The Writing Spider

A female black-and-yellow argiope (argiope aurantia) waits on the edge of a field Thursday in Fairfield, Conn. for prey. Despite her markings and and a body size well over an inch long, her bite is not dangerous to humans. Note the zigzag pattern near the center of the web; it's one of the unique traits of this orb-weaving spider. She's a common sight throughout the U.S. in early autumn.

Photo by Brandon T. Bisceglia.

Pleasure Beach Changing Fast

Sunlight breaks through the clouds over Bridgeport as seen from the shoreline of Long Beach West in Stratford.

 

This satellite image from Google Maps shows the thin thread of Long Beach West to the east and the thicker mass of Pleasure Beach to the West.

The barrier beach peninsula known variously as Long Beach West (on the Stratford-owned side) and Pleasure Beach (on the Bridgeport-owned side) has changed drastically in the last few years.

For over a decade after the only bridge burned down in 1996, efforts to revitalize the former tourist attraction stalled.

 

The wooden bridge that used to allow cars to cross to Pleasure Beach burned up in 1996.

Rusted nails stick out of what is left of the burned-out bridge.

But things are happening there again.

In 2009, Stratford voters approved a deal to let the U.S. Fisheries and Wildlife Service take control of their half of the land to restore it to its natural state. Gone are the iconic cottages that once brought so much enjoyment to a few wealthy summer sojourners – and so much consternation to firefighters when conflagrations engulfed some of the abandoned hulks shortly after the vote. As part of the deal, the area was made accessible to residents in perpetuity. This, ironically, has increased foot traffic.

 

Few traces exist of the cottages that were purposefully removed from the beach. However, charred debris lines the beach in the areas where cottages burned to the ground.

Bridgeport, meanwhile, has been working on bringing people back to its half of the land. Mayor Bill Finch said in March a pair of water taxis that could carry about 30 people were on order. At the time, the city expected the service to be in full swing by the 2014 summer season.

To make that happen, Bridgeport has begun rebuilding a pier at Pleasure Beach as well as cleaning up some of the dilapidated buildings.

 

Inside the auditorium at Pleasure Beach. Some parts of the roof and walls have collapsed, and the interior is caked with mold.

In the preceding years, numerous plant and animal species had taken over. Rabbits, turtles, owls, osprey, piping plover, prickly pear cactus, sea lavender – all these and more lived relatively undisturbed lives in the ruins people had left behind. The unchecked growth gave some areas an almost jungle-like feel.

Stratford and Bridgeport may have different visions for the peninsula, but both involve wresting back control of the landscape. And both are moving forward.

Already, a few of the animals are conspicuously absent. The rabbits, which used to be so prolific that one would spot dozens on a casual walk, are nowhere to be seen. The osprey had built their nests atop telephone poles, which they would defend menacingly against anyone who came too close. New poles were built specifically for the birds, but some chose instead to build nests inside the WICC transmission towers.

 

A pole built for osprey nests sits vacant...

...but the transmission towers are in use.

A management plan prepared for the Stratford Parks Department in January gave an extensive listing of the plant species on the beach. Many are invasive, and some were planted by the former cottage dwellers. The report recommends cutting some of the plants down, pulling some up, and using herbicides on still others.

A stand of invasive tree of heaven (ailanthus altissima).

A seaside goldenrod (Solidago sempervirens) in bloom.

 

An evening primrose (Oenothera parviflora) stands tall amidst the surrounding invasive beach rose (Rosa rugosa).

A seaside spurge ( Euphorbia polygonifolia) fans out from the sand.

 

The closed umbel of a Queen Anne's lace (Daucus carota), a common flower on Long Beach West.

A patch of Eastern prickly pear (Opuntia humifusa), the only cactus native to Connecticut and a species of special concern.

Bridgeport has brought in construction materials. An owl that had lived in Pleasure Beach’s former restaurant for years has disappeared. The grass-grown parking lot was torn up, and the boardwalk leading from the restaurant is a skeleton. What was left of the roads are being turned into walking paths.

 

An auger used to drill holes for wooden poles along the gutted road leading to Pleasure Beach's restaurant.

The interior of Pleasure Beach remains largely untouched. Six-foot tall grasses and fallen trees still block some conduits. The carousel and bumper car buildings, which were knocked down seemingly by accident a few years ago, remain piles of rubble.

 

One pathway that hasn't been cleared.

Aside from a singularly appropriate act of vandalism, the ruins of the carousel have not been touched.

It’s hard to say what lays in store for the beach over the coming decades. A return to nature on one side could be offset by a return of tourism on the other. Or the general increase in human activity could force much of the wildlife out for good. It’s also possible that some equilibrium will reestablish itself, though it will by necessity be a managed equilibrium, not the post-apocalyptic-like wilds that dominated throughout the 2000s.

Whatever the case may be, there’s no going back.

All photos by Brandon T. Bisceglia.

A dream deferred, but not denied

Crowds gather for the 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, where Martin Luther King, Jr. made his famous "I Have a Dream"speech. Public domain image.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was a frequent visitor of Bridgeport, Conn. He spoke at the city's Klein Memorial Auditorium on three occasions in the 1960s, a time when the industrial might of the city was drawing many African Americans to work at factories there.

