Time To Watch The Centipedes

   It is my habit to get up before dawn merely to have some "me time".  When the kids were still here, my whole time was spent doing for them.  That "me time" was nonexistent if I went by the standard idea of sleeping late.  So, the habit stuck and here I am in my old age still rising at 4am.  Old habits die hard.  But, the time spent by myself is always some of the most interesting and satisfying of the day.  It is then that I can ponder things uninterrupted.  It is also then that I can visit my critter friends without receiving looks of disdain.

  It was one of those "friends" that made me pause for a good ten minutes or so at the crack of dawn.  My wanderings had taken me around back of the house.  That path falls close to the old chimney at one point.  The bricks of the chimney, itself, are rather neat as they are now covered with soft, green mosses.  It is not good for the bricks but it sure is mighty pretty.  Seeing the moss is always a cause for pause to study the designs woven in the crevices.  That is where I found my "friend".  A tiny centipede was so busy hunting its breakfast among the moss mounds that it was oblivious to my presence.  I was able to photograph the critter at my leisure as it stayed on the mosses for quite some time.  In and out!  In and out!  The tiny centipede poked its face in every nook and cranny.  Occasionally, it would find an ant.  It would only stop long enough to devour the insect before restarting its search.

  It is times like that moment that I cherish.  Had anyone been with me as I traipsed the hillside, I am sure my centipede visit would not have been so lingering.  Not many folks tend to take an interest in such oddities.  I do.  I revel in each find and want to soak it all in before I am not able to do this any more.  Time is short, my friends.  Enjoy it while you can.  Take the time to smell those roses or watch the centipedes.  Take the time for you.

Some Things Are Never Explained

   Now that I am regaining the freedom to roam the Bayou and surrounding areas, I had to go back and check the creek bed.  I have missed the magic of the swamp.  The critters, the mosses, the huge palmettos and tangle of vines makes the creek bed an enchanting spot.  One fully expects some mystical creatures to be lurking in the shadows.  A fleeting glimpse of something hastily moving across the sun-dappled ground or the soft whispers of wings in the treetops add to the feeling that you are not alone.  This, my friends, is a favorite spot.  One where the imagination is free to roam where it may and where it is not hindered by the naysayers of the world.

  While I was crossing the small creek, I noticed one moss-covered stump that seemed to be ancient.  A tree had obviously been cut here, at some time.  This, I found strange as not one tree this far in the creek has ever been felled by saws since I came to live on the Bayou.  Plenty have fallen due to hurricanes but no one has ever cut a tree in probably some fifty or sixty years and, yet, the stump remains intact.   I pondered the age of the tree remains and who had felled it.  Years and years ago, Pop had told me of a sawmill business that had been on this land before Grandpa purchased it.  That was nigh on a hundred years ago.  Could this stump have lasted that long?  Surely not but...if not, who had cut the tree?  And why cut one in the creek if not for such a thing as a sawmill?  This will most likely remain as one of the mysteries of the Bayou. For now, however, I will just be pleased with my find of yet another mossy area.

The World Beneath the Underbrush

  Earlier today, there came an eerily familiar fracas from deep in the creek bed.  It grew in intensity until I had to quit painting, grab the camera and slip unseen through the underbrush.  The cacophony reminded me of a saddening situation a few years back.  I witnessed a large male raccoon literally slaughtering the young of a small female.  It was breeding season but she already had kits. Since the massacre took place high in the top of a dead pine tree, there was nothing I could do to help the sweet little mama.  I watched and cringed as I saw the male pull the tiny babies from the nest, bite them and fling them to the ground.  Little Mama tried valiantly to protect her litter but it was to no avail.  She finally gave up and flung herself from the treetop.  She would rather plunge some sixty feet to the ground than watch her babies be so brutally killed.  This horrifying massacre lingered in my mind for years to come and, today, it surfaced with each scream.

