And found that a lot of people had the same idea. The normally deserted parking lot, me, park ranger, maybe one other birder, was jammed. Trails mobbed. Had to wait to get a people-free view of the lake!
Mostly newcomers worrying about getting lost, shouting to each other about where to see birds, funny ,but they had the right idea. I had a brief glimpse of a resident bluebird before a shout sent her flying away.
Last time it was like that was the day after 9.11. Many local commuters never came home. Parking lot at the train station packed with cars which were eventually towed. People reassuring each other by coming to the preserve for peace. The incineration smell from the Towers was still drifting over. We're less than an hour, as the crow flies, from Manhattan.
It was lovely to be there, it's been a while since I had enough energy. I don't do the whole trail as I used to, since I may run out of juice a bit soon, but love to walk there. Usually, if you see anyone, it's kindred spirits wearing binoculars, pointing out interesting sightings, casually, not bothering each other.
The virgin beech wood generates its own climate, warmer in winter, cooler in summer.
And on the edge, milkweed for monarch butterflies.
The lake was a quarry, extremely deep, shelving, with many species of fish, and it's running water, so it's self cleaning. A lot of migrating waterbirds rest here a few days each year. Overhead the newly restored bald eagles, sometimes an osprey, always turkey vultures and redtail hawks.
Peaceful meadow.
This morning, breakfast with cherry and berry preserves, very Belgian, Poirot would approve. He didn't like marmalade. I learned to like cherry jam at breakfast when I was working in France as an au pair.
And not speaking a word of English for all the months I was there, bringing my fluency up to the point where, on the homeward journey, Customs insisted I should be in the non-citizen line, until I waved my passport, and we all switched to English.
It served me well in my uni program, where everything happened in French, massive reading requirements, lectures, and, as a competitive program, students from much better preparation than I were together in class. I stayed nicely above water.
But back to the cherry berry preserves. I made it that day I did all the cooking, and it turned out a bit runny like fruit sauce. I saved some for Easter since I like fruit sauce with ham, while Handsome Son stoutly sticks with his manly mustard, Coleman's.
Then after waiting overnight, long enough to know it wasn't going to jell, I poured it back in the pan, with cornstarch, and reboiled it. It's now a passable jam like food. The flavor's lovely, just the texture needed work. It's the first time I tried that. Also the first time my jam didn't jell. So all is not lost if that happens.
Just thinking what to do today. Plain or fancy. Or both. I could be making new towels from the terry fabric I have for the purpose, to replace the thin and ragged ones I keep using. Hand stitching. Plain.Or I could be doing a bit of that silk piecing that's been waiting. Fancy. Or sort the outside storage, continuing the downsizing. Very Plain. Or spin some paper. Fancy.
I'll have another cup of tea and decide.
