May 17, 1984 - The Fragrances of SpringPage 10A
The Suffolk Times
A N � M_ � 4
Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh
MATING HORSESHOE CRABS -- Horseshoe crabs in their annual ritual
of laying eggs along the hightide line often are left stranded high and
dry. Here they await the return of the tide when once again they will
disappear into deeper waters.
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May 17,1984
The Fragrances of Spring
By PAUL STOUTENBURGH
Have you ever walked by a fragrant
spring blossoming lilac just after an
evening rain? That's an experience that
whips you into another world. Fragrance
is something you never forget; it
becomes part of you and whenever you're
exposed to "that" particular fragrance
again, it all comes back. You are on
memory lane.
I did just that tonight and it brought
back frontyard memories of years ago
where my Dad raised his very special
French lilacs. I don't think he had
anything against the common kind for
they had a place equally as important in
the backyard, but his big deep purple and
white varieties were for the frontyard.
As a kid, lilacs meant only one thing:
the weakfish were running, and before
we could experience the pleasure of
fishing, we were happy just to run down
to the creek in the evening to see how
they were doing.
In those early days, poles were for the
city folk mostly and the more reliable
tarred line, hand thrown from shore, was
standard equipment. Round and round
the line would sail with its heavy leaden
sinker at the end, and two hooks -- one
about a foot off the bottom, the other
about three feet off -- with their flag of
white squid flying in the breeze. Out it
would shoot like Goliath's mighty sling.
More than halfway across the creek it
would travel, disappearing with a far-
away c- l- u -n -k.
Fishing Needs Patience
Patience is an absolute must for
fishing from shore. By the hour, men
would stand with old kerosene lanterns
glowing yellow by their sides. An
occasional holler up the shore to a friend
would be the only word spoken. There
they would wait with that inner hope of
a strike.
Of course, there were always those
occasions when an eel would be hauled in
and a few choice words would be uttered
over the long black creature as it wound
itself in and out of the line creating a
complete tangle.
As kids, patience was not yet a true
virtue and we'd go exploring along the
shores to find something exciting to do.
As it is now, a full moon and a high tide
set the stage for a ritual that has gone on
for millions of years. It is then that the
horseshoe crabs come out of the deep to
lay their eggs in the sands of the high
hightide line. Here we'd track them down
and watch their ancient hulks plow deep
into the sand where the eggs would be
laid. The male, attached to the larger
female, fertilized the eggs behind her.
Who could find the biggest one?
"Look over here. There's three
together."
"Come up this way. There's a bunch up
9@QM� oM
MaQMR,g
here." And, of course, during this
excitement sneakers and socks became
soaked, but things like that mattered
little.
What would draw us back to the
fishermen would be action on the beach.
When one of the men hauled in a line
hand - over -hand and then walked
backwards up the beach, that meant
there was a fish or. Out it would come,
huge and silvery, ,plashing and jumping
as it thrashed about in the water and then
on the high sands above.
As we grew older, we became the
fishermen and tarred lines were
forgotten. Old varnished bamboo poles
and reels took over. No longer did we fish
from shore but now in a boat anchored
midway in the channel. In place of the
kerosene lanterns, gas lights threw their
whitish light while hissing at you all
night.
What didn't change was the bait. Squid
still did its job and lured the weakfish to
our hooks. Though they were fewer in
number, they still held that special joy
one gets from landing a fish at night by
the light of a lamp whether it's kerosene,
gas lamp or flashlight. One never tires of
looking at these handsome fish. I guess
it's something like looking at sunsets;
one never tires of seeing them no matter
how often the sun goes down. I believe
early man must have stopped and
admired beauty even then.
The Right Environment
No one really knows why we enjoy
music, appreciate art or delight in a far
off scene. These feelings are buried deep
within us and have been passed on
through generations. Everyone has these
feelings. The key is the environment
must be just right for them to bloom.
Just today the wind was blowing
strongly out of the southwest and out
back the rye fields swayed in an ever -
moving carpet of green. It seemed as
though the rye had jumped out of the
ground by over a foot in the last few days.
Even the seed heads were forming on top
and as I looked across this 40 acres of
green, anyone would have had to agree it
was a beautiful sight. An ocean of
movement. How fortunate we are to be
able to enjoy the fruits of life. Could it be
said it is the ability to appreciate that
sets us above all other animals? I believe
it is.
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