Oyster hunt

One of the most fun things I've done lately: hunting for eastern oysters (Crassostrea virginica) on an undisclosed beach in Boston Harbor. Led by Andrew Jay of the Massachusetts Oyster Project (MOP), a few of us oyster volunteer newbies walked the beach in hopes of maybe finding a specimen or two of the native shellfish. We went four steps and found a handful. We walked farther and discovered that the entire rocky beach (at low tide) was littered with them. There must have been thousands! They were in all shapes, sizes, and colors-- all extremely beautiful, in my eyes. The questions this discovery brings up are myriad. For starters:

Why are there so many here?
Why are they that yellow color?
Is the water polluted? Are the oysters polluted?
How long have they been here?
Are there other locations in Boston Harbor that have this large of an oyster population?
Is there a major source reef below the low tide line that is spawning them all?
We found mostly American oysters but some European ones too. Do they compete for resources?
And most importantly: what do we do with this information? Do we try to put down shell here to further stimulate reef growth? Do we monitor it? Do we tell the DMF (Division of Marine Fisheries)? How do we protect it?

So many interesting questions. For my own part, I want to know more about the history of oysters in Boston. Andrew mentioned that oysters were a major part of the coastline at one time in Boston, but either through pollution or over-harvesting or both, they are severely depleted now. The complication with MOP's mission to restore oysters in Boston for ecological reasons is that age-old laws prevent planting shellfish in places that may be polluted and therefore make them unsafe to eat. But this ignores all of the amazing ecological benefits oyster populations provide to the harbor. Then again, things are changing. This is a time in which recognition of the importance of conservation, protection, and restoration of biological diversity is becoming more and more a part of everyday conversation. DMF wouldn't actually remove a growing and thriving oyster population in order to comply with food safety regulations- would they? It is very hard to believe. We don't want to damage our ecosystems purely to follow some old policy guidelines. So it seems that it wouldn't be much of a leap to expect that the DMF should be helping to promote and reestablish the populations for ecological reasons. It's a catch-22, they don't want us putting oysters in the harbor because the water isn't clean enough, but the more oysters we have living in the harbor, the cleaner the water will get! Each individual oyster filters 30 gallons of water per day! After seeing a beach covered in oysters, I had to be struck by the sheer impact that this amount of oysters can have on the health of our harbor.

So back to my point about the history of oysters, and learning more about oyster ecosystem impacts, Andrew mentioned a book, The Big Oyster, as a pivotal work that turned he and a whole group of ocean enthusiasts into oyster protectors (and led to the birth of the MOP). I also checked out this kickstarter page about "3-D ocean farming" in which a Long Island Sound oyster farmer Brendan Smith of Thimble Island Oyster Co. has pioneered ways to farm the entire water column (check out the jaw-droppingly beautiful kelp harvests). He is not only cultivating this bounty of the sea, he's also educating people on how to cook and eat this sustainably grown seafood, and even engages teenagers in the work in a program called the "Green Wave" (shout-out to the AHS mascot ;-)). I am learning that the ocean ecosystem is much more than the surface and the floor with a barren expanse of water inbetween. Rather, it is a complex, multi-layered world in which every single organism builds upon one another and needs such 3-D reef structures to survive.

I have to admit I'm giddy (and likewise my new oyster friends were giddy right along with me) at being part of an environmental science mystery story as well as having gotten a taste of environmental activism that involves the fight for the health of my very own harbor. I think we look pretty good in our new Oyster Project trucker hats too.

Here's a video about Thimble Island's 3D farming iniatiative:

Points of inspiration

Take me outside.

Tonight I get to go hunting for oysters on the beach in Winthrop. Low tide is at 7:30 p.m.

Next week I get to sample water from the Mystic River and learn what tests they do to determine quality.

Today I got a reading list of New England geology resources that I hope to start on. Roadside Geology of Massachusetts is one; so I could be compelled out onto the highways looking at bedrock sometime soon.

Tomorrow I have an interview to be a guide at a Somerville chocolate factory. In a couple weeks I am scheduled to give out veggies to CSA members at a farmers market at South Station. (Did the same last week, got a wicked sunburn, but also lots of delicious produce, like blueberries and garlic scapes and kohlrabi).

This past weekend I rode bikes with my parents through the richie rich parts of New Seabury, Cape Cod, and ended up at Waquoit Bay Nature Preserve. We locked up the bikes and started down the sandy path (so sandy, it was a workout). It was like a botany tour going out, and a bird-watching tour coming back. Juniper, cedar (which is which?), lots of poison ivy, bayberry, blueberry, roseated tern, piping plover, killdeer. And a jetty, by a boat super-highway, with kite-surfers sailing about. The fishermen on the jetty seemed to be leaving empty-handed, but maybe there's something else that draws them to hike a mile in sinking sand to get to that coveted spot.

Also last week I ended one of those hotter than hot days at 32White -- the magical backyard barbecue that more often than not ends in carpooling to Walden Pond for nightswimming. And it did. We parked at a "field" and walked by starlight past farms and fireflies shouting "car" whenever we saw headlights as if we were a bunch of street hockey kids on the neighborhood block. We tread water and wondered about cicadas and triathletes and shooting stars.

Pretty soon I need to go have lunch with my grandfather and ask him about Nova Scotia again. I think he's driving up there again this summer. What was his fisherman father like? What details can he remember of their wee-hours boat launch ritual and how did they endure the long choppy days at sea? What did his mother cook for dinner? What did she grow in the backyard? What did she make their clothes out of? Where are his cousins and friends and aunts and uncles now? What would his life have been like if his mother didn't send him to live with Aunt Nell in Quincy so he could get an education?

