Butterflies at the Beach

 Just got back from a wonderful, restful, much needed, long weekend at the beach. The beautiful shores of Wildwood crest and Cape May. 

 We couldn't have asked for better weather. Sunny skies, warm breezes filled with the scents we all know and love. That beachy scent of ocean, coconut and pineapple sun lotions, tropical drinks and sand. That feeling of wellness that comes over you while reading a good book or just sitting and enjoying the sounds of the tides rushing in and out across the shore, the calls of the seagulls flying overhead looking for their treasured human snacks that they have become accustomed to, the smells and laughter that transport you to summers past, and the embraces of the ocean breeze and the warmth of the sun.  

My husband and I would walk the beach every morning before breakfast. One of my favorite things to do. The ocean while lulling us to sleep every night, will always leave little trinkets on the wet sand just waiting to be scooped up by someone who passes by. 

Walking past fishermen by the water hoping to reel in what the ocean will part with. We noticed a commotion one morning, quite a few people had slowed their pace and were focusing on a young boy with rod in hand, that seemed to be reeling something in. A sting ray, flapping its fins in protest, not wanting to be plucked from the depths of his home. The boy did release it. 

Breakfast was always set with the ocean view off of our terrace. It always seemed to linger a little longer than it should, but why not. 

One thing that we experienced this time around, and I had never noticed before, was the occasional butterfly flying towards us in the distance. I was in awe as the butterfly flew closer and closer in our direction. I said to my husband, that's weird, I've never seen butterflies at the beach, have you? As they approached, one after the other, I noticed that they were the royal Monarch Butterflies. I was taken aback by their beautiful, prominent orange and black wings as they flew by us. What are they doing here? 

I quickly googled butterflies at the beach. I learned that every fall, Cape May, is the half way point for the Monarch Butterfly during their 3,000 mile migration back to Mexico. They stop there to feed and refuel on nectar from the goldenrod plant and sunflowers before finishing their final stretch of their trip. Who knew? This makes Cape May even more special. So glad we were there for that. 

Lazy days at the beach are the best days. My husband said it best.. who cares what time it is, we have no where to be. 

Nature's Hunting Ground

 I read recently that those in their fifties have resorted to hobbies that at one time were attributed to older adults. That really hit home for me because a few years ago I started birdwatching. 

One day I was struggling with the decision on whether to throw out a loaf of bread that had been sitting in my kitchen for a few days. It had hardened a bit. I've always had trouble with the idea of throwing out bread, not sure why. My Dad's stories of going hungry when he was a child still sat with me. Being one of the youngest of 14 and born during the depression created that hardship for him. It was always hard for him to throw any food out. So, I took the loaf of old bread and decided to put it out on my deck instead. I broke it apart on a dish and placed it on the table outside. I wasn't even sure why I did this. Well, what transpired was an influx of so many birds curious to see what I had put out for them. I don't even know where they all came from. I never noticed them before. Granted we were surrounded by trees so they must've been there all along. 

I was so amazed and enchanted by all of the different birds that were visiting my meager bowl of Italian bread. I made it a habit of putting out any old bread that we collected instead of throwing it out. Eventually, I graduated to birdfeeders that I strategically put out in order to catch a glimpse of all the birds. 

I decided to purchase a reference book of birds from our state and I placed a camera and a set of binoculars by my window. That's where it all began. Every time a new bird approached, I would frantically look through my book of birds and place a marker on it so I could keep track of all the different birds that I saw and then I photographed them as they took their fill. 

Recently, we are mid spring and I've noticed that the population of birds that I'm used to seeing has greatly diminished. They aren't visiting our feeders as often as they used to. We would sometimes have to go for a bird seed run because I would go through seed so quickly. I think I've figured out why.

Our backyard has become a hunting ground. 

There is a Hawk's nest behind our neighbor's house, two houses down from us. It's been there for years, we'd see the little fledglings, as they would begin to fly. They are beautiful birds of prey. They would grow in our skies, above our yards, and then move on. They would leave the nest and then return to it year after year. This year, the fledglings have made the trees in the surrounding area their home, and they are using our backyard as their hunting ground. The necessary take down of one of our trees that had been hollowed out by birds and was in danger of collapse probably aided their view. We have become eyewitnesses to the carnage. Watching nature unfold right in front of our very eyes. The small birds have become fearful and they have either found other safer lodgings or they remain hidden from us. We hear them but we don't see them as much. 

So, I feel like I've been enabling their show of prowess. Needless to say, I've taken in all of my feeders for now so the birds won't feel the need to make the brave attempt at our feeders and fly into a trap. 

