Shampoo Ginger!

   So, thanks to Darling Daughter, I am now "forced" to try something new.  It is no big secret that living like I do, I muddle around with tisanes, poultices, balms and other herbal concoctions.  She knows this and also knows that I grow or forage my herbs.  In fact, she is all for it as she is quite the same.  That said, she and my son-in-law always find some plant that is not in the Small Gardens and they give me that as a gift.  Last Christmas, they gave me a ginger root.  This was unlike the culinary ginger that fills the back garden, it was Shampoo Ginger.  Alrighty, then!  I carefully planted this root in a huge pot to keep it separate from the other garden bound plants.  Well, it took off growing and never stopped!  

  I was meandering the herb gardens while thinking about what to plant for my fall/winter vegetable plot.  Imagine my surprise when I was greeted with nine blooms on the Shampoo Ginger plant!  (Those buds sure look a lot like the pine cones that the squirrels are dropping from the treetops.)  I gave the largest "cone" a gentle squeeze and, sure enough, it was filled with liquid.  It is that liquid that I am supposed to harvest and turn into shampoo!  Tomorrow will find me on my knees with a jar in hand trying to capture all of that lovely stuff before something knocks over the plant and spills everything.  

  This is my first experience growing, harvesting and using this type ginger.  From what I have read, each cone will refill a few times after they are emptied.  According to all information, only the red ones should be harvested as the others are still growing.  That makes sense.  There are a couple of brown cones that will need to be removed so that will be done, as well.  Wish me luck in this new endeavor!  I am making shampoo!

Ok, so what do you do with hot peppers?

   Two years ago, I took a wild notion to plant about six hot pepper plants.  I think that they were supposed to be jalapenos but as the plants grew, they set the oddest assortment of fruit.  Some were long and slender while others were short and stubby.  I shrugged my shoulders and thought "What difference would it make?  I just needed a few for the "Bayou Fire" tonic for the winter.  The six plants were prolific.  They bore far more peppers than I needed so I set to making hot sauce.  Well, you can only use so much hot sauce.  Those six plants insisted on bearing and bearing with no end in sight.  The shelves in my dining room-turned pantry were now filled to capacity.  (Over a thousand jars of assorted goodies are there for our use!)  What to do?  What to do?  Hmmm!  I shall dehydrate said peppers!  The thought behind this was that dehydrated goods do not take up near the space that canned goods do...so, I pulled the dehydrator down from the top shelf and got to work poking holes in peppers...lots of peppers...way too many peppers.  It did not take long to fill the twelve trays.  It did take long to dry them.  It seems that peppers are obstinate about their state of being and almost refused to become shriveled and dried.  They did, however, so into a half gallon jar, they went!  I felt pretty smug with myself for that idea...until I went out to the herb garden and found a bajillion or so more red peppers.  Ugh!  I was taught to appreciate everything and waste nothing...so I picked peppers.  I dehydrated more.  I now have two gallons of dehydrated hot peppers.

  Like I said, this was two years ago.  Those six plants suddenly became twenty-three plants because I inadvertently dropped a few peppers on the ground.  (Learn from my mistakes here, folks.  Never assume that a dropped pepper will just rot.  They do not.)  I have come to the realization that I am well on my way to having a "pepper grove".  Yes, two years ago, I planted six and now have twenty-three.  I thought sure peppers were annuals not cold hardy perennials.  Even when freezes killed most everything else in the garden, those peppers survived...and thrived.  Now during the third "growing season", I have picked.  I have "candied", preserved, pickled, dehydrated, made sauce and infused vinegars and oils.  I have given bowls of the peppers to neighbors, friends, relatives and even tried to give some to the nice lady at the hospital where I take treatments but she politely declined. Just what I need...no takers. What do I do now?  Just how much appreciation can one show to ever-bearing hot peppers?  Several times, I have been tempted to pull the plants and toss them in the compost but, knowing my luck, they will take root, love the rich soil there and bear more peppers.  I am about hot-peppered out here, folks.  Any suggestions?  

