Fall Skies

19 September 2021

[Above photo: Low tide at Harbor Beach under a dark sky.]

I retrieved Ari at Bucks Harbor Marina yesterday at 4:30PM. A group was filming a short feature at the dock so I had to wait a bit to land the boat. On our way out of the harbor, we could see that the sea was flat with no discernible wind, except that generated by Tern zipping over the water. Ari drove the boat.  The scene was beautiful and I felt so at peace, re-establishing my relationship with her and having the incredible luxury of travelling in comfort to our cabin on a lovely island.  Life can throw curveballs but this was a strike right down the middle. We combined efforts, making a delicious supper and talked and talked.

She is correct that my atheism left no room for the immense and astounding mysteries of life on our planet. While I cannot subscribe to a personal god who will respond to my prayers or my needs, there is so much beauty and intertwined complexity in our world, so much more that we do not understand than what we do.  I have often experienced an oceanic feeling when I am in Nature or upon hearing a particularly lovely piece of music. I cannot accept an anthropomorphized explanation of my sense of some greater intelligence yet something profound is at play. Certainly nothing that is spoken to a privileged few leaders in a church for interpretation to their flock. I can respect that others have traditions that are important to them, often passed down in families, that allow them to access a similar moved state. I guess it could be called “spiritual”.

Today is sparkling. A dry northerly from a cloudless sky is blowing into the harbor at 21 knots with gusts to 24 knots.  There is enough fetch so the waves are tall and breaking. The skiffs at the dock don’t have enough water to require bailing, which is nice, since my thumb is still sore from my last trip into the bilges head-first.  Ari and I walked around the island; Pearl, a friend’s dog, accompanied us. Pearl is quite a girl; there isn’t a stick or tennis ball she won’t fetch. She loves to plunge into the water and swim to retrieve a stick. She should be herding sheep amid the heather, as she is a border collie. Somehow, she has taken to water and is skilled in it. She is smart, as well, and loving of a challenge.

It has gotten cool enough that, despite abundant rains, the chanterelles are few. The birch are turning. The other night I heard an owl for the first time this summer. This morning the meadow and surrounding trees were flooded with songbirds, arcing about like bombs lobbed across a valley by opposing armies. It is a first for the summer; it has felt like Silent Spring here re. birds. Migrations must be underway and some of these birds are heading south from other islands. I hope my feeder, in providing an endless supply of glucose, isn’t delaying the hummers’ departure for the land of the loving tongue.

Ari is with me for a couple of days. The arrangement works well for us all. Next summer I’ll split my time between Portland and here, so the house will be more available for others.

As the civil war deepens in Myanmar, the National Unity Government having declared war on the Tatmadaw (military), I fear for my friends/students and all those occupying the moral high ground.  China has supplied the Tatmadaw with advanced weapons systems, including drones and surveillance software. Despite being only 5 ½ months out of Myanmar, my stay there feels like it was in ancient times.

As a result, I have decided to edit my Myanmar blog for publication. At least, I’ll go through it carefully and see if it seems of interest. Revisiting it will keep the experience alive for me. Writing seems like a useful winter pursuit. I feel some pressure to record the events of my earlier life, inner and outer, as well. It is amazing to have the time and leisure to do so.

As I prepare to present a bit about Orwell to the study group, I’m pleased to find my curiosity aroused. He was an amazing and complex man, stained with the well-known British prejudices—class, Jews, “Asiatics”, and others different than him—but struggling against them his entire short (46 years) life. That he died of tuberculosis in 1950 seems astounding to me, although isoniazid wasn’t introduced until 1952 and streptomycin only in 1949.  Reading Burmese Days for a presentation alerts me to new details and process, to aspects that I didn’t notice when I was reading it for fun about 1 ½ years ago while in Myanmar. It helps to have a goal, especially a public one, as an accompaniment.

It is a relief that Californians turned out for the recall vote. Our Supreme Court, generally held in high respect by me, is a partisan swamp. A significant number of low-lifes now inhabit those chambers. And why does one’s ego win over practical good sense, thinking of Justice Breyer and Senator Feinstein’s refusals to step down despite their ages and the stakes involved. Oh, we are a fragile, and selfish, bunch.