July 2017 - "On with the show, the show must go on."

July 4th weekend on Cape Cod is known for many wonderful traditions, like family reunions, town parades, clam and lobster bakes with fresh corn from the farm stands, watching fireworks from the beach, movies at the drive-in, playing mini golf, and standing in lines for soft-serve ice cream.  Unfortunately, it's also become synonymous with a constant parade of flashing, whooping, emergency vehicles due to the infusion of thousands of people in a hurry to relax on vacation.  All it takes is one impatient move to edge someone out at a lane merge, or changing one's mind in the middle of a rotary to result in an accident that closes roads for miles and fills the hospital emergency room.  Locals know that the words to remember for summer drivers are "ANTICIPATE" and "PATIENCE". 

The birds get the credit for all the sunflowers.  I've never been able to get them to grow on purpose.

Contrary to most folks, summer's my least favorite season, and I look for ways to uplift my spirit until the cool days of Fall and peace on the roads returns.  I always find solace in my gardens early in the mornings, or after the sun begins its descent.  These days I'm thinning the successes of my "1/2-priced gardens" and spreading the wealth to other areas, including the front bank on the main highway that goes through Cape Cod.  I even find the zen of weeding and deadheading to be relaxing and restorative.  And, just as I'm impulsively prone to moving the furniture and art around inside, so go the gardens as I find out how large the plants grow and how much they spread.  It's an endless dance of color, texture and a lot of water of course.

One of many garden spots at Crosswinds

And, thank you to my beach-addicted friend, who invites me to join her in her few free hours for beach therapy.  This has provided many hours of companionable and therapeutic chatting while digging into the sand with my toes and feeling the sea breeze threatening to take my hat. 

First Encounter Beach-my favorite Eastham spot by the Bay

SHARKS - The Good and Bad News

The National Seashore is doing their part for safety by putting up the now official purple shark flags at the beaches to remind people to stay close to land and away from seals.  At least 150 great whites have either been spotted or beeped transmitters from off of our coast.  

Cisco getting tagged

While all of this adds an element of danger to swimming, especially too far out, I did promise you some good news and here it is:  sharks play a vital role in the health of our oceans' ecosystems, and since the majority of the oxygen we breathe, and much of our protein comes from the ocean, our survival on land is at risk when the health of the ocean declines.  So, thank you Cisco and friends for doing your parts for us landlubbers, and I personally pledge not to crowd you in your home.

Have you ever wondered how sharks get their names?  

There's one named 'Big Papi', named for David Ortiz of the Red Sox, and of course 'Brady', named for Tom Brady of the Patriots.  

'The Rock' was named after actor-wrestler Dwayne Johnson.  

'Luke' was named in memory of a deceased Martha's Vineyard fisherman.  

Curly', 'Chex', 'Lauren' & 'Doty' were all named by Atlantic White Shark Conservancy donors.  

'Salty' was named on behalf of the the Cape Cod Salties sportfishing club, which donated money to buy his tag.  

'Katherine' was named for the Falmouth native Katherine Lee Bates, who wrote the song "America The Beautiful".  

'Mr. Frisky' was named for his temperament and 'Riddler' has a question mark shape on the side of his tail.  

'Lynn' was named after the mother of the fisherman who first spotted her in Ocean City, MD and 'James' was named in memory of a man named James Stratton. 

'Sandy' was named in honor of shark biologist, Sanford Moss, and 'Mola' has a patch on his tail that looks like a Mola-Mola, AKA a giant ocean sunfish.  

'Spc B Arsenault' was named in memory of Spc. Brian Arsenault of the 82nd Airborne, who was killed in Afghanistan the day this shark was tagged.  

'Hollywood' liked the camera, hence his name, and 'Lumpy' has a big lump, which may be a result of another shark bite. 

'Gretel' is the first great white shark to be tagged in the northwestern Atlantic Ocean.  She was freed after being trapped for 14 days in a salt pond on Naushon Island.  

'Curly' has a unique notch on her dorsal fin and many scars on her gills. 

'Large Marge' at 17 feet is one of the biggest to be tagged.  

