Thrity Umigar, set in Mumbai. I'm not sure how well these exotic refreshments went over, but the effort was appreciated. The discussion generated uneasiness when somehow we got into religion, and the Christians in the group were a little baffled as to why there shouldn't be an emphasis on their religion in public school curricula....but I think we recovered enough to be able to forge ahead to the next gathering, to discuss A Long and Happy Life by Reynolds Price (who died last month).  With a novel set in rural North Carolina, perhaps there will be less tension--although maybe we will get into politics rather than religion. As if there is a difference.  But what will the hostess serve?  Skimming swiftly through the book, which I haven't started yet, I see references to pecans, chicken pie, "canned oysters for a big fry," and, not surprisingly, biscuits (see blog post of January 29). Sounds like a well-rounded North Carolina feed, actually; the only thing missing is collards.

The theme for the next Coastal Photo Club of New Bern "mini-competition" is "flight."  Hard to imagine, on a moody sort of day.  My only potential entry so far is an ECU male cheerleader in mid back-flip. 

Go, Pirates.

Biscuits

Here's an Andy Rooney-ish blog post for you.

Biscuits are a North Carolina thing.

I've always liked biscuits, though.  My mother used to use the Pillsbury refrigerated kind, and those were okay.  Bob Evans restaurants, all over Ohio, had great biscuits.  Bo Jangles's sausage biscuit is a guilty pleasure I've acquired down here.

Ipock's Country Biscuit Restaurant (founded by Carroll Glenwood Ipock, Sr., with Roy Fulcher in 1979) here in New Bern serves biscuits in about 231 ways.

So, I was glad to stumble upon two Southern biscuit recipes published in a blog at the Savor NC web site. They seem like the real deal.

Starting a new year

First look at New Year's Day.  From SkySail.

 

Ya know, I think I'm going to stop blogging.

It's been a year.  Not sure I'll have anything new to say, and especially nothing thoughtful.  My posts are sort of like an ongoing Christmas card letter. So, probably won't be blogging much in 2011.  But, I will check in on and appreciate the more thematic (Hope for Limpopo, travel, crafts, food, foster animals, events, arts, etc.) blogs that I subscribe to.

Seasons

November 9, 2010

It's an absolutely beautiful day here on the creek. 65 degrees, sunny.  Fall is subtler here.  No bright yellows, oranges, reds.  Instead, rust, sienna, russet. The hoary Spanish moss stands out more without competition from dark green foliage. Brilliant crimson berries on the fading dogwood over our deck, though!  It's disorienting for us Northerners, as lots of perennials come to life this time of year here after struggling and waning with the high heat and humidity of summer.  This mint was feeble and scrawny during the "growing season"; now look at it! 

Mint juleps, anyone?

People set out pansies now for color in the garden. We're warned not to plant most bulbs until December.  For an herb garden planned for around our back steps, we bought a modest rosemary plant at the Tryon Palace plant sale in October.  It should be able to winter over and become a shrub.  But, the North Carolina hummingbirds will have migrated South by the end of October, so today I brought in the feeders to store until next March.

Last Friday I went to a concert by an 18-year-old piano prodigy, Matt Savage, at Pamlico Community College.  I'd never been to that campus, and driving in the dark down Route 306 I kept thinking, "Where the hell am I?"  After passing a cinder-block Shriners hall, a farm or two, and some low ranch houses and double-wides, there was no light on the road, and only the shapes of trees on either side, the road as straight and flat as a runway. Finally there was PCC's sign, and a fully lit parking lot packed with cars.  I was late and sneaked in between numbers. The pianist looked like a skinny Harry Potter, and his sidemen (bass and drums) looked like chunkier Michael Stipes. As they jammed, I thought, wow, must be amazing to have that gift so young, not having to work at it, both as composer and performer. He did seem a little awkward when speaking: "New Hampshire [where he's from] has seasons and Boston has seasons and North Carolina has seasons.  And they're beautiful.  Heh, heh."  Only at intermission, when the house lights came on after a splendid rendition of a Thelonious Monk (one of Mr. Matt's favorite artists) number, did I see in the program that "Matt Savage did not play a musical instrument and could not tolerate listening to music a mere 6 years before taking the stage in 2004 at Birdland.  At age 3, he was diagnosed with Pervasive Developmental Disorder, a...type of autism.  Matt could not withstand sounds of any kind and could not communicate easily." For 4 years, he had intensive therapies, and then "his musical skills flourished at an accelerated pace. Matt taught himself to read and play piano music literally overnight."  So.  So much for my assumptions about how "easy" it is for the "gifted." Loved the show and his music; his New Age/jazz stylistic dichotomy supports the country/city theme in his new CD, and the jazz always keeps the New Age-iness from lapsing into sentimentality. His new CD is called "Welcome Home," and explores his changing idea of what home is, reflecting his move from the family farm to Boston (Berklee College of Music). As a transplant myself, his concept spoke to me.

Also when the lights came up, I could see how..., ahem, mature the audience was. If the performer is in the springtime of his life, seasonally speaking, his audience was definitely in the winter of theirs. Yes, a few younger couples, and even a child or two, but no one of "traditional college age,"--the ubiquitous demographic in the Pioneer Valley.  Lots of gray and white heads. Lots of difficulty navigating the stadium-style stairs.  Probably no Frances Crowes among them--although I don't want to be making any more false assumptions!  Visibly different attire from Northampton, Massachusetts: ladies in appropriate make-up, earrings, and pantsuits, greeting each other with "Miss," a friendly Southern custom I do like:  "Well hello there, Miss Judy."

Bravo to the Pamlico Musical Society (with the unfortunate acronym of PMS) and sponsors for bringing an ongoing and varied series of concerts to the area. As well as South Arts and the National Endowment for the Arts (hooray for our tax dollars at work).

So, this afternoon, off to the tennis courts--another thing that's in season practically year round!

Fall is coming....

View from our back yard.

....even though right now it's 85 degrees and sunny!