A few hundred yards out of the Aquarium parking garage on my way to Fanueil Hall for the opening session, my umbrella blew inside out and twisted into a postmodern sculpture showing the agony of living in New England. I stepped in a calf-deep puddle. I returned to the car for the backup umbrella. That one held for the 5 minute walk to Fanueil Hall.
Checked in at the registration desk. Disappointed that registration packet did not contain dry socks. Took socks off and listened to panelists barefoot. Took off wet linen shirt and shivered in T-shirt, figuring it was warmer that way.
William Warner (Beautiful Swimmers) read a wonderful piece about a youthful encounter with a den of porcupines. Emily Hiestand read a childhood memoir about squirting a neighbor with a hose - repeatedly. Robert Finch read a stunning piece about spending a night lost in the dunes on Cape Cod and getting snowbound in Harry Kemp's cabin. Louis Simpson read an essay about literature and belief and a poem about garbage that transcended everything. I stopped noticing my cold feet.
The morning workshop on natural history writing was right up my alley. This is what I want to do. Three panelists: Robert Finch, John Hanson Mitchell, and William Warner. They each read a short piece and then we had question/answer/discussion. I took more notes at this session than the whole rest of the day. John read from Walking to Walden. A passage about the Westford gravel pit as wasteland. My office at MASSCOMP looked out over that gravel pit for 5 years! (I moved to a different office for my final year there to my regret). I've written poems about that gravel pit. It ain't no wasteland! Two red tailed hawks made it their hunting ground. I saw them every day. It's also the first place I saw a killdeer do the broken wing distraction display to keep me away from the nest. The discussion moved on before I got a chance to say anything to him about that so I plotted to buy his book at the booksigning in the afternoon and tell him then.
Lunch was surprisingly good for box lunch. Diane Ackerman was stranded in NY (that darn nature again) so we had two substitute speakers: Richard Lourie and Chris Joyce. Both were wonderful. I wanted to talk to Richard Lourie afterward about Russia but he got away.
I bought a pair of socks with penguins on them at the gift shop so was somewhat more comfortable for the afternoon.
The afternoon session on Environmental Journalism had its moments but it wasnt' as electrifying as the morning session. And it was a harder to hear over the subway (which runs underneath the aquarium's education center) in that room. Speakers were Roger Stone (Voyage of the Sanderling), Scott Allen of the Boston Globe, and Joni Praded of Animals magazine.
Alas, when I got to the book signing John Mitchell had left a pile of signed books and gone to catch a plane to another engagement or something. (Dunno how he could've caught a plane anywhere as most of the airlines had not resumed flying even by 5:00PM). I'll have to drop him a note about the gravel pit.
The drive home in the rain and wind was even more exciting that the drive down there as more roads were flooded. Flooded roads pose dangers I hadn't thought of. You can't see what you've just run over if it's under water.
I stopped at Computer City on the way home to buy a data transfer switch so I can plug the scanner and the modem into the same port. I came out of Computer City and thought I had walked to the wrong car. My car couldn't possibly have a flat tire. But it did. I drove cautiously to a gas station, which was of no help. AAA's number was out of service (they were probably all towing wet vehicles). I drove more cautiously to another gas station that only charged 25 cents for air (the previous one charged 50 cents and the thing didn't work). Whatever degree of dryness I had achieved at the aquarium was obliterated in about 5 seconds of pumping air. It took 3 minutes to fill the tire. I worried the whole way home but it held.
The instant I got home, I stripped off the wet clothes, dried myself and put on flannel pajamas and dry socks. I sat with Wilbur and a cup of herbal tea, reflecting that overall it was still worth it.