'Miss Alexandra' was named by her tagger, Tyler McAllister, and 'Quoddy' by the videographer named James Hawkins who filmed her.

'Broken Tail' is self-explanatory, as is 'Scar'. 

It's not mentioned where 'Mary Lee' got her name, but she's said to have her own Twitter account.  

As for critters of another sort, it's not looking good for my hopes of attracting the Painted Bunting as my 2017 new bird of the year.  Despite being spotted at Orleans bird feeders this Spring, my purchase of their favorite millet seed was not enough to lure them to Eastham.  The hummingbirds arrived late this year and in less plentiful numbers, suspected to be more victims of the industry-wide Trump Slump, but the brave Orioles have taken up their slack, necessitating extra grape jelly runs to the Stop & Shop.  This is also in part because the Catbirds have decided this year that they very much like the jelly, too, not to be confused with our friend Chandler's band, The Catbirds.  And, after googling reasons why one should NOT feed raccoons, I finally got Ron's attention with words like Leptospirosis and Giardiasis that convinced him to stop leaving sandwiches every night for our midnight raiders.  There was still one score to be settled though, and that was blaming the downed bird feeder poles on a possum.  A visit from our son, who lives for technical challenges, clearly exposed the culprit on the automatic video recorder within the motion sensor light.  Case solved, raccoon guilty, possum vindicated.   

Click on: The Night Raider  for proof positive.

and, just for fun...

 The Catbirds - Who's Sorry Now?

On this note, I say goodbye to July, which passed in a whirlwind of fervent landscaping, creative driving, folding sheets and towels and an unending appreciation for being able to be part of it all and share it with others.

A chance meeting on the beach with our friend, Larry & Paco.
p.s.  Don't try to kiss a macaw unless he knows and really likes you.

A Special Edition: In Memory of Ray

A friend in Virginia once asked me “Does anyone ever fart on Cape Cod?”  He meant that everything always sounded so rosy in my blogs that it seemed like a place where nothing could ever go wrong. I answered, “Of course it does, but who would want to read about that?”  Well, something enormously wrong did happen this month, and we along with countless others lost a very special, true 'Cape Cod Character'.  His name was Ray, known to us as “our brother-from-another-mother”, a Cape fishing legend, a family man, and a friend to everyone he met.  Many of us knew Ray had been battling an illness for years, but he just shrugged it off saying that he still had a lot left to do.  And, he did. 

Ray was a familiar sight at Fort Hill, enjoying the beauty and checking on fishing conditions.

When I met my husband in Virginia and we decided to make our home on Cape Cod, he promised me that when we got here, I would meet a wonderful friend of his named Ray, and that I would love him.  Soon after his first visit to our new home, he became a regular.  In fact, if you were a reader of my earlier blogs, he was mentioned often.  Once he discovered Ron’s barista skills, he began bringing friends with him to sit at the kitchen bar and get acquainted.  “Ya gotta try this guy’s coffee.  It’s the best you'll ever taste!”

Some days, he would come by with his truck full of vegetables to give away.  “Get a bag and come pick out what you want, Sweetheart.” 

When the weather was bad, he’d come in soaked and I’d give him dry clothes to wear while I threw his in the dryer, and he and Ron would watch the History Channel together and rehash WWII.  “Sweetheart, while you’re at it, there’s a button missing, do you have an extra you could sew on for me?”

Many times we would come home and find his dog, Tiggie, tied up to the truck bumper in the shade so he wouldn’t dig up my gardens, and Ray asleep on our couch snoring blissfully to a movie on TV with the cats curled up beside him.

Our cats, who are fairly discriminating about people, loved Uncle Ray.

When the weather was conducive to leaving the windows open, we’d hear him singing in his strong, rich voice as he ambled up the walk, “Oh, my spurs go jingle jangle jingle…”  

He would never miss an opportunity to mug for the camera, go for the joke, or share his good fortune. 

Sharing a joke with Ron, his brother-from-another-mother.

Wearing a tinfoil Viking hat, of course, because why not?

Years later, when Ron was flat on his back from chemo treatments, the basement flooded and I needed help moving soaked carpets up into the yard.  Ray was there in 5 minutes and Ron never knew what went on until we had it all cleaned up. 