  As I edged my way through the underbrush and down past the palmetto clumps, I was thankful for the cool air.  Hopefully, all cottonmouths had crawled back in their warm spots for the day and I would not tread on any.  The screaming continued for the full ten minutes it took me to reach the spot where I could see what was happening.  Thankfully, it was too early for kits yet but this was equally brutal.  Sweet and gentle love is not a common thing in the critter world.  Four large males were competing over a small female but she was caught in the middle of the brawl.  No matter how she tried, there was no escape.  She was bleeding and screaming as the males battled over her.  Since no kits were involved (yet), I turned to leave.  There was no reason for me to be there and, in fact, it would have been dangerous (and foolish) for me to intervene with nothing but a camera to use as a weapon to protect myself.

  As I clamored up the hillside out of the creek, I was suddenly sidetracked.  Without realizing it when I was racing down, I had plowed through a virtual fairyland of beauty!  Dropping to my knees, I admired the beauty of mosses, ferns and tiny flowers!  The overhead canopy of trees and bamboo had protected the area from the elements and allowed this natural wonderland to flourish!  Oblivious to the melee going on about fifty feet from me, I started photographing the captivating beauty of the forest floor.  Key word here is "started".  After only two photographs, the camera went dead and, in my rush to be a "savior of baby raccoons", I forgot to pick up extra batteries.  Yep, my wonderland would have to wait until I have another opportunity to weasel my way beneath the thickets.  Since it is to be cold tomorrow, it should be a perfect time if the opportunity presents itself.  Then, I SHALL remember to grab a pocketful of extra batteries! 

Tiny, Enchanted Garden

  It is a well known fact with my family that I am fascinated by mosses, ferns, lichens and the such.  Darling Daughter is much the same.  Elizabeth and I will tromp the swamps and marshes in search of anything interesting.  In fact, the fondness has grown so much that it is a great desire to have moss gardens in place of lawn.  Grass is boring.  Mosses are not.  They are magical!

  This morning while out walking the old dog, the ground shimmered with a gilding like none other. Normally this area is a deep, velvety green but, in the early spring, the carpet moss is almost gold.  This is because the moss had shot up its sporophytes!  These are tiny growths on the female moss that are actually "baby" mosses waiting to happen.  They appear to be tiny stalks with a capsule at the top.  Since they cannot support themselves at this point they literally "feed" off "Dear Old Mom".  The female moss (yes, these mosses reproduce sexually and asexually) supports the sporophytes until they are mature and the weather is perfect.  Then, the capsules will burst open and spores will scatter about the place with the aid of the wind.  The spores will fall to the ground and become either male or female mosses.  When reproducing asexually, a small portion of moss may be separated from the clump.  This piece can grow into a new moss.  

  The carpet moss is aptly named as it does indeed "carpet" the ground and appear to be a nice, soft rug.  If conditions are right, the carpet moss can reproduce and spread rather rapidly.   Mosses do require a good bit of water to flourish which is why they are readily found on creek banks, in swamps and, in my case, on a bayou.   However, since they draw most of their water from the air, the ground does not necessarily have to be soggy.  The weather this past year has been perfect for moss-growing.  The often rains and heavy fogs have kept it wet enough to support the growth and reproduction.  

  Personally, I think if the entire place was covered by mosses, it would be ideal.  After cutting grass for the past two days, it would be nice to have the ever neat and trim mosses covering the yard.  No more mowing!  Hmmm...that might be some of the allure but, overall, I think it would just be enchanting!

A Fallen Limb or a Bright Idea!

  The weather did not cooperate with plans of a bit longer hike with the old dog. He had a good night and I thought perhaps he might wish to amble about the place.  Instead, a steady rain put a nix on that idea.  I did manage to slip out to the greenhouse to putter for a while but he stayed on his warm bed which was probably for the best.  

