the · affected · provincial’s · almanack

After a lively ride through the inlet, we made a few landings along the Delaware Bay, which at one time was home to a few settlements (the names I'll keep to myself, to protect the turtle mating and nesting sites). There was once a road that led to these ghost towns, but today they can only be reached by boat, or perhaps by foot during low tide. In its heyday there were around 200 buildings. The town was vacated after the township decided to no longer maintain the road. The last residents were ordered to leave by March of 1998. This included 2 year-round families, and some summer residents. After that the remaining 14 buildings were torn down and removed. The area is now part of a huge wetlands restoration site.
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We were going out with the tide, so it was hard to find a spot deep enough to launch boats even as small as ours. The area is extremely flat and muddy, so when the tide goes out it is very dramatic. And the expanses of mud can swallow you up, making any locomotion impossible. We managed, though.
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I grew up in a sleepy NJ bay town, crabbing in the marshes, building forts in the woods, hanging out at the bait shops, taking boats out on the bay. I always get a nostalgic pang when I visit the area. Here are some of the spots we saw while on our way to the boat launch. Places that look and feel like this will always feel like home to me, even though I've never visited them before. The sense of space--the sea and sky--should feel grand, but the soft light and tight marsh coves make it feel strangely intimate.

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Horseshoe crabs are ancient arthropods, and are among the last remaining animals of their kind. Horseshoe crabs have copper-based blood, if you can believe that.

During the new and full moons of May and June, they gather along the Delaware Bay where they mate en masse. We came across a major mating site yesterday, with hundreds of crabs. Many were stranded by the tide and had to be put back into the water. We must have rescued about fifty live crabs between the three of us. One of the live crabs had a tag from the Dept. of Fish and Wildlife, with a contact number. Our man Ed was quite excited. "You get a pin!" he exclaimed.

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Yesterday my brother-in-law John and good friend Ed had me along for a kayak/canoe trip around the mouth of the Maurice River and along the shore of the Delaware Bay. A violent storm rolled through in the morning, but the weather was bright and beautiful by early afternoon.

This area was once home to a thriving oyster industry, but it collapsed in the late 50's when a blight wiped out 90% of the oyster beds. Today, the area is a string of marshes, ghost towns and osprey roosts.



This is one of the loveliest lighthouses in New Jersey. East Point Lighthouse was built in the mid-19th Century, and was in regular use until 1945. Click on the link for the full history.
( More images of the lighthouse and surrounding area )

Spent the day at sea in my kayak, exploring a forgotten corner of New Jersey. Ospreys, horseshoe crabs, lighthouses, estuarine terrapins and the ruins of abandoned fishing villages. More tomorrow.

I've been dismayed at the recent state of Webbs Mill Bog, which is one of the premier sites for rare orchids and carnivorous plants in the Pine Barrens. A gang of beavers have taken up residence downstream, and have dammed up the bog, flooding it and thus killing many of the plants.

The other day my friend Joel and I went around to the back of the bog to investigate the dam, only to find that a couple of gentlemen were already there, engaged in dismantling the dam by hand. I plan to visit the dam today to see if the beavers have rebuilt it, and if so, to re-dismantle it. This time of the year is quite crucial for certain plants' seeding, so it's vital that we keep up the pressure on the little flat-tailed bastards. The local rangers are either understaffed or don't care, so it's up to us naturalist vigilante types at this point. More later.

Update:

Went into the water with tools to break up the dam even further. The water levels are dramatically lower in the bog, and are now at average levels for this time of year. Curly grass fern and threadleafed sundews are already recovering, so that is very encouraging.

Now I just have to do something about the tick bite on my leg that has become swollen and sore (No good deed goes unpunished in the Pines). I've had Lyme before, so I know what to expect. If you don't hear from me in a few days, it's probably because I have a dangerously high fever, violent headaches, and am waiting to see a doctor.

The Brooklyn event hosted by Starr Space and curated by the lovable (and now good friend) Joseph Whitt went well. After a rather lackluster reading by Yours Truly, imomus and Aki Sasamoto put on a haunting presentation together with a mere iPod and a spotlight, to great effect. In his robe and clip-on mullet, Nick gave a spectral sort of air as he milled among the crowd and delivered spirited readings from his books "The Book of Jokes" and "The Book of Scotlands," which are to be released later this year. Strains of Calvino, Rabelais, and Sterne are to be found in his vividly written prose. Good bones, in my humble opinion.
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I then invited our guests to the table and yammered at great length about the items and specimens that I had brought with me. Everyone seemed to like the carnivorous plants and the knick knacks I'd brought from home. As usual, I brought too much; I could have gone on for hours. Luckily for all present, I didn't.


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Rusty Santos then took the stage and performed a piece he had written for the evening, which was intricate and lush, although the high volume forced me to enjoy much of it from the door. Chalk it up to being an old duffer used to sylvan quietude.

To be sure, last night's bill was an odd combination--but inspired, I think. Lots of clashing textures, but an underlying sensibility, a common thread. Hard to put a finger on what it was, but it all seemed to hold together, somehow. Apologies to Nick and Rusty if my squareness cramped their style in any way.

My sincerest thanks to those of you who attended. Special thanks to the good folks at Starr Space, who gave us such a warm welcome. Always a delight to meet new lovely, interesting people.

We're currently house sitting for a friend who is visiting family in Ireland, so our base of operations has shifted over to said friend's rustic creekside bungalow. While we enjoy having tree frogs in our ears again, there are some discontents that come with living in Ye Olde Forest Primeval. Some of these discontents have tails.