Ray was one of those people who thought there was no such thing as a stranger.  While some Codders rudely proclaim “We’re Not on Your Vacation” with bumper stickers, we’ve seen Ray walk up to tourists in the summer and ask, “Hi there, where are you all from?”  He took hours getting through Stop & Shop because he greeted every employee as an old friend.  Many of the kids he babysat for later brought their kids to meet him.  He took friends to medical appointments and shared food, money and a nonjudgmental ear.  He thought every woman was beautiful, every kid was cute, every animal was precious and nobody was unworthy of help.  He pretended he was just a dumb fisherman, but he was wise in all the important ways. 

Taking Ron's twin sister and family from San Diego clamming. 

Before we knew it, our vocabulary was peppered with ‘Ray-isms’ like, “Getcha, gotcha”, which meant, I know what you mean.  And, “I stink so.”  Translation: I think so.  Or, "OH, HO, HO, HO...", which just meant he was getting up and on the move.  “Did I ever tell you about my French-Canadian cousins, Jacque and Pierre?” was the only joke he could remember and would tell as many times as you would listen.  He always wanted to know if we had any Canadians or French people staying at the B&B so he could tell them that joke.  If we didn't, he'd walk over and introduce himself anyway, and after asking if they wanted to buy any fresh lobsters he would tell them all about his imaginary cousins.  Nobody ever complained.  As his memory became worse, I learned how to make “Indian Pie” many times, told with the same enthusiasm and detail each time.  

Ray was drawn to a career in fishing when he visited Cape Cod from his home in Western Mass because he said it looked like something he thought he could do. He grew to love the ocean and became proficient enough to support a family.  After befriending the remarkable Cape Cod fishing legend, Tiggie Peluso, who taught him and dozens of others to fish, he became the only person Tiggie ever allowed to fish on his boat with him.  Tiggie’s daughter, Lou, recently related her first meeting with Ray to me:  “My father's health had been declining for a long time and Ray came to visit him at home.  After hearing all about this amazing fisherman and friend from my dad for so long, I was not expecting to open the door to see a little guy about my height with a Santa Claus beard. I thought he would be so much bigger!”   

Ray and his dog, Tiggie, named for Tiggie Peluso

After Ray was not allowed to drive anymore because of his health, we started going through withdrawal, missing his daily drop-in’s, even if it was only for a few moments because, “I gotta get home and make dinner for Anne”, the woman who stole his heart when he first came to the Cape, no matter how many times he found himself “in the doghouse”.  We kept listening for the bells hanging on our door that always jingled when he let himself in.  “Anybody home?  Are ya decent?”  We kept looking for his truck to drive in and hear the slam of the door and his admonishments to his dog, "Tiggie, be quiet and lie down.  I'll get you some water."  We realized that it was our turn to help Ray, and we made “Ray-Play-Dates” to get him out of the house.  By that time, his energy was flagging, and the outings wore him out and were probably more for us than him.  But, he still had so much more he wanted to do and we wanted to help him do them.   We knew his health was failing, but like everyone else, we thought there was more time.  A few more months, maybe a year, or two...but it still wouldn’t have been enough.  

Ron and Ray on the way up Fort Hill on one of their "play dates".

Kudos to Ray’s wife, Anna, who took the best possible care of the most impossibly strong-willed patient ever, who thought he could live 'his way' forever just by being too busy to acknowledge his illness.  We knew the force of nature you were up against, Anna, and we're so grateful for your Herculean efforts.  Just as wicked Nor’easters blow bits and pieces of Cape Cod away from time to time, the universe saw fit to leave this giant hole in all of our lives who were lucky enough to know Ray.  We know he’s only as far away as our memories... 

Our birthdays were 4 days apart.  The 'Scream' tie was a gift from Ron.

His wife, Anna, planned a fun birthday party for the both of us.

He loved the chipmunk slippers I found for him.

And, the lobster hat...

...which he earned honestly.

He always included us in his holiday fun.

Was always willing to indulge my strange photography experiments.

Teaching Ron how to make pizza dough.

Goofing it up with our boys at Fort Hill.

...but we're still going to miss him, wicked bad.