tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8129714227056811062024-03-26T23:36:26.395-07:00Bayou LadyLiving the simple life on the Mississippi Gulf Coast...Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.comBlogger4493125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-12346338764204177252024-03-22T04:10:00.000-07:002024-03-22T04:10:32.082-07:00Fish....Brain Food!<p><span style="color: #444444;"> I was reading not too long ago where there are folks in Canada doing research on seafood and its effect on the brain. The tests are mainly concerning whether seagulls eating garbage (and French fries from handouts) in the large cities are as smart as their counterparts along the coastal areas with their seafood diets. On "intelligence" tests involving several methods of retrieving food, the coastal seagulls scored immensely higher than their citified cousins. These studies are, of course, limited with sketchy results but could be compared (at least in theory) to the of studies of healthier diets in humans. I guess the old sayings of "You are what you eat." and "Fish is brain food." Seafood, barring that high in mercury, really helps in the long run. Most cognitive tests run on humans are suggesting that diet has a lot to do with our brainpower.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0Vo_PZTU4iZ5MRjfJWcu4AZkr3dooApAmPNJVDLf2Ho99rmdyRdJpS05Rs0jKhlfdamA1YpAyp13LT73DeOesr2HcmmSHDl5nPd0FzU2MZWBURI-myeeU1YK4Ex5bqAHl9XybP16adqhZGnrTCgyuT-cjihfbNeen8RTPgHp54VYtEoYw9ZNb6omWHc/s1037/DSC04843.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1037" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0Vo_PZTU4iZ5MRjfJWcu4AZkr3dooApAmPNJVDLf2Ho99rmdyRdJpS05Rs0jKhlfdamA1YpAyp13LT73DeOesr2HcmmSHDl5nPd0FzU2MZWBURI-myeeU1YK4Ex5bqAHl9XybP16adqhZGnrTCgyuT-cjihfbNeen8RTPgHp54VYtEoYw9ZNb6omWHc/w400-h300/DSC04843.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><p><span style="color: #444444;"> I was pondering that while on the pier the other morning. A beautiful, healthy-looking seagull came to visit. Here, it has been duly noted that the seagulls are cunning and can survive under the most dire situations. They are a resilient sort and can outwit most of the other critters here. They, along with the other fish-eating birds, have sharp minds. It does not take any of these birds long to figure out how to open closed bait buckets or work together to attain a free meal from even would be predators. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> After watching the seagulls and studying their habits, I figure the next time someone refers to me as a "birdbrain", I shall take it as a compliment, especially if my mental abilities are compared to those of a seagull. So...folks...eat more seafood and fewer French fries! </span></p><p><br /></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-66087610300122129062024-03-14T17:49:00.000-07:002024-03-15T08:58:06.591-07:00Windchimes...Not For Me!<p><span style="color: #444444;"> Windchimes are not for me. I do love the melodic tinkling that fills the air with each breeze coming off the Bay. I do love the intricate designs of some of the better made chimes. I do love the ingenuity behind those who can put together a chime that can send a listener into a calmer mood. I do not love restringing those things once the weather has taken a toll on the piece. That, my friends, is NOT for me! I usually do not have a problem with repairing things that become broken. As a kid, I was always taught to repair or repurpose damaged items but restringing a windchime this morning nearly got the best of me. The style with metal tubes or bamboo pieces never presented a problem so I decided it was time to repair one that was strung with capiz shells. That small chime set made me realize just how "fumble fingered" (Mom's phrase) I have become. I could hardly tie the eight million or so knots that were required to get the goofy thing tinkling again! </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxYxzniEtAImjD3SF8yMxBfHmps-92oIb6uX5TeJTtNMe8BdanY0Q7T5mZuDPTDlYk2kiFzQ1PQ12uj39iX7iQEfFcbWgg6Nf7OSQ_oT1lDvzczdDtUGj1I63Un-obbNDSWphW_DpEEkj36dFc3SnmReOUeLU9Oarc-9MByjYRtwWZ4mN8xk3IJTvph30/s1037/DSC04827.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1037" data-original-width="778" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxYxzniEtAImjD3SF8yMxBfHmps-92oIb6uX5TeJTtNMe8BdanY0Q7T5mZuDPTDlYk2kiFzQ1PQ12uj39iX7iQEfFcbWgg6Nf7OSQ_oT1lDvzczdDtUGj1I63Un-obbNDSWphW_DpEEkj36dFc3SnmReOUeLU9Oarc-9MByjYRtwWZ4mN8xk3IJTvph30/w300-h400/DSC04827.png" width="300" /></span></a></div><p><span style="color: #444444;"> In all fairness, I do have a good amount of arthritis in my right hand making it difficult to hold small things but I felt somewhat like a spider with fifty or so flipflopping bugs in my tangled web. The fishing line that needed to be used was of the finest sort and those capiz shells are as light as feather. (They also have sort of a chalky coating making them hard to grasp!) Each time, I would poke that line through one hole, it would slip and slide right back out and occasionally poke itself into the wrong place. Tying the knots was another story as they had to be tight enough to not slip but not too tight where the paper thin shell would cut them. Keep in mind I did all of this at five in the morning so the brain was probably still a bit sleep-skewed. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Still, about two hours after starting, I finished the job! It was one of those "can't quit" things because the cat would have surely made things a lot worse had I abandoned the task midways. Had...to...finish! Should I have just tossed the chimes and bought a new? Nope. My nephew brought the windchimes from the island where he lives. The locals there make amazing crafts from what they have on hand and he knew I would appreciate the workmanship. I love the windchimes and the music remind me of my incredible nephew. Besides, I am not one to trash something without attempting to repair it first. This attempt nearly did me in, however! Hopefully, I will never get a harebrained idea to use capiz shells for anything...ANYTHING!</span><br /></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-85209601575212647662024-03-08T11:25:00.000-08:002024-03-09T04:56:49.768-08:00Trying My Hand At A New Craft<p><span style="color: #444444;"> Several years ago, my brain suffered a "tock" when it should have "ticked". Son and I were on the pier when I seemed to lose all ability to talk and even move. His thoughts immediately turned to "Mom is having a stroke!" Neither of us had our phones and he knew he could not leave me on the pier so he (somehow) managed to get me to the shore and up the hill to the Little Bayou House. A trip to the ER and a brief hospital stay saw me hale and hardy again. There were a few lingering problems that needed tending, however, so my kids kept after me. Their therapy soon turned to "learn something new" which led to my current hobby of repairing antique clocks. This was something that never crossed my mind before so it was definitely new territory! Now, it has become almost a passion to seek out dilapidated clocks and restore them to their once regal state. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> A few months ago, a "new" cuckoo clock was obtained and it met the broken standard to a T. It was in shambles. I was a bit intimidated, at first, but soon found myself tinkering with the mechanism. That is always my beginning point. Fix the inner workings then repair the housing. Finally, the clock was ticking away and cuckooing halfway. One bellows still needed to be repaired. I started on the housing...the fun part! Once the pieces were cleaned, hand-rubbed with polish and reattached, all seemed well...except...except that the pediment (top, decorative piece) was missing. Simple! I shall just buy a replacement! Nope...none were to be found...anywhere.</span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> This brought me to my new craft! Both of my sons prodded me to "make your own". Well, I had never carved a thing before in my entire life but I decided to try. Keep in mind that I have a very arthritic right hand (I am right-handed) and no fancy carving tools...still I was determined. Armed with an Exacto knife and a rotary tool sander, I flipped through my stash of wood pieces. None seemed to be even similar to the linden wood that the master woodcarvers used to create the original clocks. Not to be daunted, I opted for some cedar simply because the color was similar. Then...I carved. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpT16u2mNy1wg7XR9UaoJIlE3OgxwUP90RQPHiqyRqGLVn-F37QlXa76Xj9jwJ5juVJcdDI4fiijB-GR_wF5KpVfZb_OOwfyCts5L-cqhS2inndjV5l5iNUO74YI5icgdi0zEKQ1ihVEXAb1_GNm0FfuODXOdxze6wOGbzuj4_qEoYRwavBDUT82DMZjg/s1652/DSC04813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1652" data-original-width="1381" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpT16u2mNy1wg7XR9UaoJIlE3OgxwUP90RQPHiqyRqGLVn-F37QlXa76Xj9jwJ5juVJcdDI4fiijB-GR_wF5KpVfZb_OOwfyCts5L-cqhS2inndjV5l5iNUO74YI5icgdi0zEKQ1ihVEXAb1_GNm0FfuODXOdxze6wOGbzuj4_qEoYRwavBDUT82DMZjg/w335-h400/DSC04813.JPG" width="335" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> This particular clock is supposed to have an owl seated among the leaves as a pediment. I knew I could never replicate the detailed work of the master carvers, so I took a little creative leeway with my carving. I still did four leaves, a cluster of grapes and an owl but they are vastly different that what should be on the clock. My hand would often seize up and cause a delay and then would ache terribly at night but I refused to stop. I WOULD carve something that resembled the original pediment...not copy...just resemble. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> All in all, the attempt was not a dismal failure. It is far from perfect but not terribly disappointing. (I have, however, come to the realization that I shall never, ever become a master woodcarver!) I learned a lot, found it interesting and created a pediment that worked. Do I want to carve other pieces? Maybe? It could become a new hobby along with the myriad of other crafty doings. I do need to give the hand a rest, however! In the interim, I shall attempt to re-leather that silent bellows! My cuckoo clock is coming along nicely and I am definitely learning. (The only downside to all this clock repair is that I am running out of wall space to hang them!)