Just a mile from JFK

as the crow flies, or more likely, as the osprey or redwing blackbird flies, sits a wildlife refuge run by the feds. On Monday I was headed back home from J-ka's wedding and doing a one-day-late Father's Day thing with the folks, and none of the open museums seemed all that appealing -- Jewish heritage, Tenement, Native American, it was like "delve into the lives of the oppressed!", and we weren't in that kind of mood. Plus, given the changeable weather and impending thunderstorms, we thought being closer than further to the airport was a good idea. So I popped onto Google Maps and looked for green spaces, a favorite activity of mine back in Oakland (well, with old-school paper maps, but even so), when I would find a green space that was of interest and excurse my way on over. This time, in Feedy's Chelsea office, I found out what the mystery green space was that we'd drive by each week en route to the Coney Island grandparents -- all three of us native New Yorkers (some for almost 7 decades now) and none of us had known. Less than half a mile off the road it was peaceful as could be, and the only motors you could hear were the jet planes periodically taking off overhead (not pictured).
As always, the East Coast nature felt a lot more subtle than West Coast, but if you paid a little attention to what was around you, you were amply rewarded. I'm not sure where we are in terms of wildflower season in Queens, but things here were looking pretty good, if, as so frequently happens, completely unidentifiable.
Well, ok, the above fauna perfectly identifiable as the Parental Pangeans, but it took some concerted internet research to identify this lovely flower as none other than valerian. The swamp version. Oh beloved valerian, most useful of sleep aids! And used to such excellent comic effect in Master and Margarita. If only I had known while walking nearby, I would have paid you the homage that you are due.
More familiar was the beach rose, which was found all over the Guyland when I was growing up-- here in bright pink,
and for some reason apparently more appealing to bugs, (semi) pristine white.
Completely unexpected, by contrast, was prickly pear cactus. In bloom here in West Hollywood right next door, but also in the salt marshes of Queens. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, and my own camera, I wouldn't have believed it.
Many years ago, in the mid-90s, I was taking my then-boyfriend's parents around Berkeley and we ended up in the botanical gardens, one of my favorite spots there. For some reason, his father and I decided that it would be a good idea to snack on one of the appealing prickly pear fruits surrounding us. So juicy! So cute! His mother, a master gardener and botanist, warned us that it would take more cleaning than just a scrape with my Swiss army knife. But we held steadfast and had our way. And spent the next two days removing prickles from around our mouths. Really, not one of my finest moments. Since then I treat this plant, and all of its kind, with the utmost respect, only rarely working up the courage to even order nopales in my taco. Looks all sweet and harmless, doesn't it. Hah.
Less identifiable, and presumably less dangerous, was this daisy-like lovely here. Mom wanted to steal one and plant it at home. But, worried about the feds just down the path in the interpretive center, she refrained.
Chamomile, while still sweet, is common enough to not be so much of a temptation.
And this darling little pink thing looked too delicate to make it all that far in a pocket.
Most appealing of all, at least to those of us with a sense of smell (on this Monday, this apparently meant just me) was the honeysuckle, in full bloom.
The parts of the path that were lined with the vines looked and smelled like nothing but summer.
Honeysuckle isn't so subtle, at least not in an olfactory way, but the local dragonflies were.
And it took a while of walking on the pondside path to realize that the white additions to the gravel were actually shells dropped by the gulls and terns that were all around us in order to get at the clams inside -- some of the shells were nearly intact (not pictured).
This little turtlelet blended in so well with its surroundings that we almost stepped on it. I know it looks visually quite obvious here, but trust me, in the afternoon sun it looked a lot like path.
When we passed it on the way back, it looked kind of scowly. And cowly, now that I'm looking again.
As with the turtle, it could sometimes take a few minutes for a scene to resolve and to understand just what you were looking at. The heron taking flight from the shallows, pretty obvious (not pictured, unfortunately). This grouping of birds, which was kind of far away, less so. With time, and optical + digital zoom, I realized that we were seeing a swan, many Canadian geese, some egrets,
and a bit further out, some cormorants drying off in the sun. Not quite sun, since it was actually overcast and with periodic thunderstorms. So maybe less drying off and more just hanging out. The east coast version is much grayer than the all-black ones I watch on the beaches here.
Did I mention a lot of geese? They crossed the road single file. In a quite long single file. To get to this little marshy spot here -- not clear what made this more appealing than other parts of the park.
A bit nicer to look at and listen to (and probably a bit less crappy) were the redwing blackbirds and the ospreys. The feds let the blackbirds fend for themselves, but the ospreys get their own deluxe wooden platform. There were babies in the nest.
They were noisy. Their parents seemed concerned, although really, without binoculars it's a bit difficult to read the avian facial expression.
Too fast to be captured on film, or in binary code, at least without learning a lot more about aperture manipulation, were the two kinds of swallows flying about. (Insert your own Monty Python joke here, but nb that there were no coconuts in sight, just those clam shells.)

It was a great hour and change, and made me a lot calmer when I was unable to move from standby to boarding for a pre-thunderstorm plane, and when the mid-thunderstorm plane was delayed by almost two hours. Being upgraded to business class helped a bit with that -- reclining seat with footrest for my wee little legs, personal media player, lots of drinkies, multi-course meal apparently designed by Charlie Trotter, hot towels, obsequious staff addressing me by (properly pronounced!) last name, this all made the trip a lot more bearable.

More on my more urban adventures at a later date -- now it's time to call the laundry repair people, because the building dryer won't start, and the dryer is integral to cat hair removal, so this simply will not do...