PINE NEEDLES

You will be one of the first to read about this.
Several years ago an abandoned cobweb in the upper, left-hand corner of my office window caught a pair of dry pine needles. They were joined at one end and spread like open tweezers at the other. I can’t remember what project was pressing at the time. I’m sure it had many difficulties, they always did, and the moment I noticed them the pine needles offered a fascinating distraction.
They almost always moved. In a light breeze, they would vibrate. In a strong wind, they would dance a crazy ballet. On quiet, foggy mornings the needles darkened with moisture from tan to dark brown as bead of dew formed slowly on the tip of the lower needle. It collecting gray light like a luminescent gem. As the bead grew, gathering weight, it bent the needle, and when the bead finally fell, the needle sprang back dramatically. Fascinating!
I once heard of a writer who worked with a big dictionary on his lap, not to check his spelling, but to keep from jumping up from his desk between every sentence.
I wasn’t writing any sentences. A whole hour might pass before I even sat at my desk, and from there, I could still see how the wind tossed the needles or if one was bending with the weight of dew.
In those days, my goal was a thousand words a day, four typewritten pages. Normally, I would get that much done in the morning, leaving the afternoon free for rewriting or research. Now I found myself still struggling to meet the quota at the end of the day. Something had to be done if I were to meet my publisher’s deadline.
I suppose I lost patience with myself, recognizing the needles as a foolish obsession or indulgence, some kind of weakness that had to be overcome. So I went into the office one morning, vowing not to look at the needles until after I completed four pages of new work.
For the first day in weeks, the writing flowed. And when finished I wasted no more than a few minutes on the needles, making sure they were still there, responding as it happened that morning to a light breeze.
Productive day followed productive day. The needles, instead of a distraction, had become a kind of mantra. Soon it seemed I would meet the deadline with a days to spare. I was so pleased that I wanted to shout, but of course, I had to keep quiet about my needles.
In our family, the news would invite merciless teasing or even ridicule, but worse, the needles had to remain a secret to keep their beneficial effect. I don’t believe in magic spells, but there was no question that the pine needles had a magic effect on me.
As you might guess, one morning after a storm I came into the office and found both web and needles gone. By then I was about to put the manuscript in the mail. All my thoughts and energy were focused on the next project.
At the time I may have shrugged and told myself I could work without pine needles, but that turned out to be true. As the years passed with one project following the next, I forgot about the pine needles and my dependence on them.
Last week, however, I found a fresh cobweb in the window with a pair of pine needles stuck in the mesh. The memory came back like a stab. So did some unsettling emotions. Very unsettling. It had been ten years, but I even wondered briefly if I should write another book.
Just briefly. I got a broom and promptly stepped outside. You can’t have cobwebs cluttering up the windows. It makes the place look tacky.
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  ¶ 10:02 AM

  CRUSADER RABBIT

Crusader Rabbit in his quest
To spread the faith both east and west
Perhaps will find it passing odd
That his is not the only god.

Would that he could curb his zeal
And try to learn how others feel.

PS.
He’ll win no converts in Iraq
Until he brings his army back.
12/1705

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  ¶ 8:52 AM

  FOAMING IN THE GLOAMING

On Tomales Bay from time to time, long rafts of white foam float with the tide, sometimes stacking up five or six inches high, almost as high as the gunnels of my row boat. It looks like detergent, and I assumed some kind of pollution, perhaps run-off from the dairies, was to blame.

It turns out, however, that a fungus common to the upper tidelands produces this stuff. Fucus gardneri has inflated ends or receptacles that house the business of reproduction. These apparently break away after a busy night and form great quantities of foam.

Perhaps you have seen these white, bubbly clumps in the ocean surf where the wind sometimes catches them and leaves them in great reefs on the beach. You pronounce “Fucus,” by the way, like “mucus,” and apparently it feels like it, too.

All this fascinating information comes from Michael Mery of Point Reyes, one of those who keeps a special watch on our bay.

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  ¶ 11:26 AM