</span></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-56547415240912523472024-03-04T15:13:00.000-08:002024-03-04T15:13:29.588-08:00The Black Rose of Creativity!<span style="color: #444444;"> Back before Christmas, I started a project that was new territory for me. The more I age, the more my kids keep after me to "learn something new"...so I thought to give this a whirl. With the internet and a computer generated photograph as inspiration, I attempted to create a rose. Since I am not very up on computer things, my rose was to be crafted from tin cans. It seems a shame that so many cold drink cans just get tossed in the trash so I snagged a few and went from there. Did I have a plan? Did I know what I was doing? Did it seem daunting? Nope...nope and yep. With an old pair of scissors and three cold drink cans, I started. I am one of these people who sort of wing things and do not use a pattern. I just started whacking away at those cans. Once I cut a goodly number of petals and leaves, I was left with an unsightly mess of tin pieces. Paint and then 6 coats of polyurethane brought up my spirits and made me feel that I could do this! (Whatever it was I was doing.)</span><div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #444444;"> The project got put the wayside over the holidays and through a bout of illness. Finally, I was inspired to tackle it again. The rose was finished and showcased in an altered frame/shadowbox. (I had to add depth to the frame so I added to the back of it.) I was pleased with my finished product so it became a "gift" for me. </span></div><div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRVG7U47uA3Dnnvm8k3bUiXbS_hCfnJic6ogkxUKPpFWiNWwoCnqSkd5W6VzS8E7frItC5_NywESJauke2T0tF4F6DsPTpax5roK3i-qENEjiuJUW2rNQrC443f53Hd-Z7wVwJk6Wb5ghoptSiSs0Nt6e5m5eCnemMy-rKEQSmyZLkrVnQ9Fre8hyphenhyphenRS1w/s1277/DSC04776.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1277" data-original-width="886" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRVG7U47uA3Dnnvm8k3bUiXbS_hCfnJic6ogkxUKPpFWiNWwoCnqSkd5W6VzS8E7frItC5_NywESJauke2T0tF4F6DsPTpax5roK3i-qENEjiuJUW2rNQrC443f53Hd-Z7wVwJk6Wb5ghoptSiSs0Nt6e5m5eCnemMy-rKEQSmyZLkrVnQ9Fre8hyphenhyphenRS1w/w278-h400/DSC04776.png" width="278" /></span></a></div><div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #444444;"> Since completing this project, several people have questioned my thoughts in the creation. Why make something using nasty old cans? Why make something that is just more clutter? Why a black rose? To answer all of those...why not?? It made me happy!</span></div><div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #444444;"> The completion of the rose has the crafting urge in full swing. After working through one lousy illness four years ago, a "pandemic", two hurricanes and a full-blown attack of termites, I am tired. It is my goal to get back to creating, having fun and being myself again. Perhaps the black rose...which is said to represent power, mystery and eternal love...is my key of kicking it back into gear. Here is to creating...to happiness...to self love! I am ready! I have said it before and I will say it again..Life is good only if we choose to make it that way. Now is the time!</span></div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-17367365935539040082024-02-27T05:17:00.000-08:002024-02-27T05:17:38.509-08:00The Velvet Throne And The Very Ill Prince<p><span style="color: #444444;"> The Little Bayou House holds a wide variety of "treasures". By anybody else's standards, these so-called treasures are mostly clutter. By my standards...I do not care what others think...my house...my treasures. That said, one has to have an understanding that these items should perhaps more properly be defined as oddities than treasures but it is all a matter of perspective. I see them as treasures so that is how it is. In the living room, there is a very old settee and rocker set. The set is covered in red velvet which definitely not what one would think to find in a place like the Little Bayou House but I have it simply because it reminds me so much of my great-grandparents' house. That set started the eclectic, eccentric theme for the whole room..."Anything Goes". </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Mr. Bat, the Bayou Prince has recently been very ill. The cat gave us quite the scare when he showed up one evening intensely lethargic and feverish. A trip to the veterinary clinic found him with a viral infection and extremely dehydrated. After a complete checkup, two shots and an IV, he was sent home. The poor cat was miserable. He slept...and slept...and slept. For days there was nothing but sleeping...no eating, drinking, bodily functions nor movement. Son and I tried to keep him hydrated with syringes of water but there was not much else we could do. Days went by with no change. We would be elated when he would sluggishly move from one sleeping spot to another. It has been heart-wrenching to see him in this state. Thankfully, after a full week, he seems to be on the mend...I hope. At least, he is a bit more mobile and is making attempts to eat and drink. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizmTFrwvGAeti-cr6QMgc_7MttYxWHdspEDnFRKt7G4hYY9yQ7UW7L5_2OESA2v4sRusE2gNtFhajOMKumTI6i0XTbTI1hYKswQk7iSwP6pA5BNa-qk0g5FL8weeYKPJ_peTqOuTTmUlKT73Gk_ryI0ijKvJjNaLSceHe27cQeW_XCnVQDmGU1UnaX1FQ/s1037/DSC04759.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1037" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizmTFrwvGAeti-cr6QMgc_7MttYxWHdspEDnFRKt7G4hYY9yQ7UW7L5_2OESA2v4sRusE2gNtFhajOMKumTI6i0XTbTI1hYKswQk7iSwP6pA5BNa-qk0g5FL8weeYKPJ_peTqOuTTmUlKT73Gk_ryI0ijKvJjNaLSceHe27cQeW_XCnVQDmGU1UnaX1FQ/w400-h300/DSC04759.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> It was during that illness that the Bayou Prince found his throne. Yep, the red velvet settee became a favorite sleeping spot. It was either there or on a dining room chair. Occasionally, he would rouse enough to change locations with the throne being his favorite in the late afternoon when the sun streamed through the west windows and warmed the settee. He would stay curled up there until late evening and then move back to the chair for the night. While some would argue that an ill animal should not be "on the furniture", I feel it is his house, too. The Little Bayou House is his castle, hence, the settee can be his throne. After all, if he is going to be a prince, Bat deserves a throne! Get well, little one. You are using up those "nine lives" way too fast. You have been through enough in your short life from being discarded like trash by your previous owner to being bitten by a cottonmouth and now this debilitating illness. You can stay on your red velvet throne as long as necessary.</span></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-32538327128307021262024-02-20T13:35:00.000-08:002024-02-20T13:35:36.962-08:00Happy Roses<p><span style="color: #444444;"> A month ago, we had several hard freezes for this far south. The temperatures dropped into the teens which seems frigid to us. We are not accustomed to such weather! The usual preparations were made for us to "hunker down" against the cold. An extra stockpile of firewood for the woodstoves, lights in the pumphouse, bushels of citrus fruits picked and plants moved into the greenhouse (even though it was a makeshift shelter). Normally since these freezes do not last long, I never think about moving rose bushes to warmer areas but I had a dozen or so cuttings in pots that were just starting to do well so, in they went. I promptly forgot about them as they hid among the hundred or so other plants. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Imagine my surprise when I found that those tiny plants were not only thriving but blooming! Yep! Several of the small plants were showing their appreciation for the snug shelter by setting lovely blooms! It was a welcome sight among the normal drear of winter.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOBdrzpDmyHrm40H-G3A1yl0QE7xXGbFWhVd7y7Cfi9RbuqlMSpJWucEXGoAm0hQyhvlI7TDOF2WVdQ1kjUNQzVA3xI3GWwcrqnY2mV6MDlO3CRovy3ukElfhrbSUjb8sho6fQ-BGoVVmzUMQ2CFEM-yBpKmdDQ_uyIr9bPyLrik2sTwgjRfVw08x2utY/s794/DSC04674.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="794" data-original-width="589" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOBdrzpDmyHrm40H-G3A1yl0QE7xXGbFWhVd7y7Cfi9RbuqlMSpJWucEXGoAm0hQyhvlI7TDOF2WVdQ1kjUNQzVA3xI3GWwcrqnY2mV6MDlO3CRovy3ukElfhrbSUjb8sho6fQ-BGoVVmzUMQ2CFEM-yBpKmdDQ_uyIr9bPyLrik2sTwgjRfVw08x2utY/w296-h400/DSC04674.png" width="296" /></span></a></div><p><span style="color: #444444;"> This week, the weather seems like spring so the plants will all return to the proper "summer" spots and I shall hope for the best. The temporary greenhouse will be deconstructed and stowed just in case it is needed next year. The plants will be on their own for the next ten months or so. Hopefully, the overwintering will give these roses that needed boost to flourish. Also, hopefully, this is not a "false" spring and I will regret my moves. </span></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-56799266302356868672024-02-17T15:33:00.000-08:002024-02-17T15:33:03.485-08:00Mysterious Photographs!<p><span style="color: #444444;"> Growing up, I had it drilled into my head that usable items should not be discarded. "You had better keep that as you may need it some day." Yes, this has resulted in a good bit of stowed "may need" things but often they do, indeed, come in handy. I have found that it is far wiser to reuse items than to buy new just to avoid clutter. I guess since I do a lot of remakes for the clue hunts (which will hopefully happen again this October!), my stash of saved items is more of a logical aspect of how to create without cost. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Yesterday, I was cleaning out our toolroom when I came across a box containing old...really old...picture frames. Thinking the frames were wonderfully pretty, I set them on the table with the idea of reframing some photographs that were in more modern frames. The antique ones fit the look of the Little Bayou House far better than anything new. Later, I noticed that two of the frames had a faded blue paper where the picture should go. I took the frames apart only to find that behind those pieces of paper, there were two very old photographs! Wow! How long have those been hidden...and....why? </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA4JlQIo6f9CBPLSgdJeqlWSzYSobEbEmKaaeM4OY7hj2E78AOIe5xLhMuws2MnPHcsNJUYlwpZI8JwnwhyztOkW9HEgqXrwcvgqUE3HugcwnW4XZWh8aaqDf2r56Z3dGMe1RrAFr5plpKlQ710w46Lvemx3bsc53aFAZlxyFypwntc-QS6OC7CgY75JE/s820/DSC04755.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="578" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA4JlQIo6f9CBPLSgdJeqlWSzYSobEbEmKaaeM4OY7hj2E78AOIe5xLhMuws2MnPHcsNJUYlwpZI8JwnwhyztOkW9HEgqXrwcvgqUE3HugcwnW4XZWh8aaqDf2r56Z3dGMe1RrAFr5plpKlQ710w46Lvemx3bsc53aFAZlxyFypwntc-QS6OC7CgY75JE/w283-h400/DSC04755.png" width="283" /></a></div><br /><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> The first photo is of a lovely lady with a very handsome dog. If I had to guess, the picture was probably taken around the early 1900's (judging by the lady's dress). I really have no clue as to who this lady is but simply adore the mystery surrounding her! There are a few scribbles on the front with U love in bold. I cannot make out a name unless...U. Love is it? Doubtful. The other frame held a photograph of a rather handsome gentleman and appears to be around the same era. Although the picture is quite faded, it does have a name! J. H. Enochs is written on the back but nary a date can be found. I do know the Enochs were quite a prominent family in Biloxi, MS. I found information on Byrd Enochs (1875-1940) and his wife, Cora Elmer Enochs (1878-1962) but not J.H. I wonder if J. H. was a brother of Byrd's? Cousin? </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Now I want to dig through the other piles of frames and see if any have hidden photographs! The mysteries of the Little Bayou House deepen! How, why and when?? How did I come in possession of these photographs? When were they actually taken?? And, especially, why were they hidden? (My guess on that is to maybe prevent the pictures from fading over time...maybe not.) So...finding treasures hidden inside of treasures is exciting and I really should investigate more! Also, think about it...had I thrown the frames in the trash, a bit of history would have perishe</span>d. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-91613019062117210652024-02-09T17:56:00.000-08:002024-02-09T17:56:12.759-08:00The Race Is On!<p><span style="color: #444444;"> With winter comes the low, low tides. Often the water is far out beyond the marsh and even the reach of the pier. This lack of water exposes the soft mud that hides clams, crustaceans and minnows. The predators that normally have to stalk their prey are now able to feast upon the stranded critters. A great number of birds, otters, raccoons, fox are out during the low tide. The mudflats are alive with those seeking breakfast.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERC_atyf0wyRJ2xN2VGhC0d-QS8aJ9trkk0CRc01Gx5g7wg5iXz5UfoOm92pO1X6rdJvhGbQiLE5IV08R8a8DQt7XUqhFYLj7LZpXw3GhAf2_JafkwV79Yq04VBnK4yNPCnQDMpQLrq0WEKpS0z-H-WaptDfPcY43OPZhXYDhJMeiYg2azdAnGXXoxmA/s925/DSC04669.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="925" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERC_atyf0wyRJ2xN2VGhC0d-QS8aJ9trkk0CRc01Gx5g7wg5iXz5UfoOm92pO1X6rdJvhGbQiLE5IV08R8a8DQt7XUqhFYLj7LZpXw3GhAf2_JafkwV79Yq04VBnK4yNPCnQDMpQLrq0WEKpS0z-H-WaptDfPcY43OPZhXYDhJMeiYg2azdAnGXXoxmA/w400-h303/DSC04669.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><p><span style="color: #444444;"> This morning, hooded mergansers, egrets and herons were all making good use of the mudflats. The ducks were busying themselves in the shallows while most of the birds stayed in the ankle-deep water. At one point, the rush to get breakfast had me in a fit of giggles. A tri-colored heron and a great egret seemed to literally be in a race to see who could snatch the most minnows. If one bird snatched a morsel, the other would dart to see if there was another. This race continued for nigh on an hour until suddenly something startled the mergansers. As they skittered across the water, both the egret and heron took flight. Breakfast had ended. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0vVoQ7EtEpGzZnGx_6eIKui3NerpjiIh1wBgsu9H2lmuYYAEexta_uZMjkxPcxWXbv_3pmEvEa87C8lnTWar-be-LRG004vGRbijtJRVOHAAKn715phqc2JsIdiTKtNJKWH47XDo18166ln-jVETPsjgAKfus6aiKdLtLA5DtSfd36PO7NyL0e7wRzSQ/s782/DSC04671.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="588" data-original-width="782" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0vVoQ7EtEpGzZnGx_6eIKui3NerpjiIh1wBgsu9H2lmuYYAEexta_uZMjkxPcxWXbv_3pmEvEa87C8lnTWar-be-LRG004vGRbijtJRVOHAAKn715phqc2JsIdiTKtNJKWH47XDo18166ln-jVETPsjgAKfus6aiKdLtLA5DtSfd36PO7NyL0e7wRzSQ/w400-h301/DSC04671.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><p><span style="color: #444444;"> With the warming of the weather, the water will deepen and the mergansers will migrate back northward thus leaving the herons and egrets to fend for themselves. Then, the stalking returns as each will stealthily patrol the shallows in hopes of finding a meal. The buffet on the mudflats will be closed for another season. </span></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-83592003141622891352024-02-08T16:10:00.000-08:002024-02-08T16:10:45.730-08:00Bayou Tranquility<p><span style="color: #444444;"> Sometimes when I view the photographs of the day's happenings, they bring back vivid memories of other times. This morning, the rising sun streamed through the pines on the opposite shore casting shadows on the water. Several years ago, I took almost the same photograph...then, last year, the image was nigh on identical. The only difference is the grove of trees is getting vastly thinner with all the "progress" on new houses. No one seems to understand that we actually NEED trees but, what they do across the way is none of my business, I suppose. So, I turn a blind eye to the ruination of the woods and try to find a positive side of it. This is a fault of mine. Let others fret over what is being done since I am old and possibly won't have to deal with the outcome. They can deal with their own mess. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="970" data-original-width="719" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRg3fLHOc3rBCm97Ybm4qN6biQGfXG7tRDuMDIQ53Qcgik8dvaN9_2Trz54gXu1sIV6AXai8XsfS8o-l5tOmveX-65GTPScaEFITgRP1BWHJtrjmpNKjNRypG93PG40y3rA0_QkbLJShf091mv2E9vgqm6kurcJjKfmX948H1TPtcX3fEFRWTcWS1Ho_Y/w296-h400/DSC04698.png" width="296" /></span></div><p><span style="color: #444444;"> </span><span style="color: #444444;">I do not turn a blind eye to everything, however. I am one of those weird people that just looks at things a bit differently. I figure there is beauty in all things if we only search for it...hence, the photograph of shadows on the water. Life is too short to go around viewing ugliness. That brings forth only despair. It is far better to seek out beauty and fill the spirit with tranquility. In this old, angry world, look for serenity and happiness. Find your peace wherever you can. The Bayou is where I find mine.</span></p><p><br /></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-65594422585858707972024-01-26T14:29:00.000-08:002024-01-26T14:29:44.364-08:00Mud Mouse?<p><span style="color: #444444;"> It is not uncommon to find mice just about anywhere. The critters seem to have an adaptable lifestyle that allows them to move right into a spot and call it home. For a while, the area was kept quite clear of the little rascals due to the fact that the old Bayou Queen had a "liking" for them. The old cat made it hard to find evidence of any rodent, not only in our yard, but the neighbor's as well. She often would present them with "headless critters" as a token of her love. The Bayou Princess, Ms. Nycto, thought she was high above such menial labor and the Bayou Prince, Bat (the cat) is too busy chasing feral cats and squirrels. The mice are having a heyday! Thankfully, they stay outside and have not ventured into the Little Bayou House...yet. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> My "Mud Mouse" is of a different sort. It has been rainy, drizzly, foggy...you name it...for the past week. I love this weather but it does make hiking a bit difficult. Mark and I did venture down to the pier through the drippiness and found that the north wind had pushed the tide far out from the shoreline. This exposed the soft mud for about a good thirty feet. It was upon those mudflats that I found my mouse! There, as perfect as you wish to see, was the most adorable critter complete with big ears and beady eyes! Oh, my goodness! A mud mouse had decided to come to visit! I just had to get a photograph.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5lSaX_Ar8LzRu4GN5JzmYxSZd9MY8nsQddyyb5XzRwRPo2EoTFZ8Rw44L5xd8_3f8nxAzdAmvywdS-82jxZ04sIE5NaZ4Y88ET8Xp2iSvQpw47wD7zVpIQPeReuzlyA3VgWY13zGWmMKySBRHx1MWGVXka4WuO6hKZfIZ9jGPQM_NKF8jSgTanDxSG2o/s1037/DSC04615.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1037" data-original-width="778" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5lSaX_Ar8LzRu4GN5JzmYxSZd9MY8nsQddyyb5XzRwRPo2EoTFZ8Rw44L5xd8_3f8nxAzdAmvywdS-82jxZ04sIE5NaZ4Y88ET8Xp2iSvQpw47wD7zVpIQPeReuzlyA3VgWY13zGWmMKySBRHx1MWGVXka4WuO6hKZfIZ9jGPQM_NKF8jSgTanDxSG2o/w300-h400/DSC04615.png" width="300" /></span></a></div><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Pareidolia is a weird thing. Years ago, Granddad taught me to "see faces" in everything in nature. That spilled over to seeing "things" in just about any mundane discovery. My mud mouse was a pure bit of happenstance. Two clam shells were perfectly aligned by the waves to allow me to see a critter..not a live mouse, at all, but the reasonable facsimile of one! A sealed clam as the head, an open one as the ears and an ideally placed barnacle as an eye. Yep...a MOUSE!