Nature Connection: A Perfect Day

Perfect is a tricky word, one we should be careful not to use too enthusiastically, perhaps, but sometimes it’s the only word that will do. 

Recently, I had such a day when everything fell into place perfectly and everyone I ran into agreed, exclaiming, “What a perfect day!” I have to admit that perfect was the perfect description. No other word fit as well.

The sun was shining, but it wasn’t too hot. There was a breeze, but it was light and airy, not a full-on wind. The birds were singing, everything was in bloom or leafing out, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

The beach called and I answered immediately, tossing my sketching supplies, sunscreen, hat and binoculars in the backseat of the car.

One thing about driving to a beach early in the morning on a work and school day is that the traffic is often going in the opposite direction. I was driving out of town while all the working and school-attending folks were coming into town. This made me feel even giddier, as if I was still in high school and sneaking in a Ferris Bueller sort of day.

I suppose that the beach is really always perfect, no matter the weather, but somehow there are days when it just vibrates with so much loveliness one must stop and sigh and breathe in all the salty goodness before taking another step. This was one of those mornings.

The tide was working toward its highest point, and a man stood by the edge of the water with his fishing line cast into the oncoming waves. He cast again and again, reeling in his line without a fish on it, but as I passed him, he remarked that fish or no fish, he didn’t care. He was having a perfect morning.

I followed some piping plover tracks for a bit, noting the stops the male made as he did his high stepping routine to impress his lady friend. A horned lark landed nearby and we nodded at each other. Well, I nodded at him, but he didn’t leave his spot, so I accepted that as permission to pass on by. He sang a bit while I skipped a perfectly smooth stone across the water with five skips just like my dad taught me so many years ago. 

I headed for the sand road that cuts through the dunes to the marsh trail but turned to take one last look at the ocean. The waves rolled in and the waves rolled out, a rhythm as old as time. I pondered this and all the unanswerable questions of life and the universe for a minute or two as I hit the soft sand and began the uphill climb over the dune. Many off-road drivers use this road, so one has to be careful, especially in season, but on this day, I had the road to myself. This was a good thing because every view was so spectacular I had to keep stopping to catch my breath. The beauty was so intense it took my breath away.

Rosa rugosa was in bloom, which I expected. The beach plum had gone by, and the dune grasses were reaching respectable heights. Beach pea was beginning to bloom, and dusty miller was sending up shoots with buds. As I rounded a corner, I was stopped by the vision of gold spread out on the sand all through the dunes. The hudsonia, also called wooly beach heather or poverty grass, was beginning to bloom.

Hudsonia is common in sandy areas but especially in the dunes. All winter long it sits low to the ground, dark with a bit of a purple or maroon cast. In early spring it begins to green up, and as May comes to a close it begins to bloom. If you’re lucky you will find areas where the dunes turn yellow with all the blooms. This area wasn’t quite there yet but was getting close. Don’t wait too long; the bloom goes by quickly and the plant returns to its dark green for the rest of the season. When it’s in bloom it attracts flies, bees, moths and butterflies. Most are small and barely noticeable unless you touch a clump, disturbing them. Then you may have a little cloud of insects rise up from the tiny yellow blooms.

Along my way I found many tracks. Toads, mice, voles, rabbits, skunks, baby turtles, coyotes and snakes all leave their stories behind in the sand. In one area I found very fresh tracks of two good-sized snakes, and as I stopped and looked around, I found the pair that left them. They were preoccupied so I didn’t disturb them as I snuck by as quietly as I could.

Overhead an osprey called. A mourning dove cooed from a dead branch above a dune, and common yellow-throat warblers sang from multiple shrubs and trees. Towhees invited me to tea while a mockingbird chased a Cooper’s hawk, and willets bickered in the marsh.

The marsh grass was bright green, but the pools of water in the salt pannes reflected the bright blue sky. I noted that the blue boxes that trap green-headed horse flies had been put in, always a sign of summer coming and a reminder that not all marsh creatures are beloved, at least by humans.

A pair of kingbirds flirted by the side of the trail, and a rabbit crossed in front of me. The poison ivy was reaching for the sky, and the juniper berries were small but abundant.

When I was done with my walk I unexpectedly ran into an old friend and we sat by the sea and caught up with each other.

It was indeed a perfect day on Cape Cod, and I felt incredibly lucky even as I sat in traffic coming back to town. Happy June.