  Just beyond the greenhouse, stands a live oak tree.  It was a small limb that caught my eye this rainy day.  The branch had been broken in the recent winds and landed squarely on the back deck of the greenhouse.  What made it interesting was the fact that it was covered with moss and had a lovely little fern growing where a twig had once been trimmed.  It did not take long for this chunk of wood to capture the imagination and send those wheels in the brain to flying.  I could use this!  If it is at all possible to keep this whole little "garden" alive until October, it will be perfect to use as a prop for this year's Clue Hunt on the Bayou! (Yes, that event is always on the forefront of my brain as preparations begin in January of the event of the year that happens in October!)  This year's theme calls for the greenhouse to be transformed into a swamp witch's hut.  Mosses, ferns and lichens will all be needed to do the deed!  In a sense, I will be landscaping my greenhouse!

  The wildly flying imagination could see just how the transformation will take place.  It has to begin now so each part looks perfectly natural.  My plan is to be on my own clue hunt of sorts as I search out each item that will soon be growing in the little hut!  This make believe world will probably be my favorite yet since the onset of the clue hunt some seven years ago!  (Oh, my!  It is hard to believe that this will be the Seventh Annual Clue Hunt on the Bayou!! Fun times!)  So...rainy weather is my friend.  It will aid me in my efforts to transform the greenhouse into a moss, lichen and fern covered dwelling!  What an undertaking this will be and, to think, it all started with a fallen branch!

Alien Lifeforms???

  The other day, I saw something on social media that made me giggle.  A request was posted to "Describe 2018 in two words".  One answer was "It rained."  That, my friends, pretty much was the most accurate response that could have been made.  It rained.  And rained.  And rained.  So far, 2019 is starting out to be much the same.  This does not surprise me.  The sliced persimmon seeds predicted it.  Maybe those things are accurate...then again...maybe the rain caused the persimmon seeds to appear the way they did.  Still, to be honest, I find it great.  Rain is good no matter how you look at it.

  The copious amounts of rain has caused the ground to be a bit soggy and with the warm weather, this has caused profusion of fungi species to sprout up all over the place.  While some can be a bit smelly and others downright slimy, most are fascinatingly beautiful.  The hillside resembles some fantastical gnome kingdom.  Wandering the property, I keep waiting to find some happy little faerie sitting atop one of the 'srooms.  It just needs to be.  Not only are mushrooms taking over the place, mosses and lichens are flourishing, as well, in this warm. humid climate.  Down in the lower part of the front yard, an old oak tree is dropping a good many twigs that are covered with lichens of all kinds.  

  I am ever intrigued by the shapes and textures of lichens.  Some seriously remind me of an alien life form that has fallen to earth.  Contrary to what most folks believe, lichens are not parasitic plants that harm the host tree.  Instead they pretty much just use the tree for a place to anchor themselves.  They draw moisture and nutrients from the air.  They are often blamed for damaging trees since the lichens usually try to colonize on bark of twigs that are already dying.   They love damp areas with little air movement so the mugginess lately has been good to them.  Another thing that is good to know is that if you find a plethora of lichens in your trees, that usually means the air is rather clean and pure!  They prefer non-polluted areas and are rarely seen in places that cannot offer such.  Obviously, the Bayou and surrounding woods are blanketed with clean air as indicated by the overabundance of lichens!  

A Different World Altogether

  Son has often said that it does not take a lot to entertain me.  This can be taken either way...good or bad...so I choose to look at it in a positive way.  To me, it means that my imagination has not died with the influx of artificial stimulation.  Anything can act as a trigger to take me to some faraway, magical place.  It must be the influence of my late Aunt Helen.  She never bored of daily life because she had the ability to be a thousand miles away in her thoughts.  She taught me well.  

  This morning's hike was a damp one.  A thick fog shrouded the entire Bayou muffling footsteps and holding the sights and scents close around me.  Making my way around the back path, the heady aroma of citrus blossoms mingled with the enticing scent of trailing wisteria blooms engulfed me.  This was enough to start the imagination but the sight of moss-covered bricks sent it into overdrive.  The brain found that moss oddly alluring.  Suddenly the whole world whirled around in a myriad of thoughts of romance, moonlit walks and happy endings.  Perhaps these were from tales told by grandparents so many years ago or perhaps it was just all of the elements of the day coming together in harmony but I was thrown into a mystical, magical world for a bit.  It was a place that was hard to leave.  That first step back into reality was difficult.  I wanted to throw the day's chores to the wind and stay in my "happy place" for the day.

