vacation : beach

I love the beach. Any beach, any weather. I love the pebble beaches of Lake Erie, the quicksand swampy beaches on Cape Cod, the cliff-lined beach in Carlsbad, and the rocky beaches in County Donegal. It is safe to say I haven’t met a shoreline I didn’t like. Hilton Head is no exception, which is no surprise, as everyone loves the beach there. The sand is hard-packed and easy to walk on, the high tidemark is (seeming) miles from the water at low tide, and there are all kinds of sea creatures great and small wherever you turn. Since this wasn’t my first trip to the ocean, I didn’t insist on going in the (still quite cold) water for hours on end; instead we walked the beaches nearly every night and participated in a ritual dunking on the last morning of our trip.


Keyhole urchin.

I had very few goals on this trip, and one of them was to acquire a sand dollar. Acquiring a sand dollar of a consequential size from the beach is harder than I realized, for a few reasons. First, it’s illegal to take them from the beach when they’re still alive. Second, they usually live along the bottom of the ocean. Third, if and when they do wash up onto shore, the gulls peck at them and break them, especially the larger ones (which I imagine are the only ones that have enough food inside to make breaking them worth the trouble). This adds up to lots of pieces of larger sand dollars, which are the skeletons of dead keyhole urchins, and lots of smaller living keyhole urchins washed up on the beach at high tide, and quite a few pecked at and soon-to-be-both-dead-and-broken keyhole urchins, but very few of our target item of suitably-dead-but-neither-broken-nor-tiny sand dollars. In the end, we collected a handful of what could best be described as urchin corpses: urchins that were in a relatively advanced state of decay but had not yet dried to a full sand dollar skeleton. In the end I was glad that I took this approach, as there were hundreds of sand dollars washed up on the beach that night and none any of the other days we were there. We also saw two starfish that night, floppier than the ones in the Northeast and beige-speckled like the crabs we came across; no pictures of either of those, as I was busy trying to throw them back out into the water.


Jellyfish, washed up.


Different jellyfish, washed up and kicked around by children.

I think it’s safe to say that the most disturbing part of our vacation for my partner was the jellyfish. Since Hilton Head is where I first visited the ocean, and my first visit was following relatively major storms, the jellyfish that were washed in with the tides were exactly as I remember jellyfish. Enormous. Which is why I’ve always been trepidatious about them, and have stood in awe of those friends from the Northeast who poo-poo jellyfish and talk about ‘just brushing them aside’ should you happen to encounter them in the water. Apparently, this awe has been totally unearned all these years, because jellyfish in the Northeast are about two inches big. Yes, two inches. No wonder they thought I was a silly land-lubbing Midwesterner for being just the teensy bit afraid of getting stung and not terribly confident in my ability to ‘just brush them aside.’ Because the jellyfish on Hilton Head are quite literally as big as my head, that’s why. Once my partner realized this he pretty much refused to go in the water at all, and most definitely refused to go in the water along the stretch of beach where we were seeing a jellyfish corpse about every 10 feet or so.


Little clams exposed by the tide.

One of the many creatures on Hilton Head that aren’t on the north Atlantic beaches, as far as I’ve been able to tell, are little tiny multi-colored clams that live on the shoreline with only a thin covering of wet sand. They are exposed in massive numbers by the tide washing in and receding, and then promptly wiggle around and dig themselves back under the sand. Which makes them darn hard to take a picture of. At first I thought they were just getting washed back out, but after digging around with our feet we realized that the sand was laden with them. Also, if you stand on the mass of them you can feel them wiggling their way back under cover; it’s a weird and compelling feeling. You begin to see why I love the beach, I could do things like stand around on pile of little tiny clams for hours and continue to be entertained. Not so much my partner, which is why we have other experiences to report than ‘I went on vacation and stood on clams.’


Jack’s sand castle.

Walking in the evening after the kids have been taken in for dinner and the tide is just coming back in, we came across many abandoned sand castles. This was the best one, for a few reasons. One, it had a functional moat. Two, it incorporated keyhole urchins, which we liberated into the moat after this photo was taken. Three, it clearly stated next to it ‘Jack only, no Mom!’ Which I’m sure was heartbreaking for Jack’s mom, after she brought him to the beach and all; we, of course, found it hilarious.

