Tag Archives: Eastern Point
Grandfather, Father and Son 3 generations visit Gloucester from Washington D.C. Father and son came up to watch the Red Sox play the Washington Nationals.
FYI – They were all Red Sox fans. The young man also counted 537 Granit Blocks he walked on all the way out to the Beacon.
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The giant twelve-foot log tossed by the sea, up and over onto the Niles Pond side of the causeway, is seemingly supported by nothing but frozen snow. And Niles Pond is still thawing, with only a small cluster of mallards huddled together in the center of the ice. I hope the swans return soon!
Snowy morning scenes from the boulevard and Eastern Point Lighthouse.
Read more about the beautiful, and healthy beneficent properties of, Pussy Willows Here: Looking for Pussy Willows.
I took this with my iPhone so not great quality, but here are 4 coyotes walking through my backyard just now (Brace Cove behind).
Enjoy Good Morning Gloucester! Thanks.
Hi! Here they are again this morning. All four were on the rock, in the sun, but it took too long for my phone to power on, but I was able to catch the last one crossing the rock. I’m pretty sure I know where their den is now (and they really worry me because I have a dog). I see them every day!
TS Eliot’s Restless Ghost Finds Home in Seaside Idyll
The Guardian UK
February 14, 2015
By Robert McCrum
Last September, listeners to National Public Radio, the US equivalent of Radio 4, heard an elderly New England widow, Dana Hawkes, describe how, at home in Massachusetts, her late husband would sometimes say “he used to see TS Eliot’s ghost.”
TS Eliot at his house, 18 Edgemoor in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Photograph: © Estate of T.S. Eliot
There is something apt in this claim. The author of Four Quartets and Murder in the Cathedral, who was born in St Louis on 26 September 1888, but lived and died in London, has always projected a rather spectral persona.
From his haunting recitation of The Waste Land (“Unreal city …”) to his cadaverous alter ego, Old Possum, and his fascination with clairvoyants such asMadame Sosostris, Eliot has always been a sombre, other-worldly figure in the literary landscape.
In his afterlife, as an Anglo-American literary giant with a long shadow, the poet’s psychic exile has never been quite fully commuted. Despite a memorial stone in Poet’s Corner and the kind of instant recognition known to Shakespeare, Keats and Wordsworth, TS Eliot has no shrine to equal Stratford, Hampstead or Grasmere.
Even in his native America, Eliot has remained homeless. In New England, Concord celebrates Henry Thoreau. Emily Dickinson is remembered in Amherst, and Nathaniel Hawthorne in Salem.
In contrast, the founding father of Modernism and author of The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, seems remote and unaffiliated. For all his British citizenship and membership of the Church of England, Eliot has become strangely rootless.
But now, 50 years after his death, and two years after the passing of Valerie, his beloved second wife, Eliot’s ghost is being appeased. The Observer has learned that, in a remarkable coup, the poet’s estate has just acquired the Eliot family’s summer house by the sea, in Gloucester, Massachusetts. READ FULL STORY HERE
18 Edgemoor, Eastern Point ~ Photograph: © Estate of T.S. Eliot
Not only has the estate bought the house (for $1.3m), it plans to use it to promote Eliot’s life and works to his American readers. Reihill said: “By this time next year we hope to offer up to six poets, essayists or playwrights at a time a peaceful retreat to work on their projects. We’d also like to work with institutions of higher education to make it a centre for weekend symposia on Eliot or on poets and poetry related to him.”
View from the porch at 18 Edgemoor
Shared on FB by Eastern Point Lit House co-founder Chris Anderson.
Along with my recovery comes more energy, and I’m able to frame more photos at the gallery. On Saturday, I framed “Brace Cove, Eastern Point” and the map “Pigeon Cove, 1884.” I think we’ll be in pretty good shape for the holiday season, as I continue to deck the walls.
When watching, know that the first two minutes of the film were shot in Gloucester. I think you will be dazzled by the sheer numbers of Monarchs that travel through Cape Ann’s backyards and meadows during the peak of migration.
I began photographing the Monarchs in 2006, which was a year when we had an extraordinary number of Monarchs visiting our shores. At that time, I became determined that if ever again this phenomenon were to occur on Cape Ann, I was going to have the ability to document on film, rather than only through still images, this beautiful event for my community. It’s hard to imagine without observing and here you can see what I have wanted to share.