</span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Ok, so I have always admitted to having a wild imagination and I guess this is as wild as it can get. Most folks would probably see clam shells in the mud and not much more. My sighting, however, tickled me and brightened the day tremendously...therefore, it cannot all be bad. Folks, when things are a bit boring or not to your liking, look for something...anything...that can bring a smile. Do not focus on the drear...make the sunshine...even if it is a mud mouse!</span></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-40836123793413311212024-01-18T17:17:00.000-08:002024-01-18T17:17:03.135-08:00"F" is for Finn!<p><span style="color: #444444;"> I am a bit behind the times with this post but these winter storms, along with marmalade making and cutting firewood, have been keeping me quite busy. Supposedly another storm is to swoop down this way tomorrow. I think that one is named Indigo so we have had a few since Old Finn dropped by the Bayou.. (Also, naming these storms makes things easier. Just like the tropical systems we usually get, having a name tagged on a storm makes it far easier to remember.) Anyway, it was just before Finn came whipping through the Bayou that I was frantically moving stuff from the greenhouse (used as a place to display the Christmas village) to the upstairs. The greenhouse is just an old outbuilding that I claimed and was in the process of redoing as my "Swamp Shack" when the idea hit for the village. Mark always enjoys setting up the town so this was an ideal place for this year. But...those tiny ceramic houses would not stand a chance if Finn decided to demolish the greenhouse/Swamp Shack. So I toted a whole town upstairs to be stowed away in the closet. It was while I was upstairs that I noticed the "F"! Peering out the window, at the drippiness, a perfect letter "F" caught my eye. Was this some sort of sign that Finn was not going to play nicely? Was Finn just announcing his arrival by flashing his initial for all to see? What in the world was an "F" doing in the crape myrtle tree? I had to investigate.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTgGhe_g0tptc-HdEbovy_zLid4wvv5lbjBZibByUTRprFBrSbz0z1QS1DzFeWRFbSaqerPXFmoHPN72WLTkONj_4dPeVrKHFOWFToAot7_b3t5N9YR75cHnuCKr4qKDtFYCsEbt80y8ACGhdbAynOIn9_tzmnasqAp6f9JzXDlUhayI52zraXF_EiHk/s1037/DSC04595.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1037" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTgGhe_g0tptc-HdEbovy_zLid4wvv5lbjBZibByUTRprFBrSbz0z1QS1DzFeWRFbSaqerPXFmoHPN72WLTkONj_4dPeVrKHFOWFToAot7_b3t5N9YR75cHnuCKr4qKDtFYCsEbt80y8ACGhdbAynOIn9_tzmnasqAp6f9JzXDlUhayI52zraXF_EiHk/w400-h300/DSC04595.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNOb4Bfdgav-2fuqlIvVvfVyew9ncbebNXl67KA85YpMvFXTfTrpH8VdLYxppflcHKXoBrpjxyMbdcE4eZ1XzJwQHVdmc_ilX3q-2e1QVwqD1GiXT6SFtd31z103-U9ThEM1NyR_zmdneO2R9emujBiKPdfcCBx_ZmoaOScK6uH2zuHIRBPyPredF-Rdo/s1713/DSC04598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1322" data-original-width="1713" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNOb4Bfdgav-2fuqlIvVvfVyew9ncbebNXl67KA85YpMvFXTfTrpH8VdLYxppflcHKXoBrpjxyMbdcE4eZ1XzJwQHVdmc_ilX3q-2e1QVwqD1GiXT6SFtd31z103-U9ThEM1NyR_zmdneO2R9emujBiKPdfcCBx_ZmoaOScK6uH2zuHIRBPyPredF-Rdo/w400-h309/DSC04598.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><p><span style="color: #444444;"> After taking a photo through the window and screen. I trotted myself downstairs, out the backdoor, through the garden plot and to the crape myrtle trees. Yep. There was an "F" being proudly displayed on the branches but it had no mystical reason for being there. Apparently, the visit of Ember had knocked down some oak leaves and haphazardly placed them in the branches of the crape myrtle. There, they dangled for me to see as I peered through the upstairs window. Nothing magical...no omen...nothing more than oak leaves that were hung by a previous storm. My brain just sees things a bit differently than what other folks see. Things like this are interesting enough for me to dawdle around while awaiting a storm just to get a photograph. </span></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-91269857435294997352024-01-07T17:54:00.000-08:002024-01-07T17:54:48.639-08:00The "Dead Crab"<p><span style="color: #444444;"> My brother is one of those people who truly appreciates any kindness shown to him. This is quite evident when he receives my Christmas gifts to him each year. My gifts have to be some of the most unusual to be gifted as I make him things literally out of "nothing". Since we are no strangers to storms that wash debris into the yard and to catching our meals from the Bay, it is my habit to create a whimsical gift out of whatever I find. He receives them with much glee and true appreciation as he claims that the work and thought behind the object far outweighs any money that could be spent. I suppose...or...he humors me. Still, each of the past gifts decorate his porch which is his main entertaining spot so I feel he may just find the things as interesting as I do.</span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> This year, I was in a quandary. I had already used driftwood as a basis of his gifts for the past several years and wanted to do something a bit different. A wondrous idea hit me when I was checking the crab pots and found that a blue crab had shed. The soft-shell crab was destined to be supper but that discarded shell was meant for a "higher" purpose! That would be my gift to Brother Jimmy! Yep, he was to receive a "dead crab" this year! After carefully cleaning the crab, I set to gluing it back to its original shape. Then came the trouble of painting it. Crabs, when they die, change colors. I wanted this one to look as close to natural as possible. The painting was no easy task because, by the time I did it, there were no live crabs to use in comparison. I just had to wing it. Once that was complete, I coated it with several clear protective coats and then tried to figure out a "frame". Nothing fit. Crabs are fat. So...an old salvaged window from a discarded door became a suitable frame...of sorts. A bit of rope found in the yard rounded out the decor! </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsK4fgmnBcz24FwKnewUuVyoBOvnqnXtgrQuhdgT5jJabHqdAKdVb_LMdB0Lk0UqHs9Q3WHkSAvUJS89CPwc3qbLO8EQAlxESEAzJGk-f0ObaB3qXKTeMJd7b11kES6zZsurg0BpkWnCh_4h-HwM7DQzxHtXbfsh2kNogbL0C0VaUpzwSs0mtBYF4SmJE/s950/DSC04524.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="694" data-original-width="950" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsK4fgmnBcz24FwKnewUuVyoBOvnqnXtgrQuhdgT5jJabHqdAKdVb_LMdB0Lk0UqHs9Q3WHkSAvUJS89CPwc3qbLO8EQAlxESEAzJGk-f0ObaB3qXKTeMJd7b11kES6zZsurg0BpkWnCh_4h-HwM7DQzxHtXbfsh2kNogbL0C0VaUpzwSs0mtBYF4SmJE/w400-h293/DSC04524.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><p><span style="color: #444444;"> While most folks would have sneered at my attempts, he loved it. Since he does a lot of crabbing and soft-shelling, the idea struck a chord with him. The simple gift now adorns his porch wall. I am sure that all the folks that gather around are fully amused at the "dead crab" gift but I can rest assured that my brother loves his quirky gift...and perhaps his quirkier sister that has weird ideas! </span></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-87291322285907123452024-01-05T10:53:00.000-08:002024-01-05T10:53:00.271-08:00Quirkiness in full swing!<p><span style="color: #444444;"> To be honest, it has taken more days than I wanted to take down the Christmas decorations even though not nearly as many were in place as in years past. The holidays came and went with little fanfare other than the delightful visit of my oldest son, daughter-in-law and grandkids. If I could have had them here without all of the hullabaloo, things would have been far more perfect. Still, I did what was expected and, albeit, minimal, the place was decorated. Then...the virus struck (or was brought to us) and I endured 8 days of fever. I had no other symptoms...Son (younger) was not so lucky. He ran the full gamut of symptoms so taking down decorations was solely up to me. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> It was while I was on a ladder removing garland that a thought occurred. I was musing how happy it was to bring the Little Bayou House back to its mysterious, magical place when the mind began to wander to those who have stark, vacant homes. I could not live that way. White walls, few (if any) decor pieces, and always matching furniture has to be boring. To my way of thinking, it would remind me of living in an institution where all points of interest have been removed. There is nothing to stir the mind. My mismatched conglomeration of oddities evokes curiosity. In turn, curiosity evokes creativity and creativity brings productivity. If you cannot lead a productive life then what is it worth? </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkWTWL9WmScVMO4HBAe9pYHbR0C2XayjpGpgwIxi8aD2OPb_O6SvD77Kp-YAuYvbqQDyPFNA0WghgCsLQX96rADqLW9xMW9flABXfVS2l05c65U0Ga54UZiVIrXsC7QhAwmMEbMEoBHvI0Z2XkcR6lNB1i7NgXW4V4g-hFMrXdrK4iH6yVNKrmmBavmk/s2592/DSC04580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="2592" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkWTWL9WmScVMO4HBAe9pYHbR0C2XayjpGpgwIxi8aD2OPb_O6SvD77Kp-YAuYvbqQDyPFNA0WghgCsLQX96rADqLW9xMW9flABXfVS2l05c65U0Ga54UZiVIrXsC7QhAwmMEbMEoBHvI0Z2XkcR6lNB1i7NgXW4V4g-hFMrXdrK4iH6yVNKrmmBavmk/w400-h300/DSC04580.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Granted, each of us have our own ideas of how things should be and none of us are wrong. The only "wrong" thing is when others try to force their ideas down your throat by either bombarding you with unwanted advice or by trying intimidation to achieve their goal. Thank you very much but...no, thank you. The Little Bayou House shall remain a "house of curiosities" where the weird and wonderful things come to reside and be appreciated. In fact, I have often been dubbed as the "Keeper of Weird and Wonderful Things" and I happily accept that title. If that bothers others...so be it. You keep being you and I shall keep being me...quirky, curious, creative and productive...all of those things that go hand in hand. I refuse to live a bland, stark life to please anyone!</span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-25271845588289895242023-12-05T15:47:00.000-08:002023-12-05T15:47:51.412-08:00Progressive Decorating!