Making Friends At the Frog Pond

   It has been a while since I have last written anything but, perhaps, this is the start of a regular thing again.  I am gradually starting to feel like my "old self" after a bit of a stressful ailment.  Doctor's orders said "No being out before dawn or tromping through the creek bed without someone else in tow."  That did not set well as both Son and my husband would rather take a leisurely approach to the morning and neither have the time to traipse in search of some critter or odd mushroom.  My ailment, once again, left me to the "Realm of the Small Gardens" where I adjusted my crown and tried to carry on with the day as best I could.  After 6 months of treatment, those rules are starting to loosen a bit which elates me!  

  I did get to go out to the Frog Pond this week to pull a few of the over abundance of water hyacinths.  Those things are relentless!  Thankfully, they contribute a good bit of nutrients to the compost so not all is terrible.  While there, I had a visitor.  A Praying Mantis decided that my shoulder was the perfect perch.  This thing was HUGE!  I guess the mosquitoes in the pond are a tasty treat so I was happy about that.  What I was not so happy about is that these critters will also eat my baby tree frogs!  I am quite sure that the mantis dined upon a few of those, as well.  It is understandable that the mantis must eat to survive but I would prefer it did not eat the cute, little froglets!  After a bit, I gently lifted the mantis off of my shoulder and let it crawl to the wild petunias on the outer edge of the pond.  There, it can patrol the area without worry. 

  For those who think that the Praying Mantids only eat other bugs, there is a great deal of study showing that they eat anything that they can overpower.  If it moves and the mantis can subdue it, that critter becomes breakfast.  The froglets, tiny lizards, spiders...anything is fair game to them!  If you can look closely at the photograph, you will see their front legs are quite spiky which allows the mantis to get a good grip.  Their patience, stealth and strength usually give the insect the upper hand when hunting.  One this size (a good 5 inches in length) eats whatever it wants.  Hopefully, I will find oothecas (egg cases) soon! Carry on, Beautiful Mantis!  It was nice meeting you.

The Life of Goldie

   Since I have been forced to slow down a bit due to health issues, I have to find things to entertain myself.  Thankfully, as Son has always said, I am easily amused so it is not overly hard to deem something as interesting enough to take a break from chores.  This afternoon after canning hot sauce, I headed outside to empty the remnant pepper stems.  Once I returned from the compost, my attention suddenly was drawn to the eaves of the house.  Aha!  My good friend "Goldie" was busying herself in her web.  Goldie is none other than a Golden Silk Orb Weaver.  The spider, I am quite sure, is the offspring of the one who had a web in the exact same corner of the back porch.  It seems that this is a favorite spot of these huge spiders and I am all for them being there.  With the wet weather we have had lately, there are a ton of every type biting bug imaginable so Goldie is sure to be well-fed.  But...why suddenly has she captured my attention?  Well, Goldie was busy, as I said.  It did not take long for me to figure out that she was in the midst of molting!  Goldie was going to get bigger!  

  Every year since I was a kid, I would seek out the orb weavers simply because they are so huge.  The palm-sized spiders demand attention from all but especially of curious kids.  Back in the day when I was a small kid, I watched as they spun their webs across the window in Pop's shed.  Now, I watch as one molts near the backdoor.  Funny how things come full circle, isn't it?

  Grandmother once told me how these spiders spin their gigantic webs to bridge a gap between the human world and that of nature and whosoever treated the spider with kindness would always be protected.  Well, even though I know that Grandmother merely did not want me to destroy the web (for the same bug-catching reasoning I have now), it would be nice to know that a spider this size is on my side if things ever hit the fan and I am in trouble!  

  Goldie still has another couple of months to grow before she weaves her egg sac and fills it with eggs.  Those eggs will hatch in a few weeks but the spiderlings will stay put in that sac throughout the winter months.  Then!  Then, the tiny critters will spill out and things will start anew.  Man, I love Goldie!

Fish Crow to the Rescue!

  Being tightly bound to the small gardens once again, I miss my bayou critter friends.  So far, none have ventured up to the gardens to do a check on me like six years ago when I had to crown myself "Queen of the Small Gardens".  Then, everything from turtles, snakes, raccoons, owls and hawks ventured into the gardens.  I cherished each of the visits and had some of the best "conversations" albeit one-sided.  I was just happy to have them nearby. 

