sand in my toes

I took my first (solo) walk on the beach today after dropping the kid off at school. I'm not sure what took me so long. I think I have been denial about living in this beautiful location. I approached our move south as another job I have to do—settle my daughter in her new school, assess what's up with my mom and help where I can, take over the running of the house, etc.

Sanderling (Calidris alba), Farallon, Panama, 2005 December, Original photo by Mdf

I have been coming here since I was a teenager, first to visit my grandmother, and later, to visit my mom. It was always a vacation spot—something special—and even though in the back of my mind I always knew that I would someday end up here permananetly (barring hurricane or other natural disaster), I guess I just didn't think it would be so soon, or took in what that might really mean. That I really don't need all those blankets anymore. That the ocean is right there, to be enjoyed, whenever, wherever.

Western Sandpiper, Cattle Point, Uplands, Near Victoria, British Columbia,
September 2007(2007-09), naturespicsonline.com, Author: Alan D. Wilson.

Maybe I'm just a born "city gal" by mentality. I lived in New York for over a decade and never went to the Statue of Liberty. I worked in the most famous museum in Washington D.C. and didn't go through every gallery. I don't exactly take these things for granted, but ... Am I treating the ocean like it's for the tourists?

Anyway, I broke out of whatever it is this morning and took a walk on the beach. It helped that it is cloudy and breezy, perfect weather for my pale skin, which doesn't feel the need to bake (burn) in the sun. There were a few intrepid cute dude swimmers and a handful of strollers like myself. I walked a little one way, then farther the other direction, and then headed back towards home. Getting my toes wet, figuratively and literally. Before I was about to head back up the beach, to the street, to home,  I paused to let the waves rinse off my toes and then ... a school of fish washed up around my feet.

There were tons of them, flopping desperately on the sand. Good morning, Florida. The waves came in and washed most of them back out again. I felt helpless, yet fascinated as I watched this cycle repeat a few times before the birds—sanderlings and western sandpipers (for once I didn't have the iPhone camera with me, but I looked it up in my trusty Audubon Florida guide when I got back home)—caught on. Breakfast! I'm pretty sure that the catch of  the day were Atlantic Thread Herrings (I had to use the internets to find them.)

All told, for the time I watched this little bit of nature and the food chain in action, only five or six herrings actually bit the dust. Most were lucky enough to flop their way down the sand until a wave washed them back out to sea. I'm not sure why such a large school of little fish would come in so close to shore. But I will be continuing my observations. And getting my toes wet.

Related articles by Zemanta

• Bird Watching: Marvel at saga of sandpipers (commercialappeal.com)

2 + 2 = uh oh

tiny lizards

. . .  are always running across our path. At least twenty or more, on our morning walk to school . . .



Tiny Lizards
On the wall
Make me feel happy
Make me smile
paraphrasing Tiny Bubbles

Florida Lizards

safari

My little monkey . . .

baby squirrel

The other morning on our way to school we came across this baby squirrel in the middle of the sidewalk. He seemed frightened in general, but was not particularly afraid of my daughter, and kept coming up to her, looking, I think for affection and protection - and probably food.



Just when we were wondering how he could have got there, we heard a loud crack and another baby squirrel fell out of the large, nearby tree and hit the sidewalk. He was stunned, and I was afraid, at first, that he might not be alive. But he got up slowly and started to limp a little.



I was nervous for both little animals and was looking up in the tree for signs of a predator. But then a full-grown squirrel appeared, clicking and chirping squirrel-talk. The little kamikaze squirrel seemed to find his legs again and followed her (?) up the tree, chasing her around and around.



Our first little friend was just staying put on the sidewalk, looking rather lost. We hated to leave him there, but with the other squirrels nearby and no sign of a hungry cat or hawk, there didn't seem anything else to do. I hope the little guy made it back home. When we checked the same area this morning there were no signs of foul play, thankfully.

Ahh, nature, city-style.

eek a mouse

I have been following Steven's posts about animal experiments and it makes me wonder about how they relate to what's been happening in our apartment, off and on, the past few months. We've had a mouse.

One evening as I was sitting at the computer I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. A day or so later I saw the evidence of our visitor in our pantry. The Fig Newtons had been breached and nibbled on. I cleaned up the mouse poop and the building maintenance came and patched up a hole. No more mouse. Or so we thought.

A few weeks ago I was standing by the sink and I heard the distinct sound of crunching, sort of like what it sounds like when a person is eating a chip or a cracker. Except I wasn't eating. The next morning I asked the building to check on it, but they claimed they saw no sign of a mouse. A few days later, the same sort of thing happened again, and I asked them to check. No mouse. I heard crunch-like noises again a few hours later and ran downstairs. I wasn't going crazy, the little guy was up there, practically mocking me. They came up again, and with me looking over their shoulders, managed to find a few new holes behind the stove. This time they sealed the new holes, put down poison and a glue trap. I had been trying to avoid that more deadly approach, but having a kid makes you cave on certain things...

A few days later there was mouse poop on the kitchen counter. OK, this isn't Tom and Jerry anymore. He's taking it up a notch. I cleaned it up and also laid down a house-mouse-martial-law. While my housekeeping is somewhat lax - I pick up the big chunks and always straighten up, but I never mop or vacuum. I hate doing it, always have. I have Maid Pro come in every two weeks to do that sort of stuff. (Why I waited until having a kid to do this, I don't know. It's so worth the extra bucks to pay a little bit extra and avoid housework. I only wish I had figured this out years ago. Anyway...) But with a mouse in the house who has probably been sealed in with us now, we have to clean up our act, and I have to remove his food source. So no more spilled Cheerios left on the floor. Before we leave the house in the morning we clean up every crumb, a la the Grinch. Luckily, the kid actually enjoys doing this.

We'll see how it goes. So far there's been no recurrence of poop on the counter. As much as I don't want to deal with our little visitor, I secretly hope that he has found a hole into greener apartment pastures, rather than think of him starving or poisoned or stuck to a trap. Of course none of this would have happened if our cat still lived with us. But that's another story, for another time.