  It is nice it to simply waltz into a different life now and again...to let mundane things become exquisite...to find happiness at your own backdoor.  I think everyone needs an Aunt Helen at some point in life.   She is needed to teach us all how to imagine what can be. 

 

Mossy Paths and the Wiggletail Search

  I try not to complain because I like rain.  I really do.  I like the way the earth smells fresh and clean after a thunderstorm.  I like the thunder, the lightning and winds.  Stormy weather stirs me to the bone but occasionally, one has to say "Enough is enough!"  Our persimmon seed weather forecasting predicted a wetter than usual winter and, so far, the seeds have been correct.  We have had so much rain that things are getting a tad soggy about the Bayou.  Living high on a hillside, rain waters do not present a flooding problem but due to the constant moisture (from rains and pea-soup thick fog), nothing is drying.  If this keeps up, we will all have to be extra diligent in emptying any standing water.  Mosquito larvae will have a happy time but, I guarantee, the rest of us will not.  With the warmer weather, this thought occurred to me, today.  I need to start checking flower pots and birdbaths for those little wiggletails!

    Wiggletails!  Now, there is a fine name for you.  Wiggletails are what we grew up calling mosquito larvae.  The tiny wiggly things that can be found in any bucket of water seemingly moments after a rainstorm!  It never ceases to amaze me just how quickly mosquito eggs hatch into those weird looking larvae that so violently kick about in standing water.  Let any wee puddle sit more than a day and suddenly it was filled with the larvae.  The tiny, almost worm-looking larvae move about the water with a tail-jerking action..hence the name wiggletails.  Pop told us to make sure we emptied any buckets so the wiggletails did not "hatch" into mosquitoes.   The name stuck as did the idea behind the emptying.

  But the rains have not only supplied us with potential mosquito nurseries, it also has made trekking about the hillside a tad treacherous.  The board paths have become covered with molds and mosses that are as slippery as a greased pig.  Several times in the past few weeks, I have come close to sliding down the hillside on my rump!  The board paths are to be avoided until drier weather!  I can remember my grandmother going out with a bucket of bleach water and a scrub brush to swab down her front steps.  At the time, I thought that she did not like the way the molds and mosses made her steps green.  (Personally, I thought it was a lovely shade of green and was almost perturbed to see her scraping away at the moss!)  Now, I think she probably had a great idea.  Still, being the lackadaisical person I am, I shall wait until the weather dries and the mold and moss disappears on its own.  In the meantime, I shall take a different path and hunt for wiggletails.

The Bog Calls to Us

  It was a good day.  Any day outside seems to suit me fine but today was special.  Darling Daughter and I spent the day traipsing about a creek and wooded area.  Down behind their property is a low area that is almost magical.  The trees block out the sky leave you feeling completely secluded from the world.  Once you head down under this canopy, things change.  It is the perfect place to escape reality for a little while.  As she and I slipped quietly down the embankment to where the creek was still overflowing from the recent rains, we both felt a peace around us.  We looked at each other and had the same thought of deja vu.  It was as if we belonged spiritually among the mosses, ferns and critters that inhabit the bog.  Something felt as if it was drawing us deeper and deeper into the depths of the fen.  

  While we were marveling over the intense feeling of belonging, we began discovering life that most overlook.  Our vision adjusted from the bright sunlight of the open field to the dim lit understory of the creek. The mystical, magical place began to open up to us.  We were enthralled.

  Mosses, fungi, lichens, ferns...all could be found among the fallen logs and crawfish mounds. Some, we recognized.  Others were unknown to us.  All were fascinating.  We pushed deeper into the swamp.  The further we went, the more entranced we became.  Then, an idea! Wouldn't it be wonderful to build a tiny house way back in the bog that was only accessible by means of a footpath and a swinging bridge? Just a tiny hut of a place to commune with nature and sort of "nest" while escaping the "real" world.   A place where we could feel at peace.  The bog calls us.  We shall return.