  This go-round, someone new has taken to a thrice daily visit.  If I am in the back part of the gardens, a Fish Crow will perch itself on the peak of the house and call to me.  It watches my every move and will come down to accept peanuts from the fencepost.  If I am in the front gardens, it perches itself about twenty feet up on an old, dead oak branch. There it calls constantly until another handful of peanuts is proffered.  These are carefully placed on an upturned flowerpot on the arbor.  The bird happily accepts each gift.

  While most folks are not overly fond of crows, I have come to love this bird simply because it gives me the feeling of usefulness in an otherwise useless situation. The bird came to my rescue just when I needed it the most. Perhaps the bird senses that I am "on hold" from my daily routine until the body heals or perhaps it just wants those peanuts.  Either way, I am grateful that it has chosen to visit the Small Gardens.  

Added note...American Crows are much more abundant across the entire nation but Fish Crows are usually found coastally.  While their appearances are similar, their calls are distinctly different.  This is definitely a Fish Crow!

"We need 500 of these quickly!"

   Yes, indeed.  We do.  Darling Daughter made that comment when I sent a (poor) photograph of the Eastern Kingbird and told her that there were several in the yard doing fantastic aerobatic maneuvers around the old, dead oak tree.  I was a bit entranced by the birds' antics and figured there had to be a specific reason behind their actions. I watched as long as I could before I had to make a dash to the house due to being eaten alive by mosquitoes!  It was time for a bit of research on the type of bird and what it may be doing.  I found that the Eastern Kingbird eats those dratted mosquitoes!  Needless to say, I was elated but I continued reading and soon became even happier!  It seems that the birds love to eat swarming termites!  Oh, happy day!  These birds are heroes!

  By this time, it was just about dark.  I sent the photograph to Elizabeth and told her of my recent study.  Her comment was almost a desperate plea..."We need 500 of these quickly!"  Yep, the termites were swarming with a vengeance at her place.  She and Robbie were vacuuming termites from their house in hopes to rid the place of some.  That is when I decided to check our "outdoor termite light".  Oh, goodness!  To explain, years ago, I found that termites were attracted to lights so in the midst of "lights out" inside, a shop light was rigged far down the hillside in hopes that perhaps the critters would mosey on down there.  It worked!  Last night when I checked the light, thousands of termites were swirling under the light!  We literally had a termite cyclone down there!  What made it better was lizards and frogs were devouring many of the bugs!  Oh, yeah!  This was good. 

  I now figured out that the Kingbirds were catching the termites as they were coming out of the old oak tree to swarm. For two hours before dusk, the birds did their aerial stunts while consuming the termites. I hope the birds stick around and reproduce here.  I welcome them all!  Should I mention that I love Eastern Kingbirds?  

  Note...the photograph of the termites was taken from an upstairs window.  What appears to be a small tree decorated with white lights is definitely something far more sinister!  That is the shop light facing downward with a cyclone of termites flying underneath.  The light is glinting off their wings making interesting patterns albeit a bit disturbing when you know that those wings are attached to critters that are eating the houses down here on the Coast.

Hope Returns

   Early this morning after a drizzly rain, I slipped out into the small gardens to see if any of my newly planted seeds had sprouted.  I am late getting the plots ready since I am on "light duty" for the rest of this year.  No digging means no rows which, in turn, means no gardens. Still, where there's a will...there is usually a way so I did the next best thing of planting without well turned soil.  Armed with a trowel and a small hand rake, I planted.  Now we shall wait and see if the feeble efforts turn into something durable.  

