Smoke & Mirrors

What a weird day, yesterday. In the late afternoon the wind died and the water became smooth as glass and beautifully transparent. I made the trip to Loggerhead a little more slowly than usual just so I could look into the water at all of the amazing marine life. Looking out across the water, the surface was like a mirror. If there had been any clouds in the sky, they would have been duplicated perfectly. Instead, what got reflected was an eerie grey haze that drifted in and obscured the view of the lighthouse. At times it was as if the entire island had vanished. We are not exactly in the Bermuda Triangle here, but I would not have been at all surprised to see the Lost Squadron fly out of that shifting bank. It was kinda creepy. The smell of ash reassured me that this was no mystery fog; it was smoke. We have heard conflicting reports about the source. Some say it is from the fires currently spreading through the Everglades; others say that it is the byproduct of burning sugar cane fields in Cuba. Whatever its origin, the smoke hung heavily about our islands and dashed any hopes for evening stargazing. The interesting effect, however, was that the water and sky seemed to blend at the horizon and the sunset was one fiery, red, all-encompassing blaze. We just got our evening light show sooner rather than later. Just another day in paradise.

Nightlights

The Southern Cross. Crux Australis. I am told that these are the only two weeks of the year when you can actually see it and Polaris at the same time. I am also told that Key West and the Dry Tortugas are the only two places you're gonna get the chance. For some inexplicable reason, I have wanted for many years to catch a glimpse of that southern constellation. So, tonight I decided to forego my usual fall-asleep-in-front-of-the-television routine and climb up to the third tier to look. After having built it up in my mind all day, I was very excited as I gazed across the water toward the horizon. Sadly, I was to be disappointed this time. Nothing brings the glow of suburbia to your watery doorstep quite like a gleaming white Hatteras lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree. That combined with the moon served to more or less blot out the southerly view of the stars. Bummer. It was about this time that I became aware of an issue in the campground that needed handling as well. After going through the irksome task of getting back into uniform (which was still slightly damp) and rectifying that situation, I was in a fairly sour mood. I decided to take a lap around the moat wall to make sure the little problem stayed rectified after they thought I'd left. It was then that I discovered the night was not a complete loss at all. I may not have seen many stars in the sky, but there were plenty in the water. The moat on one side and the ocean on the other, I was surrounded by little greenish lights that slowly grew and faded. Bioluminescence. Fascinating. As I was feeling terribly curious about what was actually making the little lights (not hobbits), I shined my flashlight into the water and got to witness even more cool stuff. There was a lobster scuttling around, trying to avoid the beam of my flashlight, some ballyhoo feeding rather noisily, and a sea cucumber actually doing stuff. Well, at least, it qualified as doing stuff for a sea cucumber. Compared with their usual activities of laying around digesting things, it's pretty spectacular to see one bent upward like and arm bent at the elbow. Pretty cool. At that point I began to ask myself why I'd never done this before. I guess I never realized there was anything to see. I mean, I'd been told about it, but it just never seemed that interesting before. I guess sometimes you've just got to experience it firsthand. Now off to bed. Aha! Now I remember why I've never done that before! 3 a.m. visitors come all too soon.

Clean Streets

My entire life has more or less been one tremendous study of human nature. I never cease to be fascinated by the human animal, especially when I choose to view life as an episode of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. What do I mean? The next time you're out somewhere with lots of other people, take a moment to study them with a scientific eye. Observe their behaviors as you would observe a bowl of goldfish or a squirrel climbing a bird feeder. If it helps, you can do the whole commentary bit: "It is feeding time at the Chick-Fil-A. Notice how the young female fills her tray around the single serving of waffle fries with twenty packets of catsup and a three-inch stack of napkins. After the hard winter, her fears of scarcity and famine lead her to seek a comfortable abundance whenever possible." Okay, so I'm poking fun, but you get the idea. I was plunged rather unexpectedly into my Mutual of Omaha mindset today when several people came to report - yes - another dead pelican. It is common here for birds of every description to become tired, injured, and even dead without any help from man whatsoever. This is nature taking its course. Birds fight, fly into things, try to fly through long storms, eat each other's young, and so on. It is very hard for people to accept this. They will point out the dead bird and want me to do something. Naturally, as I still have not mastered walking on water, resurrections on demand are a little outside my area of expertise. I find myself constantly collecting and relocating dead birds so that people don't have to be bothered by seeing them. Many feel that the dead birds are just an eyesore and they want to see them cleaned up and disposed of immediately. Well, what about the critters that eat the birds? Huh? What's a hungry hermit crab to do when we keep picking up all of its food and tossing it into the burn pile? I have tried to explain the food chain to people, several times nearly breaking into a full-fledged Lion King Circle of Life rendition, but to no avail. This is what befuddles me a little, though: the same people who don't want to see dead birds lying around think nothing of stuffing an empty Coke can into a chink in the wall or leaving a pile of cigarette butts beside their towels on the beach. They will even "go potty" in the changing room floors. What is wrong with people? What is the difference in their minds? What makes the dead bird so much more offensive than littering or defacating on the tile? Is it a fear of mortality? Perhaps it is an unconscious fear of disease? I don't know. The floor is open, people (for ideas, not pottying).