Faerie House? Gnome Home? Just A Stinky Mushroom?

  Since I am back to being Queen of the Small Gardens instead of the Swamp Queen, I search for things to occupy the brain all within my realm.  This is getting exceedingly difficult since my realm now is quite small and devoid of the usual massive "rainforest" type plants.  Those perished with the winter freezes due to insufficient heat in the greenhouse.  (Never trust that flood lights can replace heat lamps.  They are not the same...but I used what I had on hand.)  That being the situation, I now have to search high and low for things to entertain myself.  As I slowly meandered the garden path, I felt depersonalized.  It almost seemed as if I did not belong here.  This was one of the first times ever that I overlooked what I told others to actually "see".  Something was just not right.  I entered the fenced vegetable plot that was usually filled with cabbages, broccoli and cauliflower heads just waiting to be harvested.  The rows sat empty....and sad.  Ok, so this was not helping my mood at all!  Everything needed to be fixed starting with my attitude!  That decided, I was determined to find that overlooked point of interest and, with it, rid myself of this almost feeling of self-pity!  Nope, that was not going to take hold and linger long.  It had to be remedied and fast!  I searched for that one elusive element that would set things right.

  That diversion came in the form of the lowly Clathrus Columatus which is commonly known as a type of stinkhorn.  Yep.  One of those stinky mushrooms that most folks detest.  I admit to them not being a favorite of mine but this one bemused me.  I had found something that started the wheels of the brain to start a slow whir.  There was something about this stinkhorn that looked vaguely familiar.  I had to dig deep into the dusty corners of the mind...back behind the cobwebs and dust bunnies...to stumble upon a recollection of where I had encountered anything that triggered a slight memory of resemblance.  Then it hit me.  Way back in the day when I was a tot (eons ago), my Aunt Helen spent hours with me making faerie houses and gnome homes.  She had me convinced that these beings were real and lived among us all while unseen.  (I still kinda/sorta believe!)  We would create fantastical little houses from whatever was on hand and make pretty gardens of mosses, tiny flowers and pebbles to complete the perfect faerie/gnome paradise.  My found mushroom reminded me of those happiest of times spent in nature with a favorite aunt.  It was marvelous!  I could literally feel my doldrums being lifted and my spirits starting to soar again.  The Queen is back even if she has a smaller realm.  Let the imagination fly and let the kingdom flourish with magical and whimsical moments of joy and peace.

"This is my space!"

   Since I am sort of housebound again, hiking about the hillside is out of the question.  That saying about getting old is not for the weakhearted is quite accurate.  When things slam...well, they slam hard.  I miss going out and seeing my critter friends especially this time of year when things are awakening from the winter.  That said, you can imagine the allure of a single woodpecker drumming somewhere nearby.  As I slipped out the front door, I was in hopes that the bird was somewhere nearby...somewhere within my newly prescribe "range" of activity.  I sat quietly in the old wicker chair in the Small Gardens and listened.  Ok, so the drumming was to the west!  That narrowed it...a wee bit anyway.  Slowly, I shifted my position and listened intently.  It sure seemed that my friend was nearby simply by the potency of the noise.  I scanned the treetops.  Nothing.  Oh, come on, now!  Bird, you just have to be within my confined area!  

  I listened.  Wow!  That was loud!  Perhaps a Pileated Woodpecker made its way into the yard?  Perhaps my Redheaded Woodpeckers have returned after missing for a few years?  Surely, this was a large bird and could be easily seen.  Rap, rap, rap.  The drumming continued as I edged my way...ahem (don't tell)...slightly out of my realm of the Small Gardens and to the west.  Rap, rap, rap!  Oh, geez.  In an old pine near the camellia bushes, there was the source of the intense drumming.  It was not what I expected but still a happy surprise.  A tiny...really tiny...woodpecker was claiming this as its territory!  A small Downy Woodpecker kept pounding away on the hollow limb.  The 6 inch long bird was using this as a drum to send out its messages.  "Hey!  I claim this part of the yard as mine and I found the perfect nesting site."  My little friend was speaking and speaking LOUDLY!  