  The garden, however, was not the highlight of my early morning traipsing.  Again, that light duty is also tied tightly with limits as to where I can go unaccompanied.  The pier (also known as "my favorite sunrise place") is definitely out of my realm but that does not mean that I cannot edge my way to the clearing where I can view the length of the path and pier.  I did and I saw an old friend just waiting at this end of where the pier starts.  A Great White Egret was resting while watching the mudflats for anything she could have for breakfast.  This is a bird that I named "Hope" several years ago when the whole country was in the midst of the COVID scare.  That was the same time that I had a stroke and was bound to the Small Gardens for the duration of my recovery.  (Much the same as now but for different reasons.)  Hope and I got to know each other rather well since I was deemed a "non-threat".  She would come to visit each day and we would while away an hour or so just being together.  Neither of us made much effort to "tame" the other but it was like we had an understanding.  Now...she is back.

  Hope looked a little worse for wear after the stormy weather of the past few days. Her feathers were ruffled and she looked tired...much like me.  I am not sure the bird recognized me after my absence but there was no forgetting her.  She helped me before and I almost got the feeling she understood my plight once again as she came a bit closer to where I was sitting.  There, we visited...me on the upturned old boat on shore while she stopped about twenty feet from me.  We stayed...I talked...she listened and watched for bull minnows in the marsh.  Good friends are like that.  Good friends just care.

A Dangerous Beauty

   For as long as I can remember, Flame Lilies (also known as Fire Lilies or Gloriosa Lilies) have adorned the gardens of many family members.  Pop had them.  Aunt Marie had them.  The "Lamey Twins" had them.  Just about every yard had the things growing (and often growing out of control).  My lilies have gotten out of control.  They are everywhere.  Their stunning blooms brighten all corners of the gardens and have sort of taken over the entire place.  I have got to figure a way of putting a damper on the rapid proliferation of these things or I may as well give up on any diversity in the plants.  They are getting that bad.

  Now...as beautiful as they are, comes the bad part.  These things are highly poisonous!  Don't eat them!  Don't even taste them!  And, surely, do not let the kiddos or the family pet gnaw on them.  All parts are toxic and are deadly to both humans and animals.  Supposedly, only porcupines can tolerate the plant and, unfortunately, I have none around here to help me stifle the growth of the lilies.  

  With no help in sight, I suppose I shall have to dig and destroy many of the lovely lilies.  It saddens me to do so but they just cannot take over the whole place.  Just a note...if you do handle any part of the lily, wear gloves or, at least, make sure to thoroughly wash your hands!  Ummm...this comes from someone who never wears gloves and does not wash the hands after each plant.  Oh, well...pray for me!

Giving Up Is Not An Option

   Early this morning, I headed to the little Frog Pond to see if our resident watersnake had returned.  Since I could not find her, my thoughts turned to other things...frogs!  The green treefrogs and American toads were singing their beautiful songs last night so the pond was full!  One, in particular, caught my eye as it was far up on one of the grasses.  That was big for a green treefrog!  I admired it for a bit before ambling back to the porch.  As I went passed the storeroom, another critter caught my eye.  A cicada was struggling to keep ahold of the siding as it morphed from its underground phase to its full adult stage.  The poor thing had half pushed its way out of its shed and was dangling precariously backwards!  Its grip on the siding had failed.  The poor thing was not able to right itself from this awkward angle causing it to not be able to finish its job of pulling from the old exoskeleton.  It was stuck.  While this situation was bad enough for the critter, I knew if it fell, things would be drastically worse.  A cicada has to hang vertically for its wings to form and dry. 

  Just as I was pondering whether I should go against Son's advice of never interfering with nature, the poor cicada dropped to the ground.  Oh, geez!  It had fallen right near an ant nest!  Poor little fellow!  Without thinking about that sage advice, I put my hand down next to the critter and allowed it to cling to me.  Now what??  It was time to find a safe place for our friendly critter.  Ahh, yes!  The small, potted quince tree would have to suffice as a temporary "hospital" for the bug.

  The little guy seemed well pleased with its new location and clung to the bark like a boss!  I kept watch on the progress and offered the occasional "moral support" that was needed to finish the process of molting.  It was an amazing experience to watch as the wings unfurled and then were inflated (yes, they inflate) then harden.  This took about an hour. During the hardening, I was a tad worried about its right wing but, in the end, the wing was normal. The adult cicada was gorgeous! Soon, it was able to take flight!  I look forward to hearing its call (or rather the calls of hundreds in the treetops).  I guess I will just have to take it that one of those calls is from the rescued critter.