After a day of morel hunting for the sake of my brother-in-law's gullet, my well-earned repose was at hand: a deck over a wooded creek, a brick oven pizza, a nice chianti, and Chopin's nocturnes on the stereo (I don't care if it's corny; I'm a middle aged man doing my best to keep out of trouble).





But alas, it was not to be: Just as I had settled in, our cranky, chubby charge--the house succubus--alighted onto my lap demanding tribute while simultaneously plipping her mangy little tail into my wine, thus leaving a gritty slick of cat dander floating in my glass. Her mission accomplished, she then went off to ruin someone else's wine--that is to say, life.



Oh...Succubus.

( A ridiculously idyllic tableau )

If you find yourself in a woodland setting this week--and you should--have a look around for morels: the recent rains here on the East Coast have brought about an explosion. We were out botanizing yesterday when we stumbled over one. Then another. And another! More gray and yellow morels than we could count! Out my knife came and before long we had the makings of a fine meal. It seemed a pity not to share our good fortune, so we paid a surprise call to my brother and sister-in-law who adore chanterelles and morels. My brother in-law is a marvelous cook, and quickly whipped up an improvised morel and asparagus risotto in a cream sauce, coupled with a crisp, light sauvignon blanc.



This little accidental culinary adventure brought to mind the wonderful day I spent with my friends last fall in the Olympic National Forest. Wish they could have been there.

( Miles of morel risotto beyond this point )

Needless to say, it's important to be able to distinguish true morels from false morels, so consulting an experienced mushroom hunter is wise policy. A simple rule of thumb is to check for a pitted head fused to a hollow stem. False morels are wrinkled, not pitted, and are only attached by their tops to the stem, which is filled with cottony mycelium.

Bon appetit,
Whims

I was assigned by the NJ Dept. of Fish and Wildlife to survey a remote area with wet, tough terrain for an endangered, beautiful, and elusive plant. None were in bloom, which made it even more difficult to find. I found twelve. I teaotally just made fourth level ranger. Don't I get an animal companion now? Think I'll get a hawk, and name him Hawkor or something else ending in "or". Sweeet.

I reckon "gentleman ranger" is right up there with "kissing bandit" on my list of Most Amazing Things to Be.

Popped into Manhattan Friday night to give a talk about the history of my town for the Peter Minuit chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution, who were celebrating their 40th anniversary. ( Read more... )

Met David Howard, Prince Charles' former gardener yesterday. He sat in on our Hort committee meeting at Bartram's Garden. He and architect James Dart have been spending the week making presentations to board members and the like. They have a lot of very good ideas, and I hope they can get the resources necessary to move forward with the first phase this year. Wish I could elaborate, but it may be best to remain mum for now. Not that it's of any real interest to non historical gardening goons, mind you.

Off to NYC tonight to speak at the Peter Minuit chapter of the DAR's 40th birthday dinner about the colorful history of the town I live in. Odd that I should be speaking to someone with close ties to the royal family one day, and the next day speaking with women with ties to the founding fathers. I'm beginning to suspect that I may be a spy.

Now that I'm securely mired--marooned--in my 40's, I am now suffering a range of petty ailments befitting my age; and what's worse, I'm talking about them.

The latest on the hit parade, after a winter full of horrid joint pains and back trouble, is acid reflux, which started when I ran afoul of a fateful (but delicious) cassoulet in January. The alimentary discomfort of the past three months would be of no great concern except that esophageal cancer runs in the family, so off to yesterday's endoscopy procedure I went to have a camera shoved down my gullet. The anesthesia was actually quite pleasant--no nausea and all that, although I worry that in my groggy state I may have given one of the nurses some bad advice about her Christmas cactus, which she brought over to my gurney to inspect.

So yes--a biopsy of an inflamed area in my stomach was taken. Standard procedure: the good doctor didn't seem concerned, as his trained eye saw little more than good old fashioned gastritis--no Barret's esophagus, tumors or the like.

Upon reviewing the images taken during the orthoscopy, I was slightly disappointed to discover that my esophagus, stomach and intestines are a tasteful shade of coral rose rather than a lurid, garish fuschia or magenta. Truth be told, I've always suspected as much.

~W

Spent the day with the lovely ladies of the Coatesville Garden Club today, talking about native plants, carnivorous plants, bog gardens, and making up terrariums. Feasted on cream puffs and coffee afterwards. I was extended the warmest hospitality by my sweet hosts Linda and Jackie; Jackie has a marvelous garden which boasts three--three--very happy Franklinia trees. On a rocky slope, no less. How that's possible, I cannot say. My thanks to all the ladies--it was a pleasure.

I'll be at Random Tea Room in Philly on April 22nd, doing terrarium pimping for anyone interested. More soon.

Seen at last night's opening. Met some lovely people. The slugs were a hit.

( Carnivorous plant tattoos behind cut )

It was a delight last night to see my friends from Duchess, my favorite sommelier Thomas, and to meet and chat with Zev, John, Paul, Clem, Wendy, cargoweasel, his delightful companion axiomaxiom, the vivacious fashionista17, and brahman_atman...goodness, there was a lot of you!

And goodness, the trains were a mess last night! There were some downed wires on the NE Corridor line and we had to switch trains a couple times. It took us almost six hours to get home. Backwards and in heels, no less.