Cicadas, Every 17th Year

It is the time in our year when we think about annual cycles.  But this summer we were reminded of longer life cycles:  The cicadas came back this past May, and stayed through June.  The last time we had seen them, Rebecca was six years old, and Sarah was 3.  Over a course of weeks we saw large numbers of these strange creatures crawl out of the ground (leaving half-inch holes), cling to grasses and small shrubs, shed their shells, and fly up into the trees.

These are the "periodical cicadas" (cicada septemdecim) which have a seventeen year life cycle, most of which is spent underground.  We went out at night with flashlights to see the nymphs emerging from the ground and crawling in large numbers.  Some shed their shells quickly, leaving large numbers of the husks in their wake.

The cicadas were everywhere.  We saw from maps online that North Guilford, Connecticut was one of the "hot spots" of this brood of East Coast cicadas (there are different broods of periodical cicadas that come up in different locations around the world; ours is "Brood II").

I read that there are several related sub-species that co-exist; we weren't sure we were seeing different "looks" of the emerging cicadas because we were seeing cicadas at slightly different moments after their emergence, or whether we were seeing different sub-species.  But all had the same mysterious red eyes and beautiful wings, and soon after being able to fly they started to sing.  Loudly.

Brood II sang constantly for weeks.  When you went outside, you couldn't hear birds or other normal sounds; all you heard was the singing of the cicadas.  (We had remembered the prior emergence being so loud that we had to shout to be heard in our back yard.  This year's wasn't quite so loud, and we weren't sure whether over seventeen years our memories had become exaggerated.)

Our neighbor Brad noticed that as the cicadas' chorus quieted, small branches started to litter the ground.  He showed us a scoring pattern along the stem, where the females have cut slits to lay their eggs.

The physical aspects of the cidadas are surprising and beautiful.  But it's their sound that is for me most magical.  The chorus is a mass of courtship songs, and they are singing for each other.  We are privileged to be able to be at the right spot, at the right time, to hear their music every seventeen years.  

If you want to hear what our back yard sounded like in June, click on the video below.

Arriving on the Left Coast

At home in Guilford, we woke up to the first hard freeze of the winter.  Coincidentally, I left that morning for a short trip to Los Angeles.  I arrived at the airport in time to catch the very end of the day at the beach.

I hadn't been in L.A. in years.  All the talk of smog and earthquakes must have wormed their way into my head - I was surprised at how quiet the beach was, how luminescent the light, how beautiful the reflections.

I wasn't the only person on the beach, although these were the only people I saw who appeared to have been swimming in the cool water. (There was also a crew filming a movie who chased me away.  If you see a movie sometime with some guy on a beach, throwing a football into a garbage can, that was the one I saw filming.)

I watched the sun fall into the ocean.  And then found dinner (Thai seafood soup, and squash-infused dinner rolls!).

Spring into Summer

[Note - For best viewing of these flower photos, I highly recommend viewing this post at the website: http://stevescameraview.blogspot.com - Steve]

Spring somehow slipped into summer before I knew it this year!  Something about the weather wobbling between cool and warm, wet and dry, and it was hard to tell what season we were in.  But the flowers still managed to move in a steady progression.

The primrose originally from my grandmother Irene has spread somewhat, and still blooms reliably, followed soon after by the white forsythia with its fragrant flowers emerging before the leaves.  (I transplated two smaller plants of the white forsythia last fall, and they both survived the winter, giving me hope of more blooming next year.)

The bleeding heart and the wood anemone were both very happy this year

and while the epimedium (above) and the trout lily (below) both emerged brightly, they faded quickly as the heat returned.

As spring got late, the wild geranium bloomed by the sides of the road; and then the field flowers started blooming and we knew summer was really starting.

For Amy, as much as she likes the flowers, the truly joyous beginning of summer is the first handful of wild strawberries from the field!

New York, New York

Amy and I spent a weekend in New York City a few weeks ago.  I don't spend a lot of time in New York, but there were some things I had been wanting to do there, and in fact the weekend ended up being framed around the opera I wanted to see Saturday night.

We drove into the city Saturday morning, met Rebecca, and took the subway south to Chinatown.  First stop:  bubble tea.

Second stop:  Past the Chinese greengrocer, in search of Fried Dumpling.  They made them while we waited.  A few bucks for 15 dumplings.  Yum.

Then off to the High Line, the elevated linear park built on retired rail delivery tracks.  There were lots of interesting architectural elements along the way

including these beautiful windows.

A quick washing up at Rebecca's apartment, then met Amy's parents at the Metropolitan Opera for a performance of Rigoletto, which I had been wanting to see.  I was interested in the modern set for the classic opera -- 1950's Las Vegas style -- but while the music and singing were fabulous I wasn't wowed by the updated concept.

But I was wowed by the backstage.  Amy's cousin Ray Menard works as a stage manager at the Met, and he met us between acts to show us the backstage transition.  It was awe-inspiring.  What you see below is the entire stage for the second act, elevated by motorized lifts, then hauled off into the wings by motorized winches, to be replaced by the set for the third act.

The next morning our New York tour continued.  Soul food brunch at Amy Ruth's in Harlem (did you know that Amy's birth name was Amy Ruth Eppler?).  I had catfish on a waffle.  Yum again.

Then off to the West Side to ride the bike path south.

Behind Stuyvesant High School, there is a playground\sculpture garden at the north end of Battery Park that we remembered from many years ago.  The Tom Otterness sculptures are just as odd and entertaining as we had remembered them!

This is Sarah riding one of the sculptures in 1996 ...

and this is Rebecca riding one of the sculptures in 2013!  (has the sculpture gotten smaller??)

Looking through the old pictures, I was reminded of how much change there has been in our lives in the last 17 years.  It's a comfort to see the balance between the losses and the gains, with some things like the Otterness sculptures staying exactly the same.

Glass-Blowing

We have discovered glass-blowing.  OK, we knew it existed; I think we watched a demonstration years ago.  But now we have had our hands on the blow-pipe, we have tried to control and form hot glass, and wow! is it fun.

Amy and I have been throwing pots in a ceramics class for years.  We thought some of those skills might transfer.  But glass is different.  When throwing a clay pot, you can go fast, or slow.  If your hands get tired, you can take a break.  The clay is willing to wait for you.

But glass won't move unless it's melting.  When it starts to cool just a little, it may be hot enough to burn you, but it's not soft enough to move.  So back in the blast oven it goes to heat up.  And when is it hot enough to work again?  When you are turning the pipe but can barely keep the glass from falling off.  When glass is just about out of control, it's ready.

The hot glass is beautiful.  It glows red and yellow.  And did I mention that it's hot???

There are two studios we have visited that offer "workshops" - basically a hands-on guided tour of blowing glass.  In the fall, Amy took us to Peter Greenwood's glass-blowing studio in Riverton (my birthday present!).  More recently, we have twice visited Ray Mathews, Jr.'s studio in Branford -- once with Rebecca and Sarah, another time with Karen and Beni.

We have learned a lot about working with glass in our three attempts.  But to be honest, we wouldn't have come out with anything but a blob of glass on the floor if the professional working with us hadn't continually rescued the glass pieces we were forming.

If you want to see a lot of the process in action, click "play" on this video (▶).  (If you're reading this post in your e-mail, go to the blog website to see the video.)

We have been enjoying our vases and tumblers.  And we'll probably be back for more -- glass blowing is quite addictive!