no money fun, part II

I recently received a comment for a blog entry I made more than a year ago, regarding no-money fun, asking for more ideas.

I haven't had an idea in decades.

However, hobbitt and I had a day today that might illustrate some of the finer points of no-money fun. But first, let me toss out some of the ways that we already enjoy ourselves without spending money:

• Playing dominoes (or UpWords, or really any game) regularly and keeping a notebook of scores. This last point is crucial for bullying and bragging rights. Hard to scream "In your face, jerk boy!" when you're in the midst of a terrible losing streak.
• People watching is always good for some interesting conversation. One sultry August afternoon we sat at the Chicago waterfront, making up stories about the people on the various yachts that were leaving or entering the marina. "Oh, she's the trophy wife. The kids don't look too happy, do they? She's gonna spend their inheritance..." "Hmmmm, from the looks of that scowl on his face and the size of that cooler on deck, Mabel might not be making a return voyage!" and such. It's fun. Takes a while to get warmed up, though, if you're not in the habit of observing.
• Warm coats, a dark, dark night sky, and patience. Spotting satellites and shooting stars, while actually exciting and even somewhat competitive, is also a wonderful excuse for some good old-fashioned necking.

For my no-money, however, beaches of any kind offer absolutely endless fascination and enjoyment. We took a long walk today with Inti, who didn't complain too much about how long it was taking me to get around.

First we found that we could make clams squirt water up to six feet in the air by stepping sharply near their air holes. So we stomped across the tideline for a few minutes, seeing how many clams we could set off at one time. Neither of us got wet doing it, which is a first. The dog was not amused. We were having a wonderful time.

The tide was so low that we were able to cross the outlet of the lagoon and head towards Chimacum Creek, which we'd never done (on foot) before. We had wonderful views of the lagoon and saw for the first time the 4-foot mounds of washed stones that protect that fragile ecosystem from the blustery storms we are prone to up here.

On our way back, instead of walking near the bluffs we walked along the tideline, and came upon dozens of living sand dollars. Living sand dollars.





















Dendraster excentricus, Eccentric Sand Dollar, to be exact. And not dozens of them. Thousands upon thousands of them. Then we realized that what we thought were leaves in the sands just beneath the water were colonies of sand dollars on their sides, half-buried in the sand. And then we realized we were standing on them. Hundreds of thousands of them. They're purple and fuzzy. They don't move too fast, although we were able to spot a few that had been moving in the wet sands, by their wide trails.















hobbitt said, "What do you know about them?" and I said, "Nothing right now." Well, now I know that they feed on plankton and diatoms that fall on their fuzzy surface (cilia). And I know they are many. We decided to walk far from the water so as not to crush them, and I came upon a chiton. A lined chiton, to be precise.
























Tonicella lineata. I'd never even heard of such a thing before. I spotted it because it, too, was moving in damp sand and left a noticeable trail. I picked it up to show hobbitt, who proceeded to take a lot of photos of it.





























"Feeds on coralline algae. Often is found living under the purple urchin Strongylocentrotus purpuratus or in urchin burrows in the rock. This species may home. Predators include Pisaster ochraceous and Leptasterias hexactis, at least in some regions. Eggs are released in April in CA and OR, but in June in the San Juan Islands. Lays a stream of green eggs. Trochophore larva development stops after 150-160 hours, and will not resume unless the larva settles on coralline algae. Larvae metamorphose into juvenile chitons within 12 hours of settling."

Now I know. Now you know. It didn't cost either of us anything, except for the price of the National Audubon Society Field Guide to the Pacific Northwest. This book presents topography and geology, habitats, conservation and ecology, weather, night sky, flora, fauna, preserves and parks. You should have one for your area, or get one from the library for a place you're going to visit. No, really, you should. It'll fit in your pocket. You, too, can be fascinated by what's around you. All you have to do is look.

Tonight, after running errands and being floored by the clarity of the ridges and peaks in both the Cascades and the Olympics, we took our last walk of the day, again at the beach. The tide was coming in and yet the water was still draining from the lagoon. On many occasions I'd wondered, aloud, about when the water changes course with the incoming tide. Even in the twilight we could see the ripples of water draining, and stood quietly to wait for that to change. Within about 30 minutes the ripples had disappeared with the increasing depth of bay water, and yet the lagoon still drained. We walked up the inlet for about 50 feet to what was clearly a high spot. We could hear the water trickling from the pools and flats and waited until that, too, was almost calm with the advancing tide.















We laughed that this was the equivalent of watching paint dry, and made the usual jokes about what boring people we are. But we are curious and fascinated with this place we find ourselves, this beautiful planet. We want to know more about it. Don't you? Tonight, in this betwixt and between place, where the advancing tide met the draining lagoon, we witnessed something mysterious and seldom noticed, if seen at all. It satisfied the parts of our souls that never want to stop learning, and it lightened our hearts, and we'll want to go back and see it again, preferably in daylight and warmer weather.

But I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Our walk back through the meadow gave us a glorious view of the stars, led by that mysterious sparkler Sirius, who stopped us in our tracks one night a few weeks ago, as we gazed and wondered what would twinkle gold and blue and red, and argued that it must be a helicopter or plane. Go out and see this if you can, while it's still near the horizon in the early part of the night.

You won't believe it's a star. And if you think about it, you won't believe how lucky you are to be watching the universe work, quietly and steadily. And it's not costing you a thing.