Stepping In It!

   Whenever I take a break from working, I sit in the shady gardens to cool myself.  If you sit and watch the doings of nature as much as I do, you are bound to ponder things.  I ponder things.  I think a lot while working but pondering comes during rest.  Then, I have time to delve into thoughts that are stored back in among the cobwebs of my brain.  That stash contains everything taught to me by those who took the time and effort to make sure knowledge was secured within reach if I ever needed it.  I appreciate their work.  Now, frequently, I search the nooks and crannies of the brain and filch out things of great importance...at least, important to me.

  For instance, today, I pondered the butterflies.  It seems we have more butterflies this year than ever before.  Hundreds flit around the hillside every day.  A ton relish the shade provided by the woods, others love the marsh but the zinnia garden seems to be a favorite gathering spot for many.  So, I pulled the wicker chairs next to the zinnias so I could have a front-row seat for the "Dance of the Butterflies". 

While watching, a thought occurred to me.  How do butterflies know what flower has tasty nectar?  And how do they choose what host plant will have delightfully delicious leaves for their caterpillars?  I should know this!!  I do know this!!  Time to dust off the information hidden behind the cobwebs.  I searched the dark corners of the brain and found my answer.  Somewhere, I had heard that butterflies can taste with their feet!  It makes sense if you watch the critters.  They always do a taste test before sipping the nectar.  Then, I queried...Is this actually true?  Or did I have false data stored?  Time to check.  Yep!  Butterflies taste with those feet according to what I could find.  I am sure glad that is settled.  See, pondering is good.

Still Learning...Its Good For The Brain!

  It is time to work the brain a bit!  Two of my grown kids keep after me to learn new things.  "You have to keep the brain active, Mom.  Don't let it stagnate or it will lead to other things."  Sorry, kids.  My brain is already there.  Still, I try hard to learn something new each day but some learning projects take longer than a single day.  Last year, I decided that I have a burning interest in antique, key-wind clocks.  My grandparents' clock sat idle on the mantel for years and years without ever a single tick so it was time to (ahem) "fix" that clock.  For the longest time, I sat and looked at the inner workings without ever touching a thing.  I wanted to see just where and how things were supposed to work.  Then, I started tinkering with the clock and after a couple of days...it worked!  My discovery was that it had been overwound and the pendulum arm had been bent.  Two minor repairs and the clock has been ticking away and chiming correctly since!  Success!  Then, the obsession grew!  More clocks were added to the collection.  Each had a small repair to be tended before it was happily ticking away.  This hobby is fulfilling to say the least.  I know that I will never be a professional clocksmith but the brain is challenged and that is a good thing.

  Today was a rainy day so to fill the time, I decided that another clock repair was in order.  This time, the clock worked but stopped occasionally and had to be restarted.  The springs were wound but the pendulum action would die out and the clock could not keep correct time.  I gingerly opened the little door on the back and peered inside.  Everything appeared to be in working order.  There were no broken springs, bent pendulum arms or even overwound springs.  There was, however, a good bit of goo on the inner workings.  It appeared that someone had decided to "oil" the clock with some type of spray lubricant.  Well, there was nothing to do but get to cleaning.  I am not yet comfortable with dismantling the entire clockworks so I did a "spot" clean.  Accessible parts were all gently cleaned of the bluish gunk and wiped with a lint-free cloth.  Suddenly, the clock started ticking without the pendulum even in place!  

  The plan is to let the clock fully "run down" before any further cleaning is attempted.  Afterward, the remaining goo will be removed, the clock oiled and the pendulum replaced.  Yet another addition to the ticking in the living room!  There are now ten working clocks with only one needing repair.  I shall wait for another rainy day to tackle that one.  Lesson of today's repair job...folks do not oil your antique clock with spray lubricant!  There are a number of oil sinks where the gear shafts sit in the clock plates (front and back).  ONE teeny, tiny droplet of oil in each sink does the job.  You do not want oil running everywhere AND make sure to use a quality clock oil...NOTHING ELSE! Ok...so I have you up-to-date on what I learned today.  The brain is working!

Discovery Time!

  It was once said that there is "Nothing new under the sun."  Well, that may be so, in general, but it is far from true when it comes to me. There are so many things out there that are new to me!  I try to learn something new every day.  Son keeps after me to "use the brain" as he says it will become stale and those brain cells die.  Making new brain cells involves learning so I jump at the chance to learn anything I can.  Today, I researched a "new" ant.  By new, I mean new to me.  Granted, I have seen these critters about the Bayou at times but I never thought much about them, other than the fact that they were weird looking.  This ant does not look like the fire ants that build huge mounds nor the crazy ants that make small, but numerous, mounds.  This thing looked a lot more like a wasp that forgot to put on its wings.

