January 17: Otter joy

We joined some friends in chasing a bird today in Winter Harbor--Maine's second record of a Black-throated Sparrow, a bird that belongs in Arizona--and after we found it, did some sea-watching on the Schoodic Peninsula. Amid the sea ducks and alcids, we were thrilled to spot three otters swimming together with grace and power through the sizable swells. Then we heard a loud chirping noise that at first we thought belonged to some strange bird, but which we quickly realized was being made by a fourth otter. It joined the original three otters, with a seal close behind it. The four otters rapidly headed for shore together and climbed up into some sort of den in the rocks. We think the chirping was some sort of alarm call, to warn the others of the seal. An exciting experience to witness as we huddled, cold and awkward, on shore: animals completely at home in a habitat so inhospitable to humans.

Four river otters

snaking through sea swells--

how to live in one's body.

Posted with Blogsy

April 14: Child's play

My nieces, age 2-1/2 and 5-1/2, are visiting this weekend, and today was "Niece Day" for me. I'm not quite up to taking on both of them together for the entire day, so I spent the first half with the younger child, Nola. Our time together, the first she's ever spent completely alone with me, included such simple pleasures as getting purple unicorn sugar cookies for a snack and hiking up Beech Hill. On the way up we discussed blueberries, hurricanes, Alvin and the Chipmunks, building sand castles, and other important matters, pausing often to "rest"--i.e. sit in the trail side grass and toss pebbles at things. She filled her pocket with random bits of gravel she deemed "treasure." During one of our rest stops, a harrier flew over our heads, close enough that even Nola could appreciate it. She also appreciated Beech Nut, the stone hut at the summit that my sisters and I were taken to by our mother starting about when we were Nola's age. Nola imagined the stone-walled rooms inside as good places for Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty to live. Then I gave her a piggy-back ride back down the hill.

After a good healthy lunch of pizza and another cookie, I dropped off Nola and picked up the older niece, Fiona. It was Fiona's idea to go fishing with Uncle Paul so she could watch him and be his fishing helper. So we clambered down to the river and Paul's favorite fishing spot, where he cast a line without much hope because the water level's so low right now. But, surprisingly, he hooked a fish in no time, and Fiona reeled it in--a small, pretty brook trout; her first fish! As this was going on, an osprey flew overhead and perched nearby, perhaps hoping that it could get it on the action after we released the trout. Paul let Fiona pick out the next fly, and though he was skeptical of her choice, she was quickly reeling in her second fish, a little smallmouth bass. Already her lifetime fishing record tops mine.

Later, after more adventures at home and an early dinner at the Waterfront (the usual for Fiona: plain pasta, hot fudge sundae), we walked along the Harbor Park sea wall and were thrilled to see a river otter hanging out in the harbor. Several times it poked its head out of the water to look right at us. It was Fiona's first otter, an event made even more significant by the fact that her last name is van Otterloo, so the family has a strong affinity for otters.

While I'm thoroughly exhausted now, I'm grateful for this day of many small excitements made even better by their being shared with my two favorite little girls.

Young or old, we all
appreciate hawks, otter,
spring's first-caught brookie.

January 27: Mom's Otter

My mother called me today to tell me that there was an otter on the river. She said I should write about it in my blog. "But I didn't see it," I told her. "You did. Why don't you write about it?" "I don't know how to write a haiku," she said, despite being the one of the only people I know who reads this blog every single day. (Hey, if your own mother doesn't read your blog, who will? So I'm not complaining.) I explained to her the basic rule: 5-7-5. A little while later she called back with her poem, and I realized that I had forgotten the part about it being 5, 7, and 5 syllables for the haiku's three lines:

Sleek and shiny fur gliding,
nose forward, body trailed by a vee.
Otter owns the winter river.

But I actually like the idea of a haiku composed of 5, 7 and 5 words--a fun variation on the theme. Nice poem, Mom.

I talked to her again this evening, and she said she hadn't read my blog yet. I said I hadn't written it yet. "Write about the otter," she said again. "But," I countered, "you already did."

Photo courtesy of Hal Korber/Pennsylvania Game Commission

Although I didn't see the otter, and my mother has already written a poem about it, I am in fact now inspired to write a few words about otters. My family has seen them several times on the Megunticook River, most often in winter when we've observed them up on the ice eating fish. They're bigger animals than you expect, and powerful--in the same family as weasels and wolverines--but also the most playful. I've come across long snow slides on banks in the northern woods, which the otters had obviously used repeatedly. They are tireless players. At the Seattle aquarium, which features both sea and river otters, I stood transfixed for at least an hour in front of each tank, amazed at the creatures' non-stop, rollicking energy. To top it off, my sister's married name is van Otterloo, which has, of course, led to the discovery of much otter-related paraphernalia. So we're kind of into otters in my family. Hence, I think, my mother's insistence. And sometimes it doesn't hurt to do what your mother wants. (But because this one's about otters, it's a little silly.)

I ought to have seen
my mother's swimming otter--
might have inspired me.