  You know, Folks, we are all a lot like those woodpeckers.  We lay claim to "our" territory even if it is an emotional space.  We have an innate need to pull into our own territory to decompress and analyze our own being.  This is a healing mechanism.  My physical territory has been limited to the Small Gardens, once again, until another healing process is complete.  This time it is due to a extreme bone density problem.  One fall, one misstep, one wrong twist can bring devastation to my body.  It drives me crazy.  I am stir-crazy already and the diagnosis was only brought to light about two weeks ago.  No more hikes, no more gardening, no more physical anything.  That said, I shall divert the attention to some long overdue creative projects that require the "dreaded" just sitting.  Being lazy hurts!  I have never had so many aches and pains!  These must be endured for the next year while the treatment does its thing but...it is all good.  There is a cure.  So, once again, I am crowning myself as "Queen of the Small Gardens"!  I am healed...or, at least, on the way to being...then, I shall reclaim "my entire territory" and shout it to the world like the drumming of my friend, the woodpecker!

  

Where Did All The Water Go?

   It is a well-known fact that a strong north wind can drive the water lower than usual in the Bay.  Sometimes during the winter months, our pier sits "high and dry" with nary a puddle beneath it.  Mud...that stinky, sloppy mud...surrounds everything and anything that was hidden by the dark waters is evident.  Tree limbs, derelict crab pots, even old boat parts are left visible once the tide is extremely low.  I have lived near this Bayou my entire life and have witnessed that old wind drive the water sometimes a good hundred feet from the pier's end.  The water returns with the next high tide if the winds have subsided but that lack of water does indeed put a kink in any fishing plans!  

  Saturday morning, the tide was at its low at around 7:30 in the morning.  We had an incoming cold front so the winds were out of the north and were sustained around 18mph.  Yes, the tide was low...really low!  Mark actually took pictures and made the remark that it was "the lowest I have ever seen!"  I checked and had to agree.  That water was way out there!  It was interesting to see but, since I had no plans of fishing, the phenomenon soon flitted from the brain.  There was no use in pondering low tide....until a few hours later....those few hours made a bigger impact.

  Around noon, Mark made a trip to deliver a pot of beef stew to a sweet old lady.  While he was gone, I glanced out the window and was taken aback.  Where did all the water go?  It was low tide before but this was getting ridiculous!  There was absolutely NO water!  I mean NOOO water at all!  I hurriedly made my way to the end of the pier to check this further.  There literally was no water!  The entire part of the Bay known as Magnolia Bend" (our part!) was nothing but mudflats!  I peered across to the air base...there...there was a wee bit of water in the industrial channel that runs parallel to the opposite shoreline.  That water seemed to be nigh on a mile away!  In fact, if you look closely at the photos that I took, you will see a glistening streak on the far shore.  THAT is the only water in our whole Magnolia Bend area.  The rest of what is seen is mud...purely mud.

  As I sat there pondering the lack of water, I had to giggle because, just last week, Mark made the comment that he would like to extend our pier so we would be in "deeper water".  Yeah, right!  I guess a mile long pier would be fine just so we can fish in that channel so very far away!  I am thinking he would be better off just jumping in that little skiff and puttering over there.   North winds and low tides are always going to be a thing around here but we just have to take it as it comes.  (I have to admit that I much prefer this type tide over the tidal surge that comes with a hurricane.  This one leaves no messy debris piled in the yard!)

Mr. Sparkles

   I always say that you never know what you will find in the Little Bayou House.  It is filled with oddities that have come to call the place home by pure happenstance most of the time.  Then, there are the living things that somehow find their way in for a visit.  Critters that live around the Bayou are not overly picky about their living quarters so any nook or cranny will suffice.  This does not usually cause too much concern as I simply put the critters back outside where they belong with a stern warning not to return.  We have had birds, raccoons, possums, squirrels, snakes, frogs, lizards and every possible (or so I thought) insect creepy-crawling or slithering about the house at some point.  Hmmm...we even had a baby otter visit but that was not by his choice.  Back when the kids were growing up, they found critters, brought them home and called them pets.  These wild "pets" were allowed a short stay before they were returned to where they were found.  I assumed this was a learning experience since my siblings and I did the same.  I guess a house is a home to a lot more than just the human family that resides there.