Because of the late winter this year, there were not yet any Loggerhead turtles coming up onto shore to lay their eggs. We would have been at the very beginning of the nesting season and lucky to have seen one around the first of May during any year, and the folks at the Coastal Discovery Museum relayed that not a single nest had yet been reported by anyone. This was one of the other things I really wanted to see, it just wasn’t meant to be on this trip.

vacation : beach

vacation : all I ever wanted

Last week we took a vacation, our first in four years. It got off to a bit of a rocky start, as we went directly from a family funeral to a full day of driving. Nonetheless, we were glad to be out of town and glad to be seeing someplace new; I’d been only once, about twenty years ago. We spent the week in a house in Kingston Cove, a development in the Shipyard section of Hilton Head Island, which we rented from a neighbor who was unable to use their timeshare week for the first time in twenty-odd years. The house was nice, the block was quiet, and the noisy frogs on the lagoon behind us were excellent; I only wish I had been able to see them in addition to hearing them, but the alligators were quite the disincentive to approaching the bank and peering into the water at dusk. When we weren’t on the screen porch drinking coffee or on the couch watching cable TV, we were on our rented one-speed cruisers riding around. We rode back and forth to the beach and around to various strip malls for lunch, breakfast, and more bottled water from the Piggly Wiggly. I will admit that when I first saw the cruisers I regretted not bringing Pearl, but once I realized that (a) you’re not legally allowed to ride in the road there and (b) cars have the right of way if they hit you and (c) the sand and salt water are uber-bad for a bike, I was glad I left her at home.

Although we weren’t following any set schedule, the week was a full one. We went birding in Pinckney NWR, adding several exciting new birds to my lifelist, which was a trip deserving of its own post. We sat through a timeshare-hawking presentation, and endured various (and seemingly endless) frustrations when attempting to use the Exciting Prizes we received for our trouble, an experience also worthy of its own writeup. At the end of the week, we returned with sunburns, several small keyhole urchin skeletons, and a variety of arts, crafts, and preserves. While we were gone, the yard turned into a blooming green jungle, thank you April showers, and the house is bursting out at the seams with papers to be recycled and belongings to be put away. Everything in its own time: we’re glad we went, and we’re glad to be home.

vacation : all I ever wanted

garden : ground is prepped and azaleas are coming in

We seem to have the latest-blooming azalea varieties on our block, which leads us to wonder each year whether we’ve done something wrong and the bushes just aren’t going to bloom at all. However, except for immediately following the drought, they’ve always come through; this week the color of the buds is finally visible, casting a faint sheen on the entire shrub.

After a long day of digging out roots and mixing in hummus last weekend, the foundation bed is reasonably prepared for the plants that are due to arrive in the first week of May. I made a date with a friend with a child to plant the bed on the morning of Mother’s Day, and I’m hoping to have the plants well in hand by then. In the meantime the rain is doing a wonderful job of integrating the soil, and the robins are busily attempting to eat all my worms as they come up for air in the exposed earth.

Once that bed is planted, I’ll integrate into it some of the bearded irises I inherited last year. I’ve been marking the stems as they bloom to identify the colors, but haven’t yet decided if I’ll move the white or purple ones. I’ll likely wait another month or so to see how the bed looks when the flowers start coming in; there’s a limit to how well even I can visualize a future space filled with flowers I’ve never grown before!

garden : ground is prepped and azaleas are coming in

University Park needs a race-class-gender analysis, pronto!

It’s probably true that every small town has its dramas, but the ones in University Park seem to always fall out along lines of race and class. This shouldn’t surprise me, given that I live in a town that was incorporated with racial covenants in a county that was and is predominantly black. Language is an important window into thinking; here, whenever the town needs to make a choice about access and distribution of resources, the desire for exclusion of outsiders and fear of a loss of privilege predominates. This was true when the town invested in a playing field in the public park — who would be allowed to use it, would they pay, how would it be policed — and years ago when a major road was closed off to through-traffic and the metro line extended to our area.

Currently, this dynamic is playing out over the issue of enrolling the 24 town employees in a defined-benefit pension plan run by the State of Maryland. The pension plan would replace the 401(k) plan that’s been in place for over 20 years and is now essentially worthless, would provide defined contribution and payout amounts, and would provide disability insurance for the police and maintenance workers without the risk that a claim would send the Town’s rates through the roof. There are debates about the specifics of the numbers, but the proponents of the plan perceive it to be essentially affordable and a more secure way of meeting our obligations as an employer and the opponents would rather not spend the money at all.

