June 2022 --



In this edition,

we offer these unique

observations

from poets and writers who are inspired

by our beautiful

Herring River Estuary. 

Thanks to all of our contributors!



THREE HAIKUS


Herring River freed

eel meandering through marsh

sunshine on its back.

 

Quiet water flows

allowed again to rejoice

fresh and salt embrace.

 

Crabs and herons meet

swaying grasses wave and dance

frogs, ospreys, herring.

 

Leo Thibault   



RUN, HERRING

 

It’s April and the herring will soon run.

Today I saw the gulls standing at ready, along the banks

waiting for the sleek little fish to arrive, after their long

 treacherous journey upstream.

I could be angry at the birds at their hard round eyes alert

for any sign of the alewives bellies filled with eggs,

gelatinous sacks of fish-life about to become the new generation

 

It would be easy to blame the gulls for their callous disregard

of how hard the fish work   how they drive themselves forward

through weather and tides and boulders that block their way.

But I’m not   not angry

They are just looking for a meal

This yearly migration provides an easy one

All they have to do is wait along the edge of the stream

 

Perched on fences and shorelines and rocks and little bridges

until the pregnant fish arrive collecting at the bottom of the rocky steps

pushing uphill the last big challenge before they settle into still water

to release their load of thousands

The birds wait impassive vigilant

leaving white excrement everywhere

 

It isn’t quite time

But they’ve got their seat in the orchestra section

Belting out honks and squawks as they scan the river,

fat grey and white expectant sentries

 

Sometimes it’s too hard to see what comes next

How the gulls swoop and dive for weeks, snatching the fish

and swallowing them whole  triumphant

with no thought for how urgent the mission    how desperate the fish

to arrive at the place where their lives end   after all that

To become just one of hundreds of thousands of alewives

who never make it    despite the heroic effort

 

It seems so unjust

I always cry after a visit to the herring run

This despite the fact that the fish are always willing to return

And the seagulls are filled with what they love.

 

Margaret Rice Moir

 

THE HERRING RIVER, WELLFLEET

 

Millennia

Every spring sleek herring

in the millions swam from salty bay

four miles up the Herring River

to the spring-fed kettle ponds

of their freshwater birth.

Full-grown, finned, they let go

clouds of eggs and fertilizing milt

on the sandy bottoms. Weeks later

silvery small fry wriggled their way

out of the ponds, downriver,

into the bay, out past the Cape’s tip

to the Atlantic Ocean.

Do we know

where the herring go

in that vastness?


1908-1910

The town votes

to dike the Herring River:

for mosquito control, for land reclamation,

for income from tourism they hope.

“All work was completed

on May 24, 1910, the total cost,

including supervision

and incidental expenses,

being $20,548.86.”

 

The dike reduces the river’s mouth

from 400 feet to 6 feet

virtually ending

the daily flushing of the tides

to 1100 acres of marsh grasses.

Over the next decades:

invasive weeds, shrubs, trees,

sulfuric acid, stagnant waters,

the end to much wildlife,

no end to mosquitoes.

Fewer and fewer herring run

upriver to the ponds,

fewer and fewer each year.

 

2015 and Beyond: Restoration

Slowly the mouth

will be widened, over years;

effects monitored, analyzed.

Water will flow and overflow

in places it has not been

in over a century.

Will the river

be restored?

Will we ever fish again

at the eastern shore

of Bound Brook Island

below the Atwood-Higgins house,

near the shimmering birches?     

 

Sharon Dunn

Sharon Dunn has just published An Island in Time: Exploring Bound Brook Island, Its Land & People, Its Past & Present 

  


SchoolHse_W0865.jpg

SNAKE CREEK ROAD

 

Snaking along the Herring River, near its estuary,

unassuming Way 672 lies in wait.

Lilies of the valley carpet the path,

raspberries and mushrooms nourish.

 

I see the coyote den,

the iris pool,

the briar patch,

towering pines,

scrub oaks.

Walking there is calming, I once thought.

 

Narottam imagined he was back in the sub-tropical Chitwan of Nepal.

He knew about snakes there,

mostly, the banded krait,

shiny black, five feet to the tip of its very narrow tail,

it kills hundreds each year,

competing to be the most venomous land snake in the world.

 

Trembling a bit as he noted the name of the road,

he had to ask, “Are there snakes here?”

 

“Yes, but I never see them.”

 

As I explained why I’d never seen snakes along Snake Creek,

Nature and Narottam proved me wrong.

