A college on the Bay

Today I took another walk on the promenade along Little Neck Bay. It was a chilly day —37º on my car's thermometer — yet not quite as cold as I had expected; my scarf was a little much, and I loosened it as I walked on. Surprisingly, there were very few people out.

Quickly, just beyond the shade of the Throgs Neck Bridge (if there had been any), I espied a duck which I knew wasn't just an ordinary sort:

a red-breasted merganser, my resident birding expert tells me (I should know the name by now, but I don't; though this one is different from the hooded merganser, of course).

It swam, or paddled, near a group of regular ducks and a sole seagull; seems a strange agglomeration of feathered ones, but who is a human to talk?

Fort Totten, which I've mentioned before, and which I have known for much of my life, lay ahead. It has been a constant presence for decades, and it is now a civilian site, to a significant degree. though there are FDNY and Coast Guard stations therein. It is no longer a military base.

Last week, as I walked along this very promenade, the day I encountered the red-tailed hawk, a platoon of trainees jogged on the trail, led with a firm voice by a, well, leader, who urged them to stay close and pick up the pace; methinks they were Fire Department trainees.

I continued on, picking up the sector of the promenade adjacent to the Cross Island Parkway. Already, a quarter to four on this cloudy afternoon, traffic was building up. I felt, not quite schadenfreude, for I do not wish commuters ill, having been one myself for many years; I'll say I felt relief at not being amidst that. Traffic is an evil we city dwellers accept as a necessary part of our lives, as we accept congestion and crowds: those are simply parts of life in the big city. Yet, are they as they need be? Is it impossible for life to be different? That is a discussion worth having, over lemonade or a pitcher, or even over a cup of hemlock; I contend we make them worse by our behavior. If we let a person or a car go in front of us, that would help the overall picture. But perhaps the biggest reason why people do not let that one go in front is the fear that others will, too. Being played for a sucker is a legitimate fear. I've been there. You let that one go, two others will push ahead, and you'll be left behind. But have you ever observed traffic on a highway? A car in the center lane moves into the left lane when that lane appears to be moving, but a few feet away a car moves out of the left lane into the center lane. Who's right?

I kept walking, clearing the south end of the Fort. There's a little inlet there; leeward, it provides shelter from the buffeting winds, and usually there are many birds to be seen, usually geese. Today, no wind, no birds. I went a bit further, and turned around. As I passed a little body of water, perhaps a pond, though I think of pond as something I see on a street after a big rain — wait, that's a puddle; never mind — suddenly I saw the big sweeping motion of a large bird. I had just been thinking it doesn't hang out here every day; I should feel lucky to have seen it last time, and I did feel so. Yet, here it was: the red-tailed hawk.

I took several pictures, and went on, smiling happily at my good fortune.

Further on, I looked across the Long Island Sound, north, and saw familiar sights. Throgs Neck Bridge and its twin Bronx-Whitestone Bridge span the Sound, connecting Bronx and Queens Counties (and New York boroughs).

At the foot of the Throgs Neck stands this small building; I am not quite sure what it is, though it seems to be part of SUNY Maritime (I will visit soon, and find out).

The ship is part of SUNY Maritime. It probably goes without saying much that this is a very different college campus than the rest of the State University system. It is one of my intended destinations this coming spring.