There is no denying the sea’s rise on a small island in the Bay of Fundy. Every year I lose several feet of hillside where my property slopes down to the shore, a new raw wound in the earth, spruce trees leaning on their way to the big fall. In places accessible to heavy equipment, a guy who works with rocks has been armoring the shores against the winter storms that tear away her coast. A friend who knows him says he is a genius, the way he can build a wall of stone up against an eroding cliff, making the slope just so, the pitch just right. Sure, planting a line of stones above the tide-line on a beach may not look impressive, but further along the shore the challenges are steep. Anticipating the effects of climate change and knowing how to armor ourselves against the dangers are survival skills for a rapidly changing planet.
The basaltic cobble comes from the western part of the island. It’s a gift of the rift volcano that happened 201 million years ago as the super-continent Pangaea was breaking up and a rift 30 kilometers wide by 70 kilometers long opened up. Basalt forms from basaltic lava flows that cool and crack, often into hexagonal columns. The towering cliffs on the island’s western shore are made of columnar basalt. When they crumble, they leave stones with flat surfaces that make them good for piling up into relatively stable armor. I’m surprised we don’t have any stone houses on the island. My woods, under the moss and ferns, are a mess of basaltic cobble. But timber has also been wildly abundant here, I suppose a bit easier to handle in the days when the houses and fish sheds were all homemade.
If you want to geek out on this geology, here’s a link to a fine poster by geologist Greg McHone, who like me spends summers on Grand Manan and winters in southern Arizona.
Being in Canada gives me a degree of remove and comfort from the brutalities and sorrows of living in the United States during its crisis. But its crisis is a crisis for all because of decisions and policies that effect global health and climate. I’m happy to see Canada stand up for its dignity and become more of a leader on the world stage.
For the Fourth of July I posted this:
July 4th, 2025. A good day to declare independence from monstrous leaders working to destroy what's best about America: we are all in this together, we love our beautiful land and work to protect it, we believe in justice not cruelty, equality not power, sharing not grifting, truth not lying, family camping trips not concentration camps. I pledge allegiance to being an American of conscience and caring.
But some days I can’t take another news item—every day a new list of outrages and lies. So I take walks with Coco, enjoying some beach therapy in the music of lapping waves and plant therapy in the wild profusion of summer in the North. This morning we went to the Anchorage Provincial Park, walked the beach all the way to the outlet, where a stream flows out of the wetlands that surround Big Pond. Coco is a contemplative dog. She’ll stop along the way and stare into space, nostrils twitching. I think she is experiencing “the view” in the richness of her olfactory ability, the way I savor the view with my visual acuity.
Today we found what I’m pretty sure is an otter path leading from the wetland through the beach peas and grasses down to the beach.
We found cow parsnip and buttercup in bloom side by side.
We found natural beauty to armor the spirit, thankful for some moments of calm. Pass it on.
This is beautiful! Thank you for sharing your gorgeous lands that take you back every summer. By chance, Alison, do you have a copy of the poem you wrote while staying at Sunglow Ranch so many years ago? If so, I would love a copy of it. I have gone through so much of my 'stuff' from the Ranch, but still haven't come across it. I would hate to think it lost to the ravages of time.