<p><span style="color: #444444;"> Back in September, I decorated an odd, little niche in our bathroom. Since it was fall, the theme had to fit. So...a split gourd, some dried flowers (plus a couple of silk ones) and a lantern filled the space perfectly. Then came along October with Halloween and November with Thanksgiving. Everything stayed the same except I added a couple of tiny pumpkins. I was beginning to like this idea of progressive decorating! Now, Christmas has sneaked in and caught my pumpkins by surprise! It was time to change.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSWYFHXPG67yAoDVQQUkc4s_ajj7pbOb8qvH4f3STKAFaWFd5TKlpvDSBRxZ2CUNcuSmnT1ubKdcsFy7Ac8x0tiFNZmv_H7bElQcyICPO_pN5fYvKKTAg-vyhuN5LNW7_-ccH0cJDk13Cho0dfXdmjC96Nfalj4Z2-1FkRUIe6ng2rLblM5ZPyNUIXaSU/s1772/DSC03866.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1772" data-original-width="1759" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSWYFHXPG67yAoDVQQUkc4s_ajj7pbOb8qvH4f3STKAFaWFd5TKlpvDSBRxZ2CUNcuSmnT1ubKdcsFy7Ac8x0tiFNZmv_H7bElQcyICPO_pN5fYvKKTAg-vyhuN5LNW7_-ccH0cJDk13Cho0dfXdmjC96Nfalj4Z2-1FkRUIe6ng2rLblM5ZPyNUIXaSU/w398-h400/DSC03866.JPG" width="398" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtVf3BW3VZVtipwD_dyx8h9-rKVYnzYCw_QMX07IlSRpCUeRe1WA273DN-85p7GbXyjEp9Yf_jCiFGJylpRCZYtYZS37vtNOCQ9hw590oTx5aLqAzcOPfh7JCZe3R_V6eeQx1UY0TRzBzMZX6-zj-Y9qGA2_Xj_wPoWJRPJioGWhMyiX1NJUwJDl2w5k/s1956/DSC04515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1956" data-original-width="1700" height="449" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtVf3BW3VZVtipwD_dyx8h9-rKVYnzYCw_QMX07IlSRpCUeRe1WA273DN-85p7GbXyjEp9Yf_jCiFGJylpRCZYtYZS37vtNOCQ9hw590oTx5aLqAzcOPfh7JCZe3R_V6eeQx1UY0TRzBzMZX6-zj-Y9qGA2_Xj_wPoWJRPJioGWhMyiX1NJUwJDl2w5k/w391-h449/DSC04515.JPG" width="391" /></span></a></div><p><span style="color: #444444;"> It took a grand total of about two minutes to transition into a different holiday! Out came the fall leaves and orange flowers. Away went the pumpkins! Those would never do for Christmas! A nice bow in red and black plaid topped the lantern, pinecones replaced the pumpkins and a wooden cardinal came to visit. Greenery was poked into the gourd and a crocheted doily made by my grandmother provided the perfect base. It is nothing fancy but neither am I nor is the Little Bayou House. I am sure others would have much better ideas of how to deal with this weird spot but this suits me fine. Progressive home decorating is the way to go! </span></p><p><br /></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-39550510773569730662023-11-25T15:23:00.000-08:002023-11-25T15:23:26.011-08:00Holiday Visitors....Critter Style!<p><span style="color: #444444;"> I have to admit that this time of year is a favorite. This is not necessarily due to the hustle and bustle of the holidays (something I could do without and be totally happy) but rather that visitors of the critter sort come to visit. The Bayou seems to attract ducks like a magnet attracts iron. Seeing the wild assortment of ducks migrating here never ceases to thrill me to the core. I am not sure why but they just do. Perhaps it is because if wildlife is drawn to the area, that means the area is still pure enough for life to continue. This may not be the case for long with the influx of people that have suddenly converged on the area but, for now, my friends have come...and I am happy to see them.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkU1SFHLMdkL4eFQZvUjNy9L2T6ubUClgyD0WpCGbMvuKncYMoJE1Ch00ssiIWqE_0QN9eXU7LLlQygtHZQhYTLUJbenLPyiMX9cWLeOTgcw51yvHh-G-CnkpywhxAH0NK5sCebCP8tV7dEyCro1iAM7A4M0kdr0gHifCnbMg3tb7unS6MGRugHP-rHTc/s836/DSC04488.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="623" data-original-width="836" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkU1SFHLMdkL4eFQZvUjNy9L2T6ubUClgyD0WpCGbMvuKncYMoJE1Ch00ssiIWqE_0QN9eXU7LLlQygtHZQhYTLUJbenLPyiMX9cWLeOTgcw51yvHh-G-CnkpywhxAH0NK5sCebCP8tV7dEyCro1iAM7A4M0kdr0gHifCnbMg3tb7unS6MGRugHP-rHTc/w400-h297/DSC04488.png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> On a whim, I quit baking cookies and Mark and I took a hike to the pier. As soon as I stepped on the first plank, a surprise was noticed. The Hoodies are here! A dozen or more Hooded Mergansers were huddled beneath the pier! I eased my way down the pier trying to step easy and not make the planks sound like thundering xylophone! The birds still heard me and started gradually swimming out into the open water. This was when I noticed dozens more to my left! Oh, my! The Hoodies brought family and friends! Last year, we only had perhaps ten but, this year, there were at least twice that many!!</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje93fUzMDDnmPTWafgvcttemJQJlpgXHbanDzlGBwLcvFcoIJePW8H2AuBW7PN0_P_FCj6_uk8p3onCppC08xgWAX5-0TBKVCaBI6o8OjSKoBOlAGr8reu5vVbNF5xESbPZWFCBviNY5GKjPfRhqeibcyrCeenJHoIRgEuqoWBhgkfQ7zz989rviWYhZk/s843/DSC04490.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="843" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje93fUzMDDnmPTWafgvcttemJQJlpgXHbanDzlGBwLcvFcoIJePW8H2AuBW7PN0_P_FCj6_uk8p3onCppC08xgWAX5-0TBKVCaBI6o8OjSKoBOlAGr8reu5vVbNF5xESbPZWFCBviNY5GKjPfRhqeibcyrCeenJHoIRgEuqoWBhgkfQ7zz989rviWYhZk/w400-h285/DSC04490.png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Not wanting to scare my friends, Mark and I just casually walked to the end of the pier as if we did not even notice the ducks. They did skitter across the water a bit but soon settled back down just to stare back at us. Welcome to the Bayou, my friends. Please feel free to stay as long as you please! This...this is my type of holiday season! Critter friends are the best.</span></p><p><br /></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-86040191642363177692023-11-19T13:22:00.000-08:002023-11-19T13:22:01.578-08:00Mountains of Mushrooms!<span style="color: #444444;"> This whole summer has seen us in one of the worst droughts on record for the area. It was really strange because folks all around us were getting weekly rains. Here, within one square mile, nothing...nary a drop! I gave up on the inground gardens, watered the potted plants and put out bins of water for my wild critter friends. I could not water all of the trees so they soon lost their leaves in an effort to survive. The threat of wildfires kept me raking and mowing like a maniac! Several mornings, the smell of thick smoke caused me to go into a frenzy of removing dead leaves! Then, last week, we got rain! Not much but enough to ease the mind. For three days, a slow drizzle settled the dirt and the soul. All in all, we only got a half inch over the course of three days but it was very appreciated.</span><div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #444444;"> During those three drizzly days, the fungi world came alive. The poor things obviously have been sitting dormant for the duration of the drought and, suddenly, were able to burst forth in happiness! Early one morning, I came across a huge mound of the prettiest, tan-colored mushrooms. An old, rotted stump had played host to this colony! As I mentioned, it was huge...a mountain of mushrooms, so it seemed. The clump was about eighteen inches in height and about that in diameter! I was enthralled by the find and wanted to find out more about these beauties!</span></div><div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJuoOI_uKmu2aJFr9O3M3GYT9aasSeidpzRV3aJaEQ6QjhZp9G9g6yo9HEcTe1ih4xdu-rVqdsZUcvTW1BXZ5Ix8HwRZ4xV3h6chkDeaDPIRvZvRPp5RUKP6Y2PKvPdubVUokggDpbW6iLVtGJPAsvkH5g7BggY2FAFpsJ3hy7NNK3BAN0XDzhVipr7hw/s1037/DSC04470.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1037" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJuoOI_uKmu2aJFr9O3M3GYT9aasSeidpzRV3aJaEQ6QjhZp9G9g6yo9HEcTe1ih4xdu-rVqdsZUcvTW1BXZ5Ix8HwRZ4xV3h6chkDeaDPIRvZvRPp5RUKP6Y2PKvPdubVUokggDpbW6iLVtGJPAsvkH5g7BggY2FAFpsJ3hy7NNK3BAN0XDzhVipr7hw/w400-h300/DSC04470.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUghHbHFEIVbW1HwlM3ZjvyeEglxa2xNN8pbbxueY7F7i3skD0UdFk1xKp6u5fU0Gvuj28J6odoY3I29-a-Jtum31WB8JaDOzgiBygOvtSDfomjOFSk-sQm8zcJW7jUH8ohpD9xqSlQDydtqLWw_2OtIwmMkeYkkPzBJ-WZvGugV7w3w_8vCBaZDBhbA/s1037/DSC04468.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1037" data-original-width="778" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUghHbHFEIVbW1HwlM3ZjvyeEglxa2xNN8pbbxueY7F7i3skD0UdFk1xKp6u5fU0Gvuj28J6odoY3I29-a-Jtum31WB8JaDOzgiBygOvtSDfomjOFSk-sQm8zcJW7jUH8ohpD9xqSlQDydtqLWw_2OtIwmMkeYkkPzBJ-WZvGugV7w3w_8vCBaZDBhbA/w300-h400/DSC04468.png" width="300" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #444444;"> Pondering just how to go about identifying mushrooms, my thoughts turned to my oldest son. Mark is up on all sorts of things and is quickly learning about fungi...a newfound interest. So...I quickly sent him the photographs. He suggested that these looked a lot like Ringless Honey Mushrooms. He then asked, "Did you eat them?" Yeah...sure...I eat all unidentified mushrooms. NO! I did not eat them because I had no idea if they were edible. He then informed me not to eat them raw. They had to be cooked. I think I will leave that eating part to him but I was appreciative of the identification. The name suits them well as they are definitely honey-colored! Sad to say, a few days later, my mountain of mushrooms had dissolved into a gooey, gelatinous mess! My pretty, pretty mushrooms were now a fly-covered gunk! </span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-60005659485143518532023-11-13T18:09:00.000-08:002023-11-13T18:09:39.138-08:00Lacy Silhouettes!<p><span style="color: #444444;"> Earlier this week, I was out harvesting some crape myrtle leaves to make powder for tonics. The trees need to be cut back anyway as they bloom much better after being pruned. Long branches were cut and then the leaves stripped for drying. Afterward, the leaves were ground to fine powder for storage. This is all part of a foraging for tisanes for the winter months.</span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> It was while snipping the branches that I began to notice that I was not alone in my work. Another harvester was busy at the same trees! A Leafcutter Bee was working her way from leaf to leaf cutting the most perfectly round holes in each one. As soon as she cut a circle, she was off to the "bee hotel" hanging on the arbor. I had to stop and admire her work! Once she moved on to another branch, I pruned the one she left and took photos. