Shorter days, cool nights, September brings the end of summer. Crowds dwindle, Elk’s Park and parking lot are deserted, herons return undisturbed to tidal pools and, like all residents, delight in having Kye Bay to themselves once again.

On the sand and in seaweed we find holiday leftovers: the odd sandal, plastic pail or shovel, beach towel, even a camera. But the biggest souvenirs are the wooden pillars, those vertical posts erected by enthusiastic men seemingly offended by horizontal driftwood.

“It’s for the kids,” they say, as if the young intend to dance wildly beneath while chanting a pagan chorus.

This engineering challenge demands sweat. To sink the shaft a deep hole must be dug with boulders placed to add support. Then the job is to drag, pull, lift, and finally raise high this monument in defiance of wind and tides. “We want to see how long it will last.”

Well – like a totem without carvings, like a maypole minus ribbons, like a mast without a sail, barring southeasters these sturdy spars stand strong.

There’s one in front of my house. I worry it’s a hazard to careless kayakers or unwary windsurfers, but it does provide a perch for gulls and kingfishers, and a welcome relief station for wandering dogs.

It’s been there now for over four weeks. It was still there this morning, dammit. And the guys who put it up ended their vacation and left the following day.
M. S.