Bethel Beach

Last week I stopped at Bethel Beach to snap a few photos.

There was nothing terribly exciting to photograph, just the usual.

Sky, water, marsh grasses.  Same old, same old.

After snapping a few pictures, I started towards home.

Just when I thought the trip was going to be nothing out of the ordinary,

I happened upon some mischievous goats scampering along the roadside.

They were also scampering in the road.

(All of a sudden I love the word "scamper.")

This bunch escaped from their pen before.

I wrote about it here.

On the loose, they know good 

and well they're doing something wrong, 

and they're going to enjoy every second of it.

The one on the left is saying, "What are you lookin' at?"
The one on the right is saying, "Bite me."
Really, I heard them. Loud and clear.

So, a routine jaunt that started out boring ended with a baaaaaang.

(That's supposed to be a weak attempt at humor--the sound of a goat even if sheep are the ones who make the baaah sound.  But I think goats do too.  Even if they don't, today I declare that goats do in fact baah. They also look hilarious while biting themselves.)

The End.

Scenes from Haven

Last week I was finally able to make it down to Haven Beach for the first time since Hurricane Irene. I am pleased to report the beach is still there; however, as with other storms, lines and boundaries have been redrawn ever so slightly.

The shot below is looking left as you walk from the parking lot.  When I was a kid, the beach on this side extended much further out, and if memory serves me there was at least one tree out there right on the beach.

By the way, memory very rarely serves me these days, but I think I'm right about this.  Except I don't think I mean "when I was a kid," I think I mean "only ten or fifteen minutes years ago." I am struggling with the concept of time and age (among many other things) at the moment.

In addition, when I say there was one tree out there, I realize there are a thousand pine trees bordering that beach, but there was a tree right on the beach.  And that beach hooked much farther out into the water.  Also, I'm tired so none of this makes any sense.  Let's get back to the blog post already faltering in progress.  

One very noticeable change is how much the beach has been shoved back.

Really?  "Shoved back"?  Well, yes, that seems to be the best way I can describe it right now, after a very long day.  The beach has been shoved back. Final answer.

Where the sand meets the marsh grass below there is a very noticeable, sudden drop. That sand was shoved blown back a couple of storms ago.  Each nor'easter or tropical storm or hurricane shoves pushes the sand farther and farther back.

I am pleased to report that the haunted swamp (below) remains relatively unchanged.

OK, so the woods, not the swamp, has the reputation of being haunted.  But surely the swamp is involved somehow, especially when boundaries are shifting with each and every storm.  

No ghosts were spotted this trip, sadly, although there were countless mutant/ninja dive-bombing horseflies, which were bigger than your average ghost and twice as frightening.

The End.