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> As I was laying the branch on a board, I noticed the interesting silhouettes the sun was creating with the leaves. The shadows had such an interesting pattern! I was photographing the branch to show the bee's precision in cutting circles but her handiwork was better seen through the silhouettes. I only wish I had the camera while the bee was in action.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60hR7s8wq8HhKuidWiqC5N-UCVZSocz5_ebvz2Zr5c8YvmpN_BWlQpu4ynPZ7Wtf1SoppHKPYnr3zh6SWcbdOgh74iiYr0rQv-Q6kj02cckQ4GbGbNp8DKNOC9uDm6XoAtuG7YeHFHLvNYdaFNJvlPuHcEh1FE2UXb0vHMX69OawTr86mG08-nKmcN-4/s1037/DSC04065.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1037" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60hR7s8wq8HhKuidWiqC5N-UCVZSocz5_ebvz2Zr5c8YvmpN_BWlQpu4ynPZ7Wtf1SoppHKPYnr3zh6SWcbdOgh74iiYr0rQv-Q6kj02cckQ4GbGbNp8DKNOC9uDm6XoAtuG7YeHFHLvNYdaFNJvlPuHcEh1FE2UXb0vHMX69OawTr86mG08-nKmcN-4/w400-h300/DSC04065.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUtzAuFd3h-k9rEnOj2fqfDf2vUof_LOTfjI6IqgqK3DnWAWO7ygOPeoSPrtMu-njTb2C4bKsEjSWO-3F0hdvG3LgXDbFhu6YCwPonXM4tsDLpRC2fc2T_r6Gzy_ZZ1y5JiOogmZm71jcvgx_eMs_31tUY124vA_BiVYe9Lm20ws3rEfCHwAQGStgfKRA/s1037/DSC04066.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1037" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUtzAuFd3h-k9rEnOj2fqfDf2vUof_LOTfjI6IqgqK3DnWAWO7ygOPeoSPrtMu-njTb2C4bKsEjSWO-3F0hdvG3LgXDbFhu6YCwPonXM4tsDLpRC2fc2T_r6Gzy_ZZ1y5JiOogmZm71jcvgx_eMs_31tUY124vA_BiVYe9Lm20ws3rEfCHwAQGStgfKRA/w400-h300/DSC04066.png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> The Leafcutter Bee is a solitary bee that is non-aggressive and is about the size of a honeybee. The female cuts circles from leaves to line her nest and then packs it full of pollen before laying a single egg in each "cell". She will create another cell in front of the first and so on...sometimes up to a dozen cells. There is some thought that the leaf-wrapping protects the pollen until the egg hatches. Then larvae hatch and feed upon the pollen. They do not eat the leaves, however.</span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> The holes in leaves bother some folks but to me, it shows that the garden is actually healthy. If bees are busying themselves in the plants, they are pollinating each and every one as they go. Besides! All of those lacy leaves are sort of pretty, in their own right, and the plants are none the worse for wear. Let the bees enjoy the garden and their efforts do nothing but help us. Save the bees!</span></p><p><br /></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-74526079545225072812023-11-11T15:39:00.000-08:002023-11-11T15:39:34.794-08:00Bye, Bye Greenhouse!<p> <span style="color: #444444;"> Way back a few years, one of the first repair/building projects Son attempted was to turn a walk-through arbor into a greenhouse. This was no easy task as the arbor was only 6ft wide and built on a slope. Still, he thought it could be done and, so, he did it. He extended the width by adding more posts and cross pieces, used reclaimed windows that were given to us and some corrugated plastic roofing. I loved my little "rough" greenhouse and so did my plants! We all were happy campers with the time spent there together. This greenhouse also became an integral part of each annual Clue Hunt on the Bayou for the next 8 years. It was everything from a conservatory to a blacksmith shop! Then came Hurricane Season 2020 and its incessant battering of the place. We seemed to catch more storms that year than in any other. One in particular lent a bashing to the greenhouse and my heart was broken. Other things were more important at the time so the repairs were delayed until this month. Since the roof and windows took a beating, Son decided to build a "temporary greenhouse" for the plants and a "swamp shack" for me. A permanent roof replaced my light, airy, clear roofing and windows were reconfigured. Goodbye, Greenhouse. Sad...happy...all at the same time.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGaptgrD5JCIOqsZGwqoE9y9-6HCGV2fEMcVD7WmmFcpAnLOOAIivgl8iL4NjT3-VyhYU-n0BeDUOFs3Etol8V1DIdeU-Z5Xub4iMn-7fK4PVDVxc3AICvJF6aQrKpUW2FT30th4J1q5HSIfVexkcbnm3vMU1-N6Jzwf3wluuIuzFQ05ZEed4O-cIyJc4/s988/DSC04448.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="988" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGaptgrD5JCIOqsZGwqoE9y9-6HCGV2fEMcVD7WmmFcpAnLOOAIivgl8iL4NjT3-VyhYU-n0BeDUOFs3Etol8V1DIdeU-Z5Xub4iMn-7fK4PVDVxc3AICvJF6aQrKpUW2FT30th4J1q5HSIfVexkcbnm3vMU1-N6Jzwf3wluuIuzFQ05ZEed4O-cIyJc4/w400-h301/DSC04448.png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> While the little building is a work in progress, I did decide to put a coat of paint on the outside. The rough planking reminded me of the old, cypress planks on Pop's shed so I tried to match the paint to what I remembered it looking like. It is not perfect but once it weathers, it should be close. Son still has to complete the back window and then do something with the floor but, so far, the little shack is giving me a whirlwind of ideas of how it is to be used. One thing is for certain!! The menfolk around here are NOT going to pile it full of their clutter! Swamp shacks should be interesting not filled to the brim. So long, Greenhouse. You were perfect when first built but had seen better days. Hello, Swamp Shack! You and I have a lot of planning to do!</span><br /><br /></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-43285418884867464232023-11-08T18:18:00.003-08:002023-11-08T18:18:48.627-08:00Alone...<p><span style="color: #444444;"> Early this morning as I sat on the pier, the only feeling I had was peace. The sunrise, the patches of fog, the quietness...all created a feeling of tranquility that only the Bayou can bring. I felt that sense of belonging. The work day started and ended with much the same feeling...I belonged. Then, this evening, an entirely different feeling engulfed me. It was weird. It was not something that I usually entertain but I felt alone...entirely alone. This is not to even be confused with loneliness...I was not lonely...I was simply alone. The sensation that I was the only person within miles engulfed me and lingered throughout the evening. Trust me, folks, it is a strange feeling...very strange. Other than the ticking of the clocks and the purring of the cat, nary a sound could be heard. No traffic on the highway to the north...no boat traffic on the Bay. Looking out the door...nothing could be seen. A thick blanket of fog blocked any lights from across the Bayou and even the distant shore. Nothing. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvMwHM8txKXmP4rpWnIVif40oznRlA8vltWfDEPJP83CKMDy4XbWfksmwe62IjtaLCg_FNVLpuh3ohg_cDkBJdCdc6m69w-mislt0Dj_soQwkpPrAlWuBqw-ND4iqpsk0GTZOYebh_W4XbXK8c2mEH-hj-oM7Rpo7_Cdh3dq4SAhJDiDpbsxMIwgHWlM/s1022/DSC04437.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="766" data-original-width="1022" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvMwHM8txKXmP4rpWnIVif40oznRlA8vltWfDEPJP83CKMDy4XbWfksmwe62IjtaLCg_FNVLpuh3ohg_cDkBJdCdc6m69w-mislt0Dj_soQwkpPrAlWuBqw-ND4iqpsk0GTZOYebh_W4XbXK8c2mEH-hj-oM7Rpo7_Cdh3dq4SAhJDiDpbsxMIwgHWlM/w400-h300/DSC04437.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><p><span style="color: #444444;"> This all came after a day of feeling quite accomplished since I completed every chore that I had set before myself last evening. Laundry was done, pizza sauce had been made and home-canned, "swamp shack" (aka...greenhouse) was painted, cabbage plants were set into the rows and even an art project was started. I should have felt on top of the world but, instead, I felt alone. It is hard to describe. Perhaps...it is better described as being content in solitude and not wishing to return to the frenzy of the outside world. Alone but definitely not lonely. I pulled Bat, the Bayou Prince Cat, a bit closer and relished the solitude...the tranquility...the aloneness.</span></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-54729168565513802982023-11-06T16:59:00.000-08:002023-11-06T16:59:46.232-08:00See You Next Summer!<p><span style="color: #444444;"> The Night Blooming Cereus plants have outdone themselves again this year. For some reason, the plants really love the little care that I give them. They flourish on neglect, obviously. Each spring, I lug them out of the greenhouse and plop them in some shady place of the yard. Occasionally, a bit of water is hosed on them and that is about it. Then, over the course of the warm months, they bloom...lots. In fact, it it has been about every two weeks that the plants reset buds and, when the time was right, the yard would smell divine with the scent of blooms. I can only imagine the frenzy of the moths that surrounded the blooms at night. I have to admit that I only made three viewings of the late night blooming times, this summer. (Exhaustion is not a friend!)</span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> With the recent cold spell visiting us, I did my duty and lugged the heavy plants back into the greenhouse. I figured the plants were finished blooming for the season. Now, they can stay snug and warm for the duration of winter. A couple of days ago, it was necessary to water the plants and you can imagine my surprise to find nine large buds on the cereus plants! Oh, my! Plants...you should be resting now. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfZCBQv1M34g5NH3-Mk3COvkJxo4g2iz9W00XYxT9oPkkCkKzRFuhlBHAA185lTPAgW-iTT2qfDSVtB5ZoH3k51dn19ApqV_D_JJ800ksFJE2z6WXbSAU9AqS8-Djk251PmwuYlYC1Z8IRZP7q6t8BYcakwceIQ8uFferiFQHo4fudzJS7UpL1h1d99o/s884/DSC04422.