A Flight of Monarchs begins on a September day as first one and then passels of Monarchs begin to arrive to the fields and meadows of Cape Ann, carried across Massachusetts Bay on a tailwind. By the early evening light they begin to pour into the surrounding trees, clustering to stay warm in the branches furthest away from the prevailing breezes. The following morning as the sun begins to touch their wings, they alight from the trees, seeking the freshest wildflowers from which to drink nectar to help build their lipid reserves for the several thousand mile journey south. They drink and drink until the last of the sun’s rays dip below the tree line. As they arrived on a tailwind, they again depart, and are carried to the next gathering area. For coastal Monarchs, Allens Pond, which is located in Westport, Massachusetts is often the next stop.
In the next scene, the butterflies have arrived to the sacred oyamel fir forests of Angangueo, Michoacán, deep in the heart of the Trans-Mexican Volcanic Belt. It’s early morning and the butterflies are suspended in great primordial branched clusters that may become so heavy from the weight of so many butterflies the boughs of the trees bend to the breaking point. Later in the day, as the sun begins to warm their wings, the butterflies begin to stir. During the winter, it is imperative that the Monarch’s body temperature remains relatively low. They leave the sunniest branches in search of shade and a drink of water from nearby mountain streams. Occasionally in late February, as the air temperatures begin to warm with the coming springtime, for a short period during the day, the butterflies leave the trees all at once. This phenomenon is called a butterfly “explosion,” and is a truly magnificent event to observe.
A Flight of Monarchs is set to the evocative and tender “Fields of Blue,” written and performed by composer and guitarist Jesse Cook and his band, to which permission was granted by the artist for the purpose of this short film. Here is a link to Cook’s website. I highly, highly recommend attending a live performance of Jesse Cook and Company. As was I, you will be completely taken by their gorgeous music, exquisite artistry, and with Cook’s songwriting, will travel in beautiful melodies inspired from around the world.
I am currently editing my feature length documentary, Beauty on the Wing, which after months and months of organizing and editing three years of footage, is currently running at approximately twelve hours in length. At eleven hours too long, I have a great deal of editing to accomplish in the coming winter months!
A Flight of Monarchs presented here is the shorter version of the film that I created for the Berkshire Museum’s “Butterflies” exhibit. The first version is six minutes long and played on a continuous loop in the main gallery of the exhibit hall. The longer version will soon be posted on Vimeo.
After a day of madly painting interior rooms, whipping our home into shape for the holidays, and for Liv’s upcoming wedding, I took a walk to get out of the paint fumes in what I had hoped would be a lifting fog. Instead of dissipating, around every bend in the road the fog became increasingly dense. Albeit beautifully atmospheric, I imagined how dangerous it would be to be aboard a ship in the heavy fog and wouldn’t have wanted for anything to be a sailor or fisherman yesterday.
Out on Eastern Point this morning great flocks of seagulls were riding the waves while the Niles Pond swans and ducks were tucked into their shoreline retreats. The cormorants were many and could be seen clustering on rocky perches all around the inner harbor.
I only stayed for a moment at the Brace Cove berm because the waves were so tremendous that it really didn’t feel safe. I am glad to report though that at 10:30 this morning the narrowest slip of land that prevents Niles Pond from becoming Brace Cove’s salt marsh appears to have weathered this October nor’easter.
While filming B-roll for several projects I caught the sunrise at Brace Cove this October morning. The seals were awakening, as were the swan couple, the cormorants and gulls stretching wide their wings, and the songbirds breaking fast on the abundance of wild berries and seed heads found along the berm at Niles Pond. Click image to see full size.
I’m actually pretty sure it is coyote scat. I have been coming across these piles recently (pretty large dog poop size piles) in the road and on the sidewalks along Eastern Point. At first I thought they were left behind by very inconsiderate dog owners, but then started seeing them out in the road, where I can’t imagine any conscientious dog owner would allow their dog to do their do. If you look close, you can see berries or something in there that I don’t think of as typical dog diet stuff. Anyone have any other ideas?
While walking very early by Niles Pond one morning recently, the peace and serenity of the place was suddenly shattered by the persistent distressed crying of a duck at the far wooded end of the pond. I looked for her and the cause of her distress, but it took some time to locate her in the reeds. Then I saw the reason for her mournful cries. This coyote had apparently gotten her mate and possibly her babies as well. I couldn’t see what he was feeding on, but her cries made it obvious that it was something very dear to her, and since there was no mate at her side, I assumed he must have been watching the nest while she went out to feed and was caught unawares by the coyote.
When I started photographing, both he and the duck looked in my direction. He seemed to know I was too far away to be of any concern to him, so he yawned and went on about his business. The duck however kept looking in my direction and crying, as though pleading with me to do something. My heart went out to that poor devastated creature. I know coyotes need to eat, and it is better for him to feed on a duck than someone’s pet cat or dog, but it still made for a sad start to my day, and a much sadder start for her’s. The coyote however was satisfied.