Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

The thing I most appreciate about the Lumix, and having a camera always with me, is that I can now see something and have an idea and instead of saying to myself, "I should have brought my camera," I can now immediately follow through on my thought (which, on some days is either good or bad, depending on how frantically I'm trying to get through my day with no interruptions). Yesterday, as I set out to walk up to the post office, I half-thought, "No need to bring the camera, I've seen every single thing on that walk a million times," but decided to bring it anyway (Why not? It's no bother. If anything, I have to remind myself it's there.).

Okay, nothing earth-shattering, but worth getting the camera out of the bag, and as good a summary of my mood during these corona-days as any.

Gasoline, Daffodils, and Surf

Today's meandering took me through Vineyard Haven, along North Road to Menemsha (where I was surprised, but not really, to find a parking lot half-full), then, with a vague idea of visiting Lobsterville Beach, found myself instead pulling in to Squibnocket (I can rarely drive past Squibnocket without turning in; old habits and loves die hard), where the surf was a delightful 3-4' and breaking beautifully off of the muscle bed - my old stomping grounds. Two surfers were out and getting good rides, and a few surfers were in the parking lot in various stages of either getting ready to go in, or finishing up a session. I was tickled by the smiles and waves I got as I drove in - prompted, I'm sure, by the fact that I was driving my van with the surf racks on top. Seeing the waves and the surfers - oh, and it was a beautiful sunny day, too, with very little wind - made me wish two things: one, that I had brought my big camera with my long lenses (I have dedicated myself for the past two months to using the Lumix only, partly to completely and deeply learn the thing, and partly because it's so light and handy and I'm sick of carrying all the heavy stuff); and my second wish was that I had a wet suit and could do a little spring surfing.



I've photographed this old gas pump on North Road I don't know how many times - with daffodils, covered with snow, and everything in between. I've never found out what the story is on this defunct side-of-the-road gas pump. Was it a gas station once upon a time? Was it a private pump for a farmer? You can't see the price anymore, but, as I remember, its last sale was at .49/gallon.

What is the word for this? Irony? Dichotomy? Incongruity? I'll settle for charming.



I couldn't resist telling this surfer that I was one of the original surfers here in 1968. I could imagine his thoughts: "Good for you Grandma, get back in your rocking chair."








(Below) South Road, Chilmark. Many Vineyarders make a point of up-island daffodil tours at this time of year to "see the yellow."

A Pool of Daffodils

A poem by Alison Boylston Piazza.

Every winter, year after year,

We wait for signs of spring to appear,

As we struggle through wind and snow and frost.

But then, when it seems all hope is lost,

A fountain of forsythia spills

Into a pool of daffodils.