fog

There was supposed to have been a headline in a British newspaper that read "Fog in channel; Continent cut off". That's the sort of fog that we've been having here, Wednesday and again this morning: "Fog in Creek; East Quogue cut off". I could hardly see the other side of the pond, let alone the other side of Weesuck Creek. Although it wasn't raining, there was the incessant sound of dripping leaves. Otherwise a great stillness broken only by the occasional chirp of crickets and a few distant bird sounds -- mainly chickadees/titmice and wrens. One local Carolina Wren started its fall concert, a medley of tunes that far surpasses its usual monotonous chant (why does it do this in the fall but not in the spring?). I started up a Green Heron by the pond but for a moment I couldn't even make out the bird -- only its reflection in the pond water (which, for some reason, did not seem to reflect the dense whiteness of the fog). An Eastern Phoebe popped out of the blankness and materialized onto a near branch. Not much else and then the rains came.

Karen Blumer tells me that the monster grass pictured in a recent post is likely Miscanthus sinensis, also known as Chinese or Japanese silvergrass. Although a favorite of Hamptons landscapers, she advises me to get rid of it as an invading alien. It was not, however, planted here by a landscaper but came up by itself. When we cut the grass around the house (which we actually do once or twice a year), I asked Nathan to leave a few things (Evening Primroses, Butterfly Milkweed, Yucca, Prickly Pear Cactus). In fact, there was no Butterfly Milkweed or Prickly Pear left (all shaded out at the edges of the open space). But he did also leave a species of Bush Clover and the monster grass.

Eric Salzman