  This morning, I was sweeping the dust bunnies out of the living room when I noticed a "sparkly" on the floor.  Assuming this was some random bead left over from my granddaughter's stay a few weeks ago, I reached down and picked up said sparkly.  Hmmm...beads do not wiggle.  Yep, it was a bug.  Another critter had found its way inside the house.  "Sparkles" (its name now) was unlike any critter that I had seen before.  It literally seemed like it was covered with glitter. Most of the time, it gleamed bright green but occasionally certain spots seemed gold.  Time for a few photographs before "Sparkles" headed back outside. 

  After a little research, I have about decided this is none other than a Metallic Woodboring Beetle.  There are numerous types but, thankfully, this is not a "bad" beetle.  Yes, it does gnaw on wood but only on dead or dying trees (which there are many here due to termites.  Yep, termites have infested the live trees.)  Anyway, what I found most interesting about Sparkles is that it is really not all those colors.  Its exoskeleton has divots on the surface and those only reflect certain colors.  Mr. Sparkles obviously loves green!...and maybe gold!  Actually, the whole critter is iridescent but the little divots reflect the most light...sort of like an inverse disco ball!  

  The beetle was so pretty that I had to carry it all the way down to the canebrake where Son was pulling out the dead canes.  While showing him our glittery friend, he suggested that it may have come in with an armload of firewood.  Ahh, probably right!  My first thought was to return Mr. Sparkles to the outdoor wood rack but then I had the horrible thought that he may not make it through the next cold spell.  It was pure luck that he crawled out of the firewood in time with his first adventure indoors.  He may not be so lucky next time!  So...I made the decision to let the critter loose on the old oak stump.  There, he could find lots of old wood to munch and some pretty snug places to overwinter if the weather turns cold.  Now...I can mark Metallic Woodboring Beetle off the list of Little Bayou House guests!  Like I said, you never know just what you might find here.

 

"I wanna go home!"

  First off...do you ever talk to inanimate objects?  I do.  If you do, would you mind telling me if you get any replies?  Again, I do.  Maybe not so much in words or sounds but in feelings, I guess.  To me, if you really get to know an object...especially one that has been through some trauma...an odd sort of aura emanates from it and that aura speaks volumes.  At least, it "speaks" to me.  Yeah, there are those who claim that I am weird or eccentric and those are the kinder folks.  Ask others and you will get some more "elaborate" descriptions.  But, back to "talking" objects...

  About a year and a half ago, my dear friend had a most devastating event happen to her.  While she and a friend sat talking, lightning struck her house causing a huge fire.  They both managed to escape unharmed but her house was a total loss.  Only a few items were salvageable with one being a clock.  The poor clock did not go unscathed as the finish crackled and the clockworks itself was full of soot.  So...what better place to bring a clock for the duration than to the home of that weird friend who kinda/sorta fixes antique clocks.  I immediately cleaned and oiled the clock.  The outer case could not be remedied much without devaluing the worth so I simply used denatured alcohol to even some of the finish.  Now...the test...I gently swung the pendulum and the gorgeous clock started ticking!  It worked!  After all it had been through, the clock still ran smoothly! The clock has been here since.

