Greeting the Dawn

When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive - to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love. -- Marcus Aurelius

A few weeks ago my husband and I spent a few days on Cape Cod, the windswept peninsula of eastern Massachusetts sticking out into the Atlantic Ocean. We spent the daylight hours birding. One day our travels took us along the western coast of the peninsula, which faces Cape Cod Bay, far beyond which is the mainland.

This particular day we stopped at the many beaches, with a break for lunch. Our last stop, late in the afternoon, was First Encounter Beach in Eastham. What we found surprised us - not ocean birds blown closer to shore in the strong wind as we found at other beaches but a parking lot full of cars pointing toward the water. Even as we slowed down more cars came in behind us and parked.

We realized these cars were coming to watch the sun go down.

We have seen this in other shore areas. Find a west-facing beach and you'll see people arriving to watch the sunset. The sun lowers into the ocean and when it disappears people applaud. Then they drive home.

Sunrise, Florida, 2010 (Margo D. Beller)

First Encounter Beach was a perfect spot for locals, and maybe other tourists visiting or renting nearby houses for the summer. We got out of there before the cars would be departing on the one narrow road and were back at our room by dark. We returned well before sunset a few days later to do our birding, with few cars in the lot.

I don't understand why people want to watch the sun set, and why they applaud, as if this is a show put on for their benefit. When the sun sets the darkness comes and I am not a night person.

I prefer watching the sun rise. When I started birding and could do it only on weekends I'd leave the house early on a spring morning and drive to a particular location where the rising sun would be accompanied by bird calls. It is peaceful and quiet on a marsh and I would feel blessed to be alive to enjoy it. It's also peaceful and quiet early on a winter morning at my house.

In winter the sun comes up in a position to hit me full in the face as I sit in my chair on my enclosed porch. I watch as the light increases, shining on the steam rising from my neighbor's chimney. Then the sun slowly appears at the edge of my neighbor's roof and the light washes over me. At this time of year, when the sun rises later, I don't get the full benefit for very long on this porch. If I'm lucky I get five minutes of sun before its arc brings it behind a tree. 

As the sun rises the birds become more active at the feeders, the bigger or the more aggressive birds pushing others away. When the sun is at its brightest I close my eyes and enjoy the warmth while i can.

Perhaps the people applauding the sunset are just happy they made it through another day. Maybe they prefer sitting in their cars late in the afternoon to waking early to catch the dawn. Maybe they like the sunset colors or a feeling of fellowship with strangers, like sitting at a drive-in watching a movie.

That's their choice but not mine.

Montauk (L.I.) sunset, 2017 (Margo D. Beller)

The rising sun is a symbol of new possibilities and another day to exist while, to me, the setting sun means an ending. It is the same reason why I prefer to see the colors of the budding trees in spring to the gaudy colors of the dying leaves in autumn. 

Rebirth will always beat out death, even vividly colored death, every time.

Winter Blues (Again)

Once again, as in 2015, I am at that point in the year when the cold not only affects what, if any, birds I can see but my mood.

Today I heard sad news about a friend's passing that occurred days before the anniversary of another friend's passing. It was cloudy and, while not windy, very cold. Regardless, I was restless so I left the house to calm myself by walking in some of my favorite birding sites nearby.

(Margo D. Beller)

I was not expecting much. This is not spring or autumn, when interesting birds are passing through the area. It isn't even summer when the insects that torment me are caught by birds to feed their young. This is winter, another in a consecutive string of very cold days.

I needed to get out anyway.

When I got to the path along the Whippany River, I found the river full of ice until I got to the outflow from the nearby sewage treatment plant where the water was warmer. Thanks to having less ice there were ducks - 13 mallards and three pairs of wood ducks. That was promising. There were many people on the paved path but no land birds to keep me there.

So I drove to another part of the path a short distance away where I found only a cardinal over the more-frozen river.

Then I drove to a third area. There was no river nearby but there were birds, albeit birds I could've seen from my kitchen window: titmice, cardinals, jay, juncos, white-throated and song sparrows, white-breasted nuthatch. A couple of Canada geese, likely locals, flying overhead. All that was missing were the hordes of house finches that sit in the feeders and eat relentlessly.

Front yard, a few years ago (Margo D. Beller)

After over 30 minutes of walking and looking at these winter birds I realized I had numbed myself to the point where I could not feel the stick in my gloved hand. I carefully hurried back to the car and its heater. I defrosted somewhat as I drove home, then drank hot tea and added layers to warm me.

I do this birding in the cold because there is always the chance I might find something interesting. Mainly, however, I get restless in winter and get depressed if I stay inside too long. Darkness comes early and morning daylight comes late. Most of the trees have lost all their leaves. The garden has finally been put to bed. The cold seems relentless, making my head ache and accentuating the pains that have increased as I age. It is not my favorite time of year.

What I can look forward to from my kitchen window.
(Margo D. Beller)

This day I'm writing about is a Sunday. I knew that the "birdier" sites such as Great Swamp and Troy Meadows would have people seeking birds as part of the annual Christmas Bird Count. I also knew that at this time of year many birders head down the shore to the places along the ocean where the ducks go to winter and the water isn't likely to freeze. Maybe I'll get to these areas, too, with my husband driving. 

But for now, feeling my mortality, I wanted to stay close to home.