This last is where language, rhetoric, and a whole bunch of unseemly underlying assumptions come into play, and where an intersectionality approach is useful. There has been rhetoric about how federal social security benefits are adequate for the (majority black) working class employees, rhetoric that would be appalling were it to be offered to any of the resident doctors, lawyers, professors and bankers as a rationale from their own employers. The underlying belief is that the folks working for us in town are fundamentally different from us, and there is no reason to provide to them the quality or extent of benefits that we expect to be provided to us as a matter of course at our own jobs. There’s also the underlying assumption by the opposition that in matters of finances, we would all rather have more money in our pockets than pay more for better services; this assumption is revealed by talk of doing away with town employees altogether and outsourcing their jobs. Of course, race and class play into this argument as well, because if there’s a working population more vulnerable to exploitation than the men who work jobs in city maintenance, it’s the usually-recent-immigrants who work for large companies that supply the outsourced labor to clean office buildings and haul trash. But if folks have no qualms about suggesting workers retiring after 30 years of service live on social security alone, they certainly have no qualms about suggesting the town benefit financially from further exploitation of vulnerable workers.

None of this is anything new, and is entirely typical of an entitled cultural attitude wherein people who do our dirty work are nothing more than a cost on a balance sheet to be whittled down whenever possible. Certainly this type of race and class privilege cloaked in the language of economics and cost-benefit analysis is something with which we’re all too familiar. What’s different in this particular debate is the fall back on a deep-rooted and classic sexism in categorizing the proponents as ’emotional’ and the opponents as ‘rational,’ conflating all ethics with emotion and assuming that the most rational action of all is one that moves to block expenditures whenever possible. Perhaps it should be heartening that the opposition perceives itself to be backed into a corner and is grasping at straws, but it plays like a case study for a feminist analysis straight out of the 1970s. Patronizing language and attitude? Check. Insistence that your side alone has the true facts and the other is guided by the whims of emotion, which of course has no place in decision-making? Check. Insistence on speaking first, last, and repeatedly at all meetings related to this subject? Check. And last but certainly not least, loud and derisive interruption of women speaking on the other side? Check, check, check. (There are men speaking on both sides, but it’s only the opponents who do the interrupting and only to the women on the other side.)

I know I should be finding it amusing that the people nearly apoplectic and sputtering at the Town Council meetings are those who are accusing the other side of being guided by irrelevant emotion, but it’s such an old and galling argument that I find myself frequently unable to see the lighter side. The behavior and rhetoric is insulting to everyone, and I don’t think the opposition realizes just how much they are alienating people with their continued pursuit of this approach: the Mayor who’s crafted this proposal with knowledge from a long career in financial data analysis; the employees who are constantly being publicly characterized as not worth equal treatment; and the town residents ourselves whose collective choice to be responsible and ethical employers is being ridiculed as irrational and weak-minded. The opposition spends a lot of energy claiming to have the facts on their side, but I have to think that if they actually did they wouldn’t perceive a need to be behaving in this manner. Unless of course, a rational and strategic assessment of the tactics most likely to succeed isn’t what’s guiding their actions after all.

University Park needs a race-class-gender analysis, pronto!

bad milk from J-Wen Farms

After my excitement last week to have a dairy vendor at the Riverdale Park Farmers’ Market, I’m ticked off that the milk I purchased from J-Wen Farms was bad when we opened it, five full days before the sell-by date. It wasn’t totally rotten, but it was putting off an odd smell that my partner thought was maybe just the grass aspect. Of course, he now has a headcold and I wasn’t here with my non-chemistry-lab-damaged nose to tell him the smell was definitely the milk going bad, so he had some. And now he’s feeling it. Probably I shouldn’t have bought milk that was not labeled pasteurized and was being sold out of a plastic tub filled with ice cubes; so much for assuming that the online comments I found about the milk’s inadequate shelf life had probably been addressed. However, I understood the vendor’s explanation of heating to 145F to be pasteurization, and the jug was labeled with a date of April 25th. At any rate, I emailed the Farmers’ Market coordinator and have saved the milk in case they need it to test for salmonella or whatever makes milk bad other than improper heating and/or storage.

Thus ends my foray into local milk sold from something other than refrigerated cases and labeled something other that PASTEURIZED.

bad milk from J-Wen Farms