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="884" data-original-width="718" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfZCBQv1M34g5NH3-Mk3COvkJxo4g2iz9W00XYxT9oPkkCkKzRFuhlBHAA185lTPAgW-iTT2qfDSVtB5ZoH3k51dn19ApqV_D_JJ800ksFJE2z6WXbSAU9AqS8-Djk251PmwuYlYC1Z8IRZP7q6t8BYcakwceIQ8uFferiFQHo4fudzJS7UpL1h1d99o/w325-h400/DSC04422.png" width="325" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Again, I was too sleepy to trek out to the greenhouse to see the flowers in the middle of the night but...BUT!...I headed out at 4am the next morning. The blooms were still open at that wee hour so I did not fully miss their glorious display. When I opened the door, the heavenly scent engulfed me and, once again, I was carried back to my grandparents' place and one of their many "Night Blooming Cereus Parties". (Yes, that was a thing back in the day when I was a youngster.) Those parties often found me dozing on Pop's shoulder far before the "grand viewing" but I was roused from slumber to see the giant flowers. I stood in the greenhouse and whispered a "thank you" to Granddad for giving me my first Night Bloomer so many years ago. And I whispered "thank you and see you next summer" to the blooms.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-30424698648423934122023-10-30T13:46:00.000-07:002023-10-30T13:46:55.831-07:00After The Dive<p><span style="color: #444444;"> The little female Belted Kingfisher that hangs around between the pier and my brother's pier has become rather accustomed to my presence. At first, even getting that sought after photograph was difficult. She darted here and there and was never sitting still enough for the camera to focus on her. This morning was foggy but my little friend was still busy catching breakfast. She was sitting on a rope strung between two posts on my brother's pier. She would wait for an unsuspecting fish to swim close to the water's surface then dive down to retrieve it. She is very adept at catching most any fish she deems to be a meal. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> While I watched, she caught several before settling in to "clean up the mess". Her feathers were soaked between the dive and the heavy fog...time for a bath! Using her long beak, the little bird thoroughly went through every feather...from head to toe! Several times she fluffed the feathers out which made her look twice her actual size!</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2fzwKXFAMTMJUVTuIrPfZoM3nssrAnwd4UYzOvPgFs2Q0PpJrjDcUOZYN91PDbUpoRnCkhYwiGYwPhMrljn9Iyg2UssdG3r1F7cu3h2nflGGG7EUjx-l5AJnX37Dd_ZW8e8RwXSLGpurUw2EXfbbFGfqElKfIckxSpiU6ci7UTD5TWtohZXqa0ejf8Q/s662/DSC04378.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="558" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2fzwKXFAMTMJUVTuIrPfZoM3nssrAnwd4UYzOvPgFs2Q0PpJrjDcUOZYN91PDbUpoRnCkhYwiGYwPhMrljn9Iyg2UssdG3r1F7cu3h2nflGGG7EUjx-l5AJnX37Dd_ZW8e8RwXSLGpurUw2EXfbbFGfqElKfIckxSpiU6ci7UTD5TWtohZXqa0ejf8Q/w338-h400/DSC04378.png" width="338" /></span></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Z940T4jTdI2W1VPitl_nDOl-caKQBRK89i_AvHR8IOSu0_PKBX5s86VldTBtqDUO3euVw7h2AsrsB9r4wkcG3ysKDXS9ySKGCJzPHiTRPoHOaXloRkho7eZNkMwu3p7435gNtYuSceEQv8aWYsy0kZd9YSQI7d_fwweR0UyBiHGBnZw9CPphFljntac/s660/DSC04388.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="529" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Z940T4jTdI2W1VPitl_nDOl-caKQBRK89i_AvHR8IOSu0_PKBX5s86VldTBtqDUO3euVw7h2AsrsB9r4wkcG3ysKDXS9ySKGCJzPHiTRPoHOaXloRkho7eZNkMwu3p7435gNtYuSceEQv8aWYsy0kZd9YSQI7d_fwweR0UyBiHGBnZw9CPphFljntac/w320-h400/DSC04388.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #444444;"> Once she cleared the feathers of most of the water, she began preening. Preening is a method of "oiling" the feathers to keep them somewhat waterproof but also in good condition. Birds use oil from a uropygial gland that is near the base of their tails. They use their beaks to smooth the oil on each feather then on their legs and feet. It seems that birds have quite the "beauty" routine but this is merely a method of protecting their feathers and leg/feet scales. </span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rwZEmyrzOgLJSmjFXmi5Mr95JNMDjucnQIS4WEODPBvzPxrRMvvpejhrPYTNIunieEcOOb05bXhCMZbIGSe65_nmKj7bT3eu1-qLHXz6WuYNrV1kFHc-xKUkcPsrjGsjZ9S7DO3RTUTQgjka6Y1SpTytnyGXcmsrSdR7O3vsYaSULGj2UqWz1JYSKyA/s729/DSC04386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="729" data-original-width="588" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rwZEmyrzOgLJSmjFXmi5Mr95JNMDjucnQIS4WEODPBvzPxrRMvvpejhrPYTNIunieEcOOb05bXhCMZbIGSe65_nmKj7bT3eu1-qLHXz6WuYNrV1kFHc-xKUkcPsrjGsjZ9S7DO3RTUTQgjka6Y1SpTytnyGXcmsrSdR7O3vsYaSULGj2UqWz1JYSKyA/w323-h400/DSC04386.jpg" width="323" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn25VXmRQzlrk0VTTO7RXiYhEkb2BRLQIHkkUfWd6IvGyFRkdhyphenhyphenThmJBpZwqHtVieEeLVIhRmqZ1QnXMQxv3rTEYoh8xY7QABzdL-PUfq1M1EPzYbzsoDYjppIWdHTaWlm6xVeHAQefYlQ0cyVm18Pv46hcgEqkHOqnmZc1B3pjAu8X3lw7hmuoqBJTGY/s574/DSC04392.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="574" data-original-width="528" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn25VXmRQzlrk0VTTO7RXiYhEkb2BRLQIHkkUfWd6IvGyFRkdhyphenhyphenThmJBpZwqHtVieEeLVIhRmqZ1QnXMQxv3rTEYoh8xY7QABzdL-PUfq1M1EPzYbzsoDYjppIWdHTaWlm6xVeHAQefYlQ0cyVm18Pv46hcgEqkHOqnmZc1B3pjAu8X3lw7hmuoqBJTGY/w368-h400/DSC04392.png" width="368" /></span></a></div><p><span style="color: #444444;"> After my bird friend finished, she flew off to another perch high in a pine tree near the marsh. For me, I already had dozens of photographs and a light coating of fog settling on my clothing. It was time for me to head back to the Little Bayou House and clean up myself!</span></p><br />Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-37498119339298769962023-10-28T16:46:00.000-07:002023-10-28T16:46:41.107-07:00Harvest Moon? Hunter's Moon?<p><span style="color: #444444;"> Harvest Moon refers to the full moon phase during the month of October. (That would be tonight!) Some folks call it the Hunter's Moon and then there are a dozen or more regional names that can be found to go along with this month's full moon. Mom always called it the Harvest Moon but Pop did occasionally mention the Hunter's Moon. Both are correct as are the many others. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Harvest Moon was so named as October has been traditionally the month that crops were harvested and laid in store for the coming winter. This dates back to when freezers and refrigerators were still unknown. "Winter" crops were harvested and put in cellars or "banks" which were outdoor storage spots. The cellar method was simple...harvest the crop, let dry, place in baskets and haul down into the "root cellar". As for banking? That was used mainly for potatoes (sweet potatoes). This involved a bit more work as an elevated plot of ground had to be leveled and a bed of straw layered on top. Next, sweet potatoes were mounded on top of the straw and left to dry during the day. This was to "cure" them or remove most of the moisture that could cause rot. (The potatoes were covered at night to prevent condensation from building up.) After a few days, more straw (or hay) was placed on top of the sweet potatoes and then covered with a thick layer of dirt with only a "vent" left open. To prevent rain from penetrating the soil and rotting the potatoes, a "roof" was made from overlapping boards or even a thick layer of thatch. We did this each October back on the old farm place where I grew up. Mostly, I gathered potatoes as they were dug and then raked huge mounds of pine straw to be used in the bank. Pop and the "boys" (my brothers) did the heavy work. Very rarely did we lose any sweet potatoes when using this method. Pop often tried to bank in other winter crops but seemed to have the best luck with sweet potatoes. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> The Hunter's Moon came from...you guessed it...hunting as a means of survival. Animals have a great instinct to "fatten up" before the harsh winter months which also made it the perfect time for people to "stock up" on meat. This was back in the day before many hunting laws and it was an ok thing to hunt at night. The full moon made it easy to see unsuspecting deer, rabbits and hogs (etc). Once the animal was butchered, the meat from was usually smoked or home-canned as preservation methods. Almost every home had a smokehouse for smoking meat and fish. This was all about feeding the family! So..it is easy to see how this moon phase got its many names. Most are all somehow related to storing up food for the winter months that were just around the corner! </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjjh0BRDMpMt3M6eLKPpvZZDuDdx-VYf60TRf6ioD_2o4RCOC_3MDXCwag0EAbxvDgjXFcAVJLL4bKC7hes4x_fM4ldFxWoe0616ZH_n4Oh3IMFAtMYDjNbbmWfQzQ_u-42xDvUTaoV-Dkb1wZpAOAHicJsUYgmPs9K3G11Qeg8lfxxgQDjvgdrBk6skw/s1037/DSC04252.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1037" data-original-width="778" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjjh0BRDMpMt3M6eLKPpvZZDuDdx-VYf60TRf6ioD_2o4RCOC_3MDXCwag0EAbxvDgjXFcAVJLL4bKC7hes4x_fM4ldFxWoe0616ZH_n4Oh3IMFAtMYDjNbbmWfQzQ_u-42xDvUTaoV-Dkb1wZpAOAHicJsUYgmPs9K3G11Qeg8lfxxgQDjvgdrBk6skw/w300-h400/DSC04252.png" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Now...I have to be honest here. This photograph is definitely NOT of the Harvest or Hunter's Moon. In fact, it is NOT even a photograph of the moon, at all! The picture was taken during midday while I was playing with the camera and the zoom lens. The sky was an eerie orange from smoke (fire was north of us) and that gave a slightly odd appearance. I sat in the bright light and focused on the distant shore of the Bayou with that long lens in place. I did not even attempt to zoom in...just let it be. The result? This weird...almost moon-like...photograph. I liked it so thought I would share.</span></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-55446463182203999892023-10-25T17:33:00.000-07:002023-10-25T17:33:02.312-07:00It's Pirate Treasure!<p><span style="color: #444444;"> A few years back, I noticed a bright, glowing spot on the water right at the edge of the marsh. This spot was on the opposite shore if I looked eastward. It was late fall and right at sunset when the intense light appeared. I was so adamant that one of the recent hurricanes had washed something ashore there that Mark paddled the small skiff to the spot to check. He found nothing amiss. In fact, by the time he got there, the "spot" had fully disappeared. The sun had slid down behind the pines and fully blocked the beams. We pondered this for quite some time but never figured out why the sun pinpointed that spot with its rays. What was reflecting the light? Our murky, muddy waters are not sparkling enough to cause this phenomenon. Then, as seasons do, things shifted and the sun was not at the "perfect" angle to create the brilliant splash on the shore.