Blog-azic

On my last day of training in Bradenton, FL, I woke up before dawn to make it back to Celery Field one last time. The air was humid but cool, and the skies were clear. The whole western sky was bright, liquid gold. I had to stand behind the roof supports for the shade. The pond seemed fully awake, but there was no great bustle. I heard some cranes trumpet as they flew low towards the rising sun, and there were small birds chirping in the reed grass. On a distant shore, a limpkin walked along. The yellow, decurved bill, the eggy body shape, and the snaky neck reminded me of a Dr. Seuss character. It plodded along in the water, dropping its head down the mucky bottom. After a few minutes of watching, I saw it pull up a mussle and take it on shore to open. "The whole western sky was bright, liquid gold." Off in the distance, a line of trees outlines a peninsula of land in the marsh. Plain above the branches, perched and surveying his territory, sat the Lord of birds.

My lunch breaks in Florida were spent surveying the nearby ponds. Watching the surface of the water through binoculars, I could see bubbles rise up to the surface of the dark water. Every so often, something would splash sending out telling ripples. It was clear to me that the water was quite alive. Right outside the office, sheltered by trees at three sides, and located on a dead-end street, was a small pond. It was here that I first spotted an alligator, as I returned after a walk. He swam across the water, partialy submerged, so that no movement from his tail or feet could be seen. As I approached, he sunk low leaving only the tip of his snout and his black eyes above the water. The next day, I went back to find him floating motionless on one side of the pond near the drainage input. In addition to him, I could see two turtles poking just their heads above the water (black and streaked with yellow), a small, diving duck, and a Florida cormorant. I sat on the bank and watche

You can barely see the limpkin perched on the rail (near the center of the picture). Class on Tuesday drug on, like a slow turning wagon wheel on the long road West. The distance to a half past four was beyond reckoning, and my body felt stretched and twisted watching the clock tick slower, and slower, and s-l-o-w-e-r . . . The instructor even kept us a few extra minutes! By five o'clock, though, I had arrived at the parking lot of Celery Field, an expanse of wetlands in Sarasota surrounding a large and out-of-place hill - perhaps a reclaimed landfill. I waited my turn then dashed across the highway and began down a long wooden bridge that ended with a covered gazeebo out on the water. It wasn't long before a great blue heron swooped in front of me and landed at waters edge near the bridge. I watched it slowly stalk along the shore, pointing its neck and head out like a ballarina might point her toes, then step forward bringing its body underneath its head, curving it

In the flat, coastal lands of Florida, one can barely step outside his door without falling into a swamp, and should he manage to avoid the murky waters, he will take not one more step before noticing some unabashed bird or reptilian take full advantage of the natural abundance. Indeed, as I write these words, I look out the window and see dark ripples spreading across the surface of a pond, and having now two weeks to feel the dirt and smell the air near Tampa, Florida, I can imagaine a few choice critters from which the ripples may radiate. Out in the full moon of a Gulf Coast night, with the stink of decaying plants wafting off the wetlands, the King of all predators glides without sound down through the millenia. I intend to meet him, if from a distance - a cautious yet thrilling distance. To that end, earlier this week, I studied what I could of this environment. The Cabbage Palm, state tree of Florida. It can be distinguished from other palms by observing the midrib, whic

I purchased a new harmonica (key of D) while I was in Sarasota Springs, NY this summer. Almost immediately, two of the draw reeds started to stick in the lower register. After a few google searches, I gathered the confidence to take the harmonica apart. Look on the left of the picture near the "A440." Those small, round pieces are tiny nails (brads) not screws. By wiggling a knife under the silver plating near the brads, the etched cover can be removed. Underneath the cover, the reed plate is also held down with brads. On one side, the draw reeds are set, and the blow reeds are on the other. The reed plates were fairly gunky, so I soaked them in nail polish remover and carefully wipred them. In addition, the two reeds that were sticking were just slightly askew. Notice that the individual reeds are riveted on one end. Below the reeds, the plate is cut out to allow air to flow over the reed. If the reed is blown too hard, or otherwise jostled, it can pivet