 I think most people don't take a moment to just stop and look around and appreciate the beautiful days that are gifted to them. I have made a point of doing just that. I make sure I look around and notice the day, the colors, the beauty, everything. It reminds me that there is goodness and beauty in this world even if they want me to forget. We are all hyper focused on the next big story to be outraged about, to be worried about. This outrage is always calculated, does it even come from within or is it placed there? Why are we always so outraged by the things that we can't control. Why have we forgotten what makes us who we are? Why have we allowed people who don't know us to become the same people who dictate how we feel about something, and how we react to it? Why are we afraid to speak up? Why are we afraid to show our true selves? Just a few thoughts that I've been having...now on to this beautiful day.

 As I sit here on my deck, I can't help but notice the birds singing their songs of appreciation, maybe they're singing about how they've finally been given a dry day, how their nests will finally dry up. It's quiet so all of their songs are amplified. They are singing in chorus, responding to each other in song, in all of their different dialects. I wonder if birds know all of the different languages that are had by birds. Do they understand each other? 

These last few weeks of rain are clearly visible on the leaves of the flowers, and vegetables in my garden. The leaves that should be green are now tinged with yellow either from too much rain or not enough sunlight. I have to admit that because of that same rain, we have an abundance of lettuce, spinach, and collard greens that have taken this time to just grow with gusto. Many of the spring blooms are now gone, driven to the ground by the rain, wind, and unseasonable cooler days and nights. Even the trees have dropped their access baggage of dead blooms that have given way to their leaves. The flowers and plants are all standing taller and looking towards the blue skies that have been hidden for way too long. The softness beneath my feet soaking in all of the sunlight and warmth in order to dry the access moisture from all the rain. Our grass hasn't looked better, it's thick and the most wonderful shade of green. 

Our trip to Savannah

 

 This past weekend, we spent a few days in Savannah, Georgia. It wasn't our first time there, we had spent a day there during our trip to Charleston a few years ago. A concert is what prompted our trip, we purchased tickets to see Andrea Bocelli in concert at the Enmarket Arena and this trip to Savannah had us excited for a closer look at this beautiful city. 

We stayed at the beautiful Amethyst Garden Inn. You can't miss it. As you drive down E. Gaston St. you notice this gorgeous Victorian era Inn, that is surrounded by a royal purple embrace. You catch glimpses of it through the branches of the live oaks along the streets, covered in resurrection fern and Spanish moss. Our host Chemise, was so gracious and made us feel at home. 

We drove around the historical areas and couldn't quite get past the beauty that surrounded us. Most of the squares that were the original vision and map of this great city still exist, and they bring such charm to the city. We drove over to E. River St, where many of the tourists convene for some shopping and eats and we decided to take a tour of Savannah. Our guide, Miss Gina, was so knowledgeable and funny. Every old house has a story to tell and I loved how the inside of a building may be different but the facade has not changed. They keep the old with the new, I love that. We really enjoyed our trolly ride and we learned so much about this city, a city that seems to hold on so desperately to a different time. In all honesty, Savannah is like a time capsule, you can enter and exit the different time periods of it's great history in one trolley ride. I'm so grateful to those who have tirelessly worked to preserve this beautiful city, the gorgeous architecture of these magnificent homes. They dedicated themselves to the preservation of its history, its stories, its lore and legends. I'm sure the ghosts of Savannah also contributed to that, Savannah being the most haunted city in America. I was secretly hoping for some kind of otherworldly experience but I didn't experience anything amiss even during our stay in the Amethyst. 

Our tour guide mentioned the book, "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" and at the airport we had a bit of a delay and as I made my way passed the magazines and books looking through the selections that I clearly did not need because I had a stack of unread books waiting for me at home. I noticed that same book on the shelf as if it was waiting for me and  I ended up buying it. The reviews say, that reading this book will have you itching to take a trip and make a reservation in Savannah in one of its beautiful homes. I think Savannah itself has this effect on you. You kind of want to stay a bit longer, your trip feels short and rushed. I spent the night before our flight constantly awaking to check the time because we had an early flight. I thought to myself, wow, time does move slow in Savannah, the nights are long. According to lore, in Savannah, everyone liked a good party, and at one time, there was always a great party to attend, a drink to be had, laughter and dancing that lasted all night. The long nights are a perfect backdrop for it. If you ever take a stroll in Savannah, make sure you stop and listen real hard, you can almost still hear the laughter and the music.