Here's to summer, and being outside.

Rain and waterfalls

Early summer rains
  so heavy
    they obscure the waterfall

-Basho


Long days of rain lately, interspersed with spots of sun. Similar to my hopes and fears in an uncertain time. 

Little bursts of inspiration come at unpredictable times. Then rain dims everything for a while. 

My desk, however, is starting to feel like a home again. A place where I can think. That being said, kottke.org reposted an essay by architect David Galbraith in which he describes how invention works for him:

"I created mess around myself, the kind of chaos that would be very dangerous in an operating theater but which is synonymous with artists’ studios, and in that mess I edited the accidents. By increasing the amount of mess I had freed things up and increased the possibilities, I had maximised the adjacent possible and was able to create the appearance of inventing new things by editing the mistakes which appeared novel and interesting."

I do have plenty of mess still to edit, though. Just because the desk is clear doesn't mean things are tidy. I love the idea that wonderful ideas can come from the correction and combination of old ones, I know what it's like to suddenly put two things together that you never did before. It's like making a puzzle into a collage.

I saw a picture of a friend by a waterfall today, and missed my own times at waterfalls. Not sure when I'll get back to them, but I'll keep looking for them through the rain.

Things I've seen in nature lately

My vernal pool sit spot -- Middlesex Fells, Medford. Friday, May 3.

On my sidewalk after a run, then moved to a peaceful final resting spot in my yard. Pretty yellow throat and silver back.

On my walkway after a rainy morning.

The haiku I've been meaning to post lately:

If you're an oak

  you don't pretend

    you are a flower

Like the oak, I'm sprouting new leaves and renewing my spirit this spring. And growing taller and reaching farther, like I do every year.

Awakening

Sun drenched spring. At my Middlesex Fells sit spot. Friday!

Clouds...peace?

June--
  clouds rest peacefully
    atop Storm Mountain


June does seem far off. But it does seem peaceful. I am so yearning for peace right now. Just peace.

Weather beaten

Today it reached 79 degrees, and I was wearing a sweater. I baked in the afternoon sunlit window. I seethed and stared. 

Weather-beaten heart
  the wind must blow
    right through my body

Not beaten down, but definitely weary. Suddenly weary of everything all at once. This year has been heavy. How do I make the final few steps while my legs are so unsteady? 

Thank you, spring!

Old pond
  Frog leaps
    Into the splash

A spring peeper?
Spring is definitely peeping.
Little moments like this get my mind of the bigger things. She sat there motionless until I made her swim away. We giggled at her frog legs doing the frog swim.

At a Middlesex Fells vernal pool- this one is the real deal- registered and everything. Just 15 minutes from my house, right near South Border Road.

Little frog, I will try to follow your example of patience and calm in the face of big looming shadows with scary pointy sticks. It will all be alright.


Finally, I have to share a little bit of the colors of the past few days, colors for which we've waited for so long...

Magnolias on School Street. From Thursday.

Strength and perseverance from the magnolia. Patience and calm from the frog. Thank you, spring!

And breathing

Spring happens
  so gradually
    moon and plum

Today was a springlike day, but I missed it. I knew I was missing it, and still it passed me by. There is tomorrow though.

Going for a run.

And breathing.

Sadness

In the face of tragedy, it's hard to know what to do. Tearing my face away from the news reports. Quieting the imagination but at the same time thinking of those who are suffering. Horrified by the intrusion upon one of the most life-affirming, ecstatic, and community-driven days of the year in Boston.

When I heard the news, I was about to step out the door on an expedition to find vernal pools in Middlesex Fells to do research for a lesson plan. Those plans were derailed when Santosh came into the room and asked, "Have you heard about these explosions at the marathon?", about which his brother had alerted him by text. We flipped on the TV and then couldn't move for some time as we processed what was happening-- then turned to voracious texting, emailing, and facebooking to find updates of family and friends' whereabouts.

To keep up my new tradition, in some semblance of "carrying on", this haiku stuck out the most:

One insect
  asleep on a leaf
    can save your life

I'm off now in search of that life-saving insect. Or at least something similarly small that can take my mind away from sadness and again towards hope and wonder of the possibilities of life and love.

A haiku a day

Last night Santosh and I walked from Union, through Inman, to Central and onto Harvard Square, the light of the waxing crescent moon sheltering us. At the Harvard Book Store, I opened a book of haikus by Basho, (Moon Woke Me Up Nine Times, translated by David Young) and this one caught my eye:

Today, tonight is
  no time to be asleep--
    moon viewing!

Though the pages are mostly white space, the words on each seem to fill the book to the brim. Needless to say, I bought the book, and now I am pledging myself to reading and choosing a haiku each day. Perhaps I'll even post one on this blog each day or so.

When we arrived back home that evening, the moon had traversed a quarter of the night sky, and now was glowing brilliantly and low in the West. It was a wonderful night for moon viewing.

The mountain

Today I decided that I would bring my dream and mission back to life. Though I can't work on it actively and in earnest right now, as I pour my efforts into a graduate program and teacher training, I do need to revive that dream as the ultimate goal. The dream will be to teach, to write, and to connect people to nature. And just having it in front of me will keep me going.

As Neil Gaiman says, "Keep walking towards the mountain."