Today Maggie Mae and I went to Lake Ferry. I thought it would be really windy and cold but in fact it was quite warm with only a slight breeze.
When we got there I parked by Lake Oneke which is a tidal lake that runs into the sea at Lake Ferry. And I thought about how Lake Ferry isn't a lake at all just a place called Lake Ferry on the South Wairarapa coast where there is a pub and where the ferry across Lake Wairarapa left from. Today the tide was out and the lines and marks were very sinuous.
From the car as we walked around the tidal outflow from the lake the black backed gulls up on the cliffs started wheeling in the sky, crying a calling urgently as if they were issuing a warning to somebody. Maybe they had nests and fledglings on the cliff.
Where the out flow from the lake meets the sea it is always wild and disturbed. People have drowned here not realising the power of the sea.
As we walked on closer to the coast I became aware of the ocean constantly moving and waves forming to break regularly onto the shore. I listened and each wave sounded slightly different - a regular irregularity
Maggie Mae dug up a treat - yuk and I found red seaweed - beautiful.
As we walked along the beach I could see people fishing in the distance and that became my goal, to walk to there and then turn around and come back to the car.
Listening to the sea I could hear the sounds of the "sand" as the waves broke and dragged smaller and smaller pebbles back rattling and rolling down towards the sea. Lake Ferry does not have sand, the shore line is marked by grey pebbles that are gradually worn into smaller and smaller bits, but always very coarse.
On our way back I stopped to use paint and brushes on site - something I have been wanting to do.
We walked back to the car further up the beach closer to the high tide mark and found such treasures as "ready-rusted" wire. And I wondered at the way the sea always creates such neat tidy piles of treasures that are dotted along at the high tide mark
And now we are home, Maggie Mae is resting, it is a long way on such short wee legs, and I am thinking about my ready-rusted wire and a collection of small treasures from Lake Ferry for tomorrow in the studio.
"I paint flowers so they do not die." Frida Kahlo