Ignoring my patient search for snakes,

a huge black racer leaped from the brush onto his chest.

 

Black and similar sized,

the black racer could be confused with the banded krait,

though they don’t compete for the venomous crown.

They prefer small mammals, snakes, and insects to people,

and this one quickly left the scene.

 

What could we do?

We launched the canoe,

and soon lost ourselves,

floating amidst cattails, yellow water lilies, duckweed,

two swans accompanied us for a ways,

a river otter came close enough to say hello.


Chip Bruce

Herring.JPG

I remember and mourn

 

Over fifty years, I have watched

the Herring River change.


Its tributaries have dried up.

Maybe a trickle still flows.


People have built in what

were wetlands I remember.


I used to paddle a kayak

where it’s too shallow now.


I remember that river when

it was far more alive.


May it flow again bringing back

creatures no longer there.


Copyright 2022 Marge Piercy

Box 1473, Wellfleet MA 02667

hagolem75@gmail.cm



MY UNIQUE EXPERIENCE


Our family had the privilege of residing in Wellfleet for thirty-six years. I am a berry picker since a child but in the 1980's I began picking again, this time blackberries, huckleberries, beach plums, and cranberries in Wellfleet, on occasion, at the Herring River.

 

Bill Broadbent, a fellow picker and true Cape Codder and I began at 5:30 a.m. on a lovely summer morning to pick on Chequessett Road. As we drove up the road, ready to park the car in the small lot, we noticed on the right a group of people, standing on the bridge looking down at the water. They then moved in unison to the left side of the bridge still focusing on the water below. I noticed on the left, across the street, a single bagpiper standing on a rock in full regalia. Bill parked the car at the Herring River lot along our familiar path and we started walking with our containers and long sleeve shirts for protection against the thorns of the blackberry bushes. 

 

It seems we picked for a glorious half-hour when we heard in the distance, sounds of heavenly music. We could not believe what we were hearing: it was the hymn "Amazing Grace" played by the piper. 

 

I found out later reading in the "New York Times" that on that same date, there was a memorial service in honor of a Mr. Cohen, a poet from Morristown, NJ, ironically a town located five miles from my N.J. home. Mr. Cohen wished his ashes to be distributed at the Herring River dyke when the tides change and the "sweet water mixes with the salt water." Little did Bill and I know that we were part of a memorial service. 

 

Something I will never forget.

 

Mary Ann Tramutola 



The Return      

(for the Herring River Restoration Project)


Home sweet home croon pigeons and people,

snails ensconced in their nacred RV’s,


terns inheriting round-trip tickets

Brazil to Cape Cod Bay,


eels who recite the ancient songline

from shore to Sargasso Sea and back,


herring unerringly seeking their fortunes in far-flung waters,

retracing their way to the place of their birth             


despite distance and currents and sea gull gullets,

despite all, except these man-made walls.


Like herring without a river run,

we’re dammed by our own ambition,


desperate to breach our dis-ease,

to retie the tides to freshwater torrents,


plunge through a cascade of grace

to guide our way back home.


Chuck Madansky


• Photo: The black, very thin S shape at center

right, is a baby eel, or elver, heading upstream in our river.

Richard Bailey




Many thanks to Lucile Burt and Lynn Southey who generously spent time alerting the talented poets and writers about this call for creative works inspired by the Herring River. 

.While the herring are swimming upstream, you, too, can make a splash!

Please help Friends of Herring River by donating to our Spring Appeal


Adopt a Fish  Donate $25.00


Adopt a School of Fish  Donate $100.00


Adopt a Run Donate $250.00


Become a Herring Hero  Donate $1,000.00


With a donation of any amount, you are helping to protect the fish



Friends of Herring River serves a vital role in the Restoration Project as the non-profit, non-governmental partner helping to facilitate progress to restore the health of the Herring River and over a thousand acres of highly productive salt marsh. The successful restoration of this essential coastal ecosystem depends upon our efforts – educating the public, coordinating project activities, securing and administering project funds, conducting outreach programs, and supporting scientific research and monitoring.


But we can’t do our part without you. Please consider

making a gift today to support us.


Together, we can make a difference for our community, for our environment, and for generations to come. 


To donate, please click here

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Info@HerringRiver.org
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Herring River Currents is a publication of Friends of Herring River and includes events, art, literature, poetry, photography, history and culture inspired by the Herring River watershed in Wellfleet and Truro, Massachusetts. Thanks for reading and thanks to our contributors.


Lisbeth Wiley Chapman, Editor

bchapman@herringriver.org

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