Yet Bridgeport's original street named after the iconic civil rights leader no longer exists. It had run through Father Panik Village, one of the most dangerous housing projects in the U.S. during the 1980s and 1990s. Drugs, violence, and prostitution were so endemic that officials decided their best recourse was to raze the entire area.

After Father Panik was demolished in 1993, Stratford Avenue, one of the city's main arteries, was graced with the honorific title of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard. Aside from those who live there, however, few people know it by that name. It's as if King has disappeared from the city's memory.

King would not be any prouder of having his name attached to the new street. Dilapidated storefronts and crumbling Victorian-style houses run along it, as well as the husks of those once-vibrant factories, now barely standing. This area, too, is a hotbed of crime and gang activity. People avoid going there at night.

Most of the city today appears poised on the brink of economic renaissance, but the largely black and immigrant neighborhoods of the East End - through which Stratford Avenue runs - remain mostly neglected by revitalization efforts.

Bridgeport's Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard is emblematic of streets by the same name in other cities across the nation. For most of the people who live in the shadow of King, his dream of equality remains just that – a dream.

Were he alive today, King would be appalled at the conditions under which too many blacks still live and the significant barriers that remain.

More than a third of students in the Bridgeport public schools fail to graduate each year. Those who do rarely have the wherewithal to pursue higher education. Families are blighted by absentee parents, malnutrition, and the ever-gnawing call of street life. Without the money or knowledge to make better decisions for themselves, the struggle for many black people to forge a better life is beset by obstacles that few whites ever have to face.

The vestiges of discrimination still exist as well. Police do not usually advocate the targeting of a particular group. But police go where the crime is, and develop through those experiences presumptions about suspicious behaviors and lifestyles. An officer may not have any conscious ill-will toward a given racial or ethnic group, but may be more keenly aware of the activities of one group over another. This is one reason why, though drug use may be equally prevalent among whites, blacks are more liable to be stopped, searched and prosecuted.

Still, 50 years after King made his famous speech on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, there has been significant progress. Voting is no longer as daunting; indeed, at least in Connecticut, the legislature recently moved to expand voting opportunities. Black residents can move freely without restrictions. Some have held positions in municipal or state government. Others have found success, leaving the projects for more affluent outlying districts.

King would be proud of the many millions of African Americans who have climbed the ranks of society. He'd recognize that the barrier of overt oppression has largely been supplanted by the inertia of history.

And just as he did when he met with gang leaders in Chicago to talk them out of their violent habits, King would encourage today's blacks to focus their energies on continuing the hard task of improving their communities, including those on the streets that bear his name.

Ash Creek Redemption

Grasses and shrubs have taken over a wildlife area near Ash Creek that was destroyed in 2010 to make way for the Fairfield Metro train station.

In the summer of 2010, my wife and I moved near the future site of the Fairfield Metro train station. At the time, the end of our block was part of the wetlands surrounding Ash Creek. Thick groves of trees and bushes lined the edge of the street, home to numerous small animals.

That same summer, construction of the new railroad station necessitated an extensive cleanup of contaminated soil at the site. In addition to the footprint of the station, construction crews tore up every inch of the space all the way down to Kenard Street.

Not a single tree remained. It was a wasteland.

The entrance to the construction site from Kenard Street in 2010.

Scenes of the torn up land in 2010.

Once all the landscaping was complete, the various parties involved in the project agreed with a contingent of concerned citizens to create a nature preserve along the creek.

It has been about a year and a half since the preserve opened, with a dedicated walking path running through it.

Today, the area between Ash Creek and the Fairfield Metro station has changed dramatically. It’s covered by tall grasses and shrubbery. A few craggy trees stretch toward the otherwise empty sky. Eight-foot cattails sway in the breeze beside the manmade pond that was created as part of the landscaping project.

A patch of broadleaf cattails (Typha latifolia) standing near the water. They are taller than a man.

Some of the animals are back, too. Ducks are an almost constant presence at the pond. Butterflies flutter about. Seed-eating birds of all kinds are flourishing. At night, the insect song on the footpath is ear-splittingly loud.

A family of ducks takes a break from swimming.

An immature snowy egret (Egretta thula) basks in the sun, presumably watching to spear a passing fish.

Rabbits, too, seem to be returning. They had been an almost constant presence in the neighborhood prior to the demolition. For a while we didn’t see any, but since this spring we’ve spotted them more than a few times.

The land near Ash Creek has definitively started recovering. However, it still has a long way to go. Most of the plants there are opportunistic, the types of inhabitants that take over on a temporary basis before the permanent flora establishes itself. Few trees have set root. It will be years before any of them are as tall as their predecessors, and years more before the entire space recreates its former forested glory.

Even then, the wildlife will be restricted to a smaller area than before, contending with more vehicular and human traffic.

Nevertheless, Ash Creek bears the signature of hope in its rebirth.

All photos by Brandon T. Bisceglia.