My Backyard "Tower"

   Being tightly bound to the Small Gardens has made me start looking for points of interest that I might ordinarily overlook.  We all do that.  We become so hung up in what we "have" to do that we have a tendency to forget what we "need" to do for ourselves...those things that inspire, induce tranquility or simply cause us to "stop and smell the roses".  Having the title of "Queen of the Small Gardens" imposed upon me during my time of healing has brought my "workload" to a crawl.  Sorry, being lazy both hurts and helps.  Physically, I ache from suddenly becoming more or less inactive.  Mentally, the brain is whirling with fantastical tales.  This seems to be something inherited from my maternal grandmother.  It was passed to my Aunt Helen and then instilled in my brain through contact with the two of them.  They had the ability to create magical scenes for any child who wished to listen and believe.  I did both.

  That said, yesterday, as I was strolling through my garden domain (thing queen here!), I spied the cupola that sits atop of a house which is probably a quarter of a mile from my house.  The Bayou is between the two houses. In my previous hikes along the marshline, the cupola definitely sat on top of that house.  The whole house was visible and, while I thought the thing was neat, it never inspired any creative ideas.  It was just a cupola that would need a difficult paint job as the need arose.  Since my view was from a different angle and the cupola was mostly hidden behind the grape arbor and tree line, it suddenly became a "garden tower" and thoughts soon drifted to tales that the aforementioned ladies had shared.  Ahh...faerie tales...the Land of Enchantment...a little girl's happy time...all came tumbling out of the dusty corners of the brain.  

  Who knew that a neighbor's cupola could stir the creativeness to a point that I wish to write, paint and recreate some of those long-lost tales?  Perhaps, this void in my usual busy day can be filled building ideas instead of greenhouses.  Maybe, the seeds that I should be planting are ideas and not the start of plants.  Possibly, I needed a time to slow down and find a different, more pleasing role for myself.  It is a thought anyway and one that I shall seriously consider.  Healing can take many different routes, it seems.  So...as Queen, I shall start or, at least, make an attempt.

The Queen Is Back

  Being somewhat limited in my actions, once again, has made me pull out that crown and dub myself as "Queen of the Small Gardens".  This is not by my choice but rather one made by those who care about me.  "You have to stop doing everything and let your body heal."  These are orders given by those who have more sense than I do apparently.  I fully admit to doing things that an "old lady" should not be doing but...putting a roof on the lean-to seems like a simple thing.  So does pushing a lawnmower for four hours or bailing out the tiny Frog Ponds.  I just do not like asking for help for things that I can do for myself.  That said...I have had to ask.  I have had to stop.  I have a year to be lazy....lazy hurts...bad.  I have always felt much better being active even if it was overactive.  That said, my whole Queen of the Small Gardens is even a bit on the downside as I am not allowed to work the gardens to my satisfaction.  Lazy...I have to be lazy.  Oh, did I mention that lazy hurts?  It does.

  So...since my gardening work has come nigh on to a halt, the gardens decided to take things in hand.  It saddened me to see the empty rows, the barren flower beds and the weedy raised boxes but...this fretting was all for naught.  The gardens planted themselves!  Perhaps, these are not the plants that would have been so tediously tended but they are gorgeous and I am appreciative.  Mother Nature knew I needed a boost so she sprinkled wildflower seeds everywhere!  (Some folks would argue that my wildflower beds are nothing more than unkempt weed patches but, to me at the moment, they are lovely!)

         

  Some of the prettiest "gardens" are beneath the potted fig trees. These are trees that I rooted back couple of years ago and just never had the opportunity to transplant them into the yard. So...they are still in pots.  BUT!  Underneath those fig trees are lovelies!  Wood Sorrel or Oxalis plants are thriving!  Each morning, I am greeted with hundreds of pinkish blooms! The blooms are said to symbolize joy and renewal.  Both seem appropriate simply for the feeling I get each day just by seeing the delicate flowers and that my body is trying to do a bit of rebuilding.  The heart shaped leaves are said to bring good luck and heart health....both which are always needed.  I am taking my lovely "Fig Tree Gardens" as a sign that this year of healing is going to bring me back to where I need to be.  But, for now, I shall be the lazy (but aching) Queen whose realm is going to have to fend for itself for the duration.  