  Several times, I moved the gorgeous clock to a different spot in my living room from my work table.  I figured it deserved a better spot.  Perhaps the buffet!  There it would be showcased as the beauty it is.  Nope, the clock immediately stopped working.  Well, perhaps on the coffee table!  That lasted just about ten minutes and no more.  Well, maybe the bookshelf!  The clock was not having it.  Nary a tick could be heard.  Out of desperation, I set it back on the center of the work table.  Tick, tick, tick...the clock did not miss a beat. So...I asked it why?  Why will you not work anywhere but this work table?  You deserve better, my friend.  Then, in soft silence other than the steady ticks came the answer.  "I wanna go home."  My heart broke.  The clock had let me know that the work table felt the closest to going back home where it belongs.  It needed to go back to the loving care of my beautiful friend.  All of the other locations, though comfortable, were not home.  The clock felt like those moves were permanent.  It needs to go home.

  So...the clock will go home...back to where it belongs.  Slowly I glided my hand across the sloping back of clock as I whispered..."Soon...soon, you will be back where you belong.  I promise...I promise."  Sometimes, objects murmur, but this time the clock spoke loud and clear.  

The Great Cricket Search!

   In many cultures, crickets are thought to be harbingers of good luck, future prosperity and protection.  It seems that much lore has been attached to the chirpy critters since the beginning of time.  It was considered to be a happy day when a cricket was found in the home but...it would bring much misfortune if the cricket was killed.  This thought led to many folks protecting their crickets against any danger even to the point of having cricket cages in their homes.  Well, living on the Bayou sees many critters wanting to invade the house...crickets included.  I am not squeamish about the critters that call the Bayou their home and can happily live side-by-side with the lot of them.  Then came the invasion.

  Early on Christmas morn, my oldest son and I were in the kitchen.  I had fixed him a cup of coffee when I heard a strange sound.  Uh, oh...that sounded like the batteries were dying in our smoke alarm.  I tried to remember when we last changed them and continued talking with my son.  Then...about 15 minutes later...another series of beeps...errr....chirps.  The alarm was in the laundry room which is just off the kitchen. I peeped in there but the thing was quiet.  Nary a sound came from the confernal thing so I headed back through the doorway to the kitchen to continue the conversation with my son while we waited on the others to rouse from bed or arrive from their homes.  Soon...the goofy thing chimed again!  Alrighty then...out to the back deck it went.  It was driving me crazy!   We would have to depend on the other alarms that were playing nicely until I could find the proper batteries for this one.  After a bit...I heard the same sounds in other rooms.  Geez!  Those batteries must all be dying!  I spent a good bit of Christmas morning on the search for fire alarms and batteries!  I was thankful once everyone was ready to open gifts!  Yay!  Let Christmas fun begin!

  After all the gifts were opened, My son, Mark, handed out three "special" gifts!  One to each sibling and one to me!  Eeek!  I was excited...short lived glee but...excited!  I opened the package to find a puzzle box...you know...one of those nigh on impossible things to open??  Yep...one of those.  I fiddled with the box, all the while, complaining of those dratted "alarms" that were still screaming.  Aha!  Step one was completed!  I was quite proud of myself!  There, scrunched in the tiny compartment, was a packet of herb seeds!  But...there was more to open...so I continued to push, pull, twist and turn portions of the box until....another compartment and another packet of seeds!  Alrighty, then!  Mom is getting good at this!  Beep..beep...shut-up, alarms!!!  Mark informed me that there was one last compartment and reassured me that I was doing well.   Another few twists of parts of the box and a few shoves revealed the last compartment...completed with a tiny portrait of Jiminy Cricket...you know...that "moral guide" from Pinocchio?  Yeah, him...and he had a message..."Find Me!"  Huh?  I did!  I just found you!  Nope...the search had only begun.