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8XJdsMimRbuVW0Xtx3uO6NBSLr6ZWSoIPi8EwFvdkQqEGwBYFS5da_p1gmNJQjjmRWP_2TXZGi_rGqu7WRGJaYoKtTABYTfAHQGT95gTxrfGzc3yP35DENAZgHzftd1cIaJVG6rDjVRlSLSPRMcWN6cPIdaQfTkmJCNFb3-M8WAkBBoeZ-ZUdqowxEr4/s659/333.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="659" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8XJdsMimRbuVW0Xtx3uO6NBSLr6ZWSoIPi8EwFvdkQqEGwBYFS5da_p1gmNJQjjmRWP_2TXZGi_rGqu7WRGJaYoKtTABYTfAHQGT95gTxrfGzc3yP35DENAZgHzftd1cIaJVG6rDjVRlSLSPRMcWN6cPIdaQfTkmJCNFb3-M8WAkBBoeZ-ZUdqowxEr4/w400-h306/333.png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Yesterday evening as we sat on the pier, the glow appeared again. The sunset has now shifted enough to reflect on whatever is causing the glow. There, at the edge of the marsh seated beneath a background of groundsel bushes and goldenrod, the shimmer was back, if only for a few fleeting moments. I was tempted to ask Mark to paddle the skiff to the spot once again! (Poor fellow!) As we mulled over the possibilities, he mumbled something about pirate treasure and that was all it took to get the wheels going in my head! Perhaps that is it! Maybe some pirate ship made its way into the Bay and deposited treasure in that exact spot! After many years and a goodly number of hurricanes, the gold doubloons are spilling out over the muddy bank catching the sun's rays! Interesting thought, but I do believe someone would have already laid claim to the treasure if it was out in the open with a huge spotlight shining on it. Although...pirate treasure would be something that my brain could wrap itself around and come up with a dozen or so tall tales to explain the shimmer across the Bay!</span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Will we ever be able to explain what is causing our "bright spot" or shall we leave it up to speculation and let the "haunted tales" become another "Bayou Legend"? I sort of like the latter. Leave some things unexplained. </span></p><p><br /></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-75663185210412581212023-10-20T17:16:00.000-07:002023-10-20T17:16:20.917-07:00Dead Tree? Brick Wall? <p><span style="color: #444444;"> I am tired, folks. It seems that as I age, the workload increases. Of course, a lot of that workload is nothing more than decluttering but it is taking a toll on me. For some reason, my greenhouse became a dumping ground for anything that would not fit in Mark's shed or the storeroom. With the coming (hopefully) of cooler weather, the greenhouse came to my attention. I need a place for all of these potted plants. When I opened the door, egad!...I could not even step inside! Everything from old windows to lumber had been stacked inside. There was absolutely NO place for plants. Yep, guess who got to clear out all of that junk...me. For the past few days, I have been lugging stuff outdoors. Now the yard has a mountain of stuff discarded from the greenhouse. Personally, it could all make a complete disappearance to the dump but, the menfolk have other thoughts. Everything hauled outside was met with "That is still good." I am thinking that THEY need to find somewhere to put it...not me. As long as it is not in my greenhouse, I do not care. I am over it.</span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> Sometimes, folks, even in the midst of chores, you just have to take a few minutes to find a bit of enjoyment. That happened early this morning. I had been in the greenhouse since before daylight and was fully growling by the time the sun peaked over the pines. Sad to say but exhaustion had already set in after only two hours of work. It was then that I heard a familiar "laugh". With that, it was time to grab the camera and have a bit of fun. My friend the Pileated Woodpecker had come for breakfast.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhthSOR4uI2OH6kYjWFhlwcCbwL1VC6LhSoj-M8yClfqc1zgEpW0eE2SgQbrBSldiu6p-JuTS6Mnp9kpxQ06xLUY0WJ4nNUkuRLSVs1tAmYcqSFYSFQsyrmpTKL76QMwGM-KZHT80y_8QIu3t7PrQw3-SLVPq9-NCo_xVSmT6Zeyn4TwJ9CmDODH4jR0E8/s1494/DSC04298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1494" data-original-width="1100" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhthSOR4uI2OH6kYjWFhlwcCbwL1VC6LhSoj-M8yClfqc1zgEpW0eE2SgQbrBSldiu6p-JuTS6Mnp9kpxQ06xLUY0WJ4nNUkuRLSVs1tAmYcqSFYSFQsyrmpTKL76QMwGM-KZHT80y_8QIu3t7PrQw3-SLVPq9-NCo_xVSmT6Zeyn4TwJ9CmDODH4jR0E8/w295-h400/DSC04298.JPG" width="295" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPGzy1WupJuwHoQnpXg0RXEzNKW3jCd5B4jIyeXYnxp6bA2PfhQKmpIbHnqkX1Uxhhff4qpY2DiNOm11RR26U1Gm4O8jQPuHze5q0dwdvynuJkjGhj7muEP9MBzKJtBPUti3S1OuUVZZTOGYxyPMJnO4Dglp5lUYBUeEQvZ88Sz5R-IyiQe7ZdhswDtY/s1334/DSC04300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="1095" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPGzy1WupJuwHoQnpXg0RXEzNKW3jCd5B4jIyeXYnxp6bA2PfhQKmpIbHnqkX1Uxhhff4qpY2DiNOm11RR26U1Gm4O8jQPuHze5q0dwdvynuJkjGhj7muEP9MBzKJtBPUti3S1OuUVZZTOGYxyPMJnO4Dglp5lUYBUeEQvZ88Sz5R-IyiQe7ZdhswDtY/w329-h400/DSC04300.JPG" width="329" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKN5rXM6Uiokkg_Jbc5O1HqFWw1IvZ8E8PfObmNABHUdeMSeMZ4LS1pPuzVfX0HrOp2q_l85_JdKGt-CTPKEbSqC32bRqkl2Qv2ZNtmhaSzxGtM5Lm8UQd3y4J3yTGFvPy1zZaYX667JztYrx4NFNYRP4h0_V3XTnBRKKYcRQdDEjBL0qr6IWHgQVWlSc/s1474/DSC04302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1474" data-original-width="1105" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKN5rXM6Uiokkg_Jbc5O1HqFWw1IvZ8E8PfObmNABHUdeMSeMZ4LS1pPuzVfX0HrOp2q_l85_JdKGt-CTPKEbSqC32bRqkl2Qv2ZNtmhaSzxGtM5Lm8UQd3y4J3yTGFvPy1zZaYX667JztYrx4NFNYRP4h0_V3XTnBRKKYcRQdDEjBL0qr6IWHgQVWlSc/w300-h400/DSC04302.JPG" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcsPHm15E1pdCVF_SI9RGmIrqu8hQfx1wUhVI56gVw1VPhvAf10WQmEBmqN1WAxxm_kef1IrzT-nU4ihK4MVwCQrEgG8I_I3_y_gYXnpF7MM39v-x7eNiA148fD2FvmtIaaYTO2f7VupEvSf159MpVcOHYosY4xghZrcLZbS0eZNjTylGpYy-pSHURoA/s1479/DSC04301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1479" data-original-width="1121" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcsPHm15E1pdCVF_SI9RGmIrqu8hQfx1wUhVI56gVw1VPhvAf10WQmEBmqN1WAxxm_kef1IrzT-nU4ihK4MVwCQrEgG8I_I3_y_gYXnpF7MM39v-x7eNiA148fD2FvmtIaaYTO2f7VupEvSf159MpVcOHYosY4xghZrcLZbS0eZNjTylGpYy-pSHURoA/w304-h400/DSC04301.JPG" width="304" /></span></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="color: #444444;"> It is rather weird that termites have killed several of the large oak trees near the pier. The woodpecker was treating himself to a hearty breakfast of those dratted critters. Yes, this is a male. An easy way to tell is to look at the face of the bird. While both birds have a red crown, the male's extends all the way to the beak. The female's stops about midway. Also, the male has a bright red cheek stripe which the female lacks. </span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> I love the Pileated Woodpeckers and the fact that we leave enough woods intact so they have a place to nest. My chores were put on hold for a good half hour while I watched the one bird. He stayed nearby for most of the morning and brought a much needed smile to my face. It almost made me giggle aloud to think of how he rapped his head against the tree...sort of like me beating my head against a brick wall to get this place cleaned. </span></p><br />Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-812971422705681106.post-190497033037997322023-10-17T16:44:00.001-07:002023-10-17T16:44:57.229-07:00Rattling Call, Incredible Speed...The Belted Kingfisher!<p><span style="color: #444444;"> Belted Kingfishers are rather skittish birds. They are shy and tend to stay away from people if at all possible. Add their incredible speed and you can easily see why the birds are notoriously difficult to photograph. This makes the "hunt" interesting. Sometimes the only indication that a kingfisher is in the area is its call. The bird is usually solitary and only meets up with another during breeding season. </span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> One thing that is a bit unusual about the Belted Kingfishers is that the female is more brightly colored than the male. If you see one with an extra "belt" of rust color across its chest, that is the female. Males lack this and are only blue and white. There is some question as to why the female is more colorful since this is not the norm. Usually, male birds are brightly colored to attract females and the females are muted as to stay hidden while on the nest. What gives with the kingfishers? </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-We5gmTdjBVOWJswAv-zlSmeoC_y0bgk3mNHsE2DrvwM-NHONLH830MAfnI7qaG_LYl3YnElaMkc28-cACqAdrxg4MwN9mneVytbhz8_6SobPhyphenhyphenYnA-h7LyknjZYAG6DBlF6uQkNPiKEaAw33lHt93v18DU8sD2FmGcYuSQgFaodaLHePYzcy7-rpvE/s1477/DSC04212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1102" data-original-width="1477" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-We5gmTdjBVOWJswAv-zlSmeoC_y0bgk3mNHsE2DrvwM-NHONLH830MAfnI7qaG_LYl3YnElaMkc28-cACqAdrxg4MwN9mneVytbhz8_6SobPhyphenhyphenYnA-h7LyknjZYAG6DBlF6uQkNPiKEaAw33lHt93v18DU8sD2FmGcYuSQgFaodaLHePYzcy7-rpvE/w400-h299/DSC04212.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> One explanation that seems most logical is, that since kingfishers are highly territorial, the rust-colored band gives a resident male a clue that he need not defend his territory but should welcome the visitor. When in the midst of many battles with other (intruder) males, that bit of color is sort of like a flag. The male can easily distinguish the female as a possible mate instead of an interloper.</span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"> This morning, I heard the rattling call of a kingfisher near the pier. Determined to get my photograph, I plunked myself down and waited. I was rewarded when a female bird landed on a tall pole on my brother's pier. Ahh! I had to be quick! I snapped exactly one picture before the bird dove into the water, snatched a fish and flew to a nearby pine tree. She was gone...but I had my picture!</span></p><p><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></p>Bayou Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08573845491671483260noreply@blogger.com0