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 Columnatus 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.  

 

  

Twenty-two? Seriously?

   So the Clue Hunt on the Bayou got to a late start this year.  Between illness, injuries, termites and a mass amount of cleaning the property, things got hectic.  However!  Son and I were determined to bring the hunt to a reality again (after a 5 year hiatus).  We pushed through the setbacks, cut back on a few of the major props and dug deeper into ingenuity but we did it!  The hunt is in mid-run now and will continue for another week.  Even with our problems, each group attending gave rave reviews and voiced their desire to come back next year.  Success!  At least, success in my point of view.

  Each hunt is an immersive event where even the decorations fit the theme.  This year, our whole place was set in a Victorian town so everything had to have the appearance of being of that era.  One shop was a tailor shop.  Hmmm...well, intentions were good to actually sew a bunch of Victorian style clothing pieces for display.  That did not happen.  I was on the verge of despair when I recalled a trunk full of old clothing from...get this...the turn of the century...yep...that turn of the century!  I had clothes from around the correct time period just stashed in a trunk.  Mom had kept them...and whoever before her....kept them...I kept them.  Now, those dresses were to finally be stars of the show again! 

  As I carefully unpacked dress after dress, something dawned on me.  My goodness!  The waist measurments were absurdly tiny!  I mean TINY!  Keep in mind these dresses were worn by ladies not children.  Out of curiousity, I measured.  Yep...tiny!  Most were around 20 to 22 inches but some were 18 to 19 inches.  Were these gowns worn with corsets or were the ladies just slender?  Either way...I would never be able to wear one of these elaborate gowns unless the outfit did include a corset that was laced "unbreathably" tight!  (Unbreathably is not actually a word but it describes my feeling about tight-laced corsets.)  Still, the dresses were truly amazing as they were all handmade with most being hand-stitched.  

  Now, I wish I had the talent to sew beautiful gowns even though I do not wear them except for the clue hunts.  I may give it a try by following some of these gowns.  Perhaps a paper pattern could be fashioned?  Who knows...but...I do know that not many will have such tiny waistlines!  Mine will need at least an 8 inch increase before I would be able to breathe.  

Just A Lily Brightening the Way.

   I have been lax on taking care of the plants this whole summer.  It seems as if one thing or another has gotten in the way and anything not on that "priority" list fell to the wayside.  I feel bad about it but, at the same time, feel there was no need in pushing myself beyond feasible limits.  I am getting old.  Today, however, as I meandered back behind the old greenhouse to the grape arbor, I was greeted in the most pleasant way.  The lycoris lilies were in full bloom...at least as much of "full" bloom as was possible in view of the recent chomping by the Eastern Lubber Grasshoppers.  Those things are relentless!  The lilies proved stronger and were simply gorgeous.  The golden color is a perfect touch for the hint of fall that we are enjoying. 

  These particular lilies were from a few bulbs that I received some 30 years ago from a dear friend.  Ms. Twin (yes, there were two and they were both "Ms. Twin") had dug up some of her bulbs just to share with me.  This sweet elderly lady knew I loved flowers of any kind and knew that she had the perfect gift...one from the heart.  I was elated and immediately planted the bulbs.  They have bloomed every year since and always remind me of the dear friend.  Sadly, she passed only two years after gifting the bulbs to me.  

  The lilies are in the same family as the Red Nerine lilies that are so abundant across the Deep South.  They have a dozen or so names including Lycoris Lily, Nerine Lily, Spider Lily, Jersey Lily, Guernsey Lily and even Naked Lady Lily (due to the lack of leaves...not clothes.)   The spotting of the lilies gave me a much needed lift this morning and I was able to continue the day with a bit more ambition that before.  I figure if the lilies could fight against the drought and grasshoppers then I should be able to fight against the tiredness that wracks the body.  Never doubt that somewhere hidden among the trials is an answer that can make everything right again.