  Well...now it came to light that my smoke alarms were not so confernal after all.  Their batteries were fine...the beeps were not coming from them.  Mark had hidden some sort of noisemakers all over my house!  The beeps (chirps) were Jiminy Crickets and I had to find them to make the noise stop. Arghh!  What had my son done???  Beep..beep.  The search was on while he sat at the kitchen table chopping vegetables for our Christmas dinner that I was supposed to help him make...and to top it off, he had a big smirk on his face.  Ugh!  Crickets!  Why did they have to be electronic things that, as he informed me, would keep chirping for approximately 3 years...THREE YEARS!  I searched, he smirked as the morning slipped by.  Soon this became a family effort and everyone who was not involved in his sneaky scheme chipped in to help rid the house of Jiminy!  Oh, was I happy when my son-in-law announced that he found a cricket on top of the huge china cabinet!  Whew!  One down....beep...beep.  Ugh!  About a half hour later, my sweet granddaughter squealed that she found one!  I could do nothing but hug her! Oh, happy day!  Beep..beep.  Not another!  Yep...another.   About this time, both grandkids decided it was time to play with their Christmas gifts and several other of my "team" decided it was time to help their sibling who was now in the midst of preparing the dinner by himself.  (Ha!  Payback for sending his mom on this wild goose chase!)  They cooked...I searched with my only ally...Darling Daughter, Elizabeth.  Beep...beep.  We were back in that laundry room!  Now anyone who has ever been in the Little Bayou House can attest that searching any room would be a difficult task but that laundry room also doubles as a storage area for home canned goods, dehydrated herbs and most of my canning supplies.  It also houses three large freezers so searching there would prove to be challenging but Elizabeth stuck with me and we found the elusive Jiminy!  Wow!  What an unexpected gift!  It was so much fun to have the whole family involved and the search will be talked about for years to come.  Not to mention...I am glad the fire alarms are still in good working order and were not chunked too far out the back door!  Thanks, Mark!...Now, son...no more shirts for you for Christmas...it is payback time!  Beep!

  

The Sticky Mess

   Way back in January of 1919, a deadly event occurred that could have been prevented had carelessness not gotten in the way.  Most folks nowadays have forgotten or merely have not even heard of the "Great Molasses Flood of 1919" and when you mention it, a lot of folks stare in disbelief as if it was not a true disaster.  Jokes are often made but the loss of life is not ever fodder for comedy.  The flood really did happen and it was all the result of greed and carelessness.  The flood was truly that...a flood.  It happened because of a failure in the structure of a 50 foot tall storage tank that was a slipshod construction.  A neighborhood in North End, Boston was completely devastated by a gigantic surge of molasses after the storage tank ruptured.  Townsfolk had pointed out the structure leakage long before the tank literally exploded but nothing more than a brown coat of paint was applied to the tank.  This was done to merely disguise the problem and not to remedy the situation.  Because of the shady dealings, the rupture caused the neighborhood to be engulfed by a 35 mile per hour wave that was 25 foot tall.  2.3 million gallons of molasses ripped through buildings, toppled trains from the tracks and, most horrifically, killed 21 people and numerous animals.  The town was in complete shambles and covered in a horribly sticky mess that made cleanup nigh on impossible until it was found that salt water helped dissolve the goo.  The fire department was then put in charge of the major amount of cleanup as salt water was pumped from the Boston Harbor.  All in all, this was a tragic event that could have been prevented had the Purity Distilling Company only inspected their tank to make sure it would withstand the pressure of so many tons of molasses.  Responsible action should have been key goal.

  Not to be compared to this catastrophic incident, something happened yesterday here at the Little Bayou House that caused this whole memory of that flood.  Purely because of a molasses spill on the kitchen table, I recalled that Granddad had told me about the Great Molasses Flood.  This spill, like the flood, could have been avoided had "protocol" merely been followed.  It appears that the lid of a molasses bottle was not properly tightened after use and then the bottle was inadvertently toppled.  Yep, a small scale "chaos" occurred.  Sticky syrup flooded the table.  As I was cleaning the goo, Granddad's story came to mind.  I was determined that, once I finished the task at hand, I was going to research the event.  It was eye-opening and, at the same time, heartbreaking.  There were 21 too many lives lost due to negligence.  In both cases, that "ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure" idiom comes to mind.  Responsible action could have prevented the devastating flood in Boston and the small-scale mess in my kitchen.  

  Folks, if you ever have a few moments, read the history of the Great Molasses Flood of Boston.  Something that happened over a hundred years ago should be a reminder that we all need to be more responsible in our actions.