The People Who Dig Holes

The people who dig holes is the translation of Hammonasset, the Indians who populated the area near Hammonasset State Park in Connecticut. Connecticut, by the way, means "upon the long river" from the Indian word quinatucquet. Why these people dug holes is a mystery to me. Most Indians lived near fresh water sources in woodlands, although they probably hunted shores and salt meadows.

This Ringbill Gull was spotted on our wanderings in Hammonasset, specifically Meigs Point, the easternmost portion of the state park. The rocky beach in this section is littered with small slipper shells. The part of the beach is also a moraine. Moraines are spots where glaciers either end or stop and begin the melt, depositing rock usually in a east-west direction. Long Island is a grand example of a major moraine. When the glacier was warmed by the ocean, it melted as fast as it advanced, leaving Long Island. Smaller moraines can be seen as islands in Long Island Sound and the Connecticut coast.

Looking at Connecticut's salt meadows using aerial photos or google earth, shows there have been attempts to drain them. I don't know if this particular salt meadow was trenched for drainage. Now there are attempts to preserve the salt meadows. 

An old road at the edge of a salt meadow is preserved but crumbling. It appears this rea may have been an fruit orchard at one time.

MEIGS POINT

Tomorrow will be a good day

to return to Meigs Point

If you come with me

let it be at a time

where the tide is dead low

That is the best

for viewing the distant

hills and cliffs of Long Island

Most people will turn west to stroll

the boardwalk on Hammonasset Beach

We won't do that Instead

we will take the narrow easterly path

through the remaining

beach roses mostly rose hips now

We will stop to savor the last vestiges

of late summer evening primrose

mullein wild cucumber Note that

the staghorn sumac berries are ripening

Be aware that the poison ivy

wants to slip into something

more comfortable a seductive red

which says touch me if you dare

Soon we will arrive at a small

curved beach stony little sand

The beach will be deserted except

for a show of sea lavender

There we will look out onto the Sound

at sailboats riding the wind slicing

the waves Salt air will fill our lungs

and intoxicate our minds

When I return come with me

Tomorrow will be a good day

Poem: Gordy Whiteman (2011)