  The ant in question is a slender twig ant.  It lives in pre-hollowed tunnels in trees, shrubs or reeds.  The entire colony can be inside a tree and no one would ever know as they really do not do damage that causes the tree to die.  The ants do, however, have a very, very painful bite! (Yes.  I found out the hard way.)  While fire ants can itch dreadfully, this is more akin to a bee sting.  It is just painful.  THEN, it itches. This ant feeds on live prey, fungi or tends aphids for honeydew.  

  While the ant seems like it would be a threat due to its intense bite, there is really no need to go on a search for them.  They are rarely encountered since they live inside trees and won't bite unless you threaten them.  My bite occurred because I wanted to see the underside of the ant.  (Not smart!)  I still do not begrudge the little guy for defending himself as I would have done the same.  So, slender twig ant went on his merry way after giving me a good nip!

Gray is a Good Color

  Well, imagine that.   It was another dreary day here on the Bayou.  Rain threatened to pour down upon us at any given minute and, in fact, did a good job of soaking us several times.   Late this afternoon, a terrific storm pounded the area with high winds, lightning and torrential downpours.  Then it was over and the sun made a feeble attempt to make up for its "no-show" status of the day.  This was nothing new, however, since we have had more than our share of rain for about a year now.

  All of these gray days have a lot of folks complaining.  The drear is just too much for some people to handle.  It is a proven fact that the lack of light can do some mighty strange things to the brain and I suppose that gray skies can be considered a "lack of light"...well, maybe a lack of sunshine anyway.  Those living in darkness can be prone to bouts of depression caused by changes in the brain.  I can remember being told stories by Granddad about how the coalminers back in his time had to be careful if they worked the day shift.  It seems that working with the small carbide lanterns did not provide suitable lighting to help with the mental state of the workers. Then, when they left the mines, there was little time before sunset.  It did not take long before the workers attitudes were not desirable so it became the custom to "swap shifts" periodically.  Granddad had worked the mines as a lad and saw firsthand how this worked.  He stressed to me at an early age how important it was to get a "healthy dose of sunshine" each day.

  Granted having so many cloudy days pales to compare to the hard work and terrible conditions of the coalminers but people are whining about the dark, dreary days.  I, on the other hand, have no problem with the dreary days.  As a matter of fact, I find them inspiring.  The days make me feel creative, imaginative and energetic.  Perhaps this stems from growing up on the farm where rainy days meant a day off from working in the fields or doing other farm chores.   Or maybe my brain is just wired a bit differently than other folks' brains and I need darkness to function properly.  Whatever...I really do like my gray days and rainy nights!  Complaining about the weather never has changed it anyway.  So I might as well enjoy whatever the day brings.

Just Enough To Make Me Think

  It is really odd how a vision, sound or smell can trigger a memory from long ago.  Perhaps this occurs more often now that I am aging as I do not remember it ever happening in my youth.  Age does strange things to, not only the body, but also the mind.  I find myself dwelling on things I learned in the past then promptly forgot.  Maybe forgot is the wrong word since these tidbits of information come flooding back at any prompted notice.  The more accurate description could be that the data was pushed far in the cobwebbed coated corners of the brain.  (At this point, think of that dusty old box in the back of the attic where no one dares go because it may be haunted!)  Anyway, those bits of information, memories or subdued emotions all come flooding back with the least bit of provocation when you get to be my age.

  This afternoon, I was happily puttering around in the garden plot minding my own business when thoughts started interfering with my work.  A lovely squadron of white pelicans gracefully glided overhead causing all chores to come to a complete halt.  Into the brain popped thoughts of Fairie Lyn.  This lady was Mom's cousin and was probably one of the smartest folks I have ever had the privilege to know.  Over the years, she tried her best to instill some of that knowledge in my brain but, for the life of me, I cannot find it.  Among the many things that she did in her life, one of her favorite pastimes was birding.  She knew just about any type bird out there, could recognize it by flight pattern, could mimic most calls and could spout of the life history of the bird.  While I was still a youngster, she took me on several outings with her "bird group".  To be honest, it annoyed me.  As a kid, all I could see was a bunch of "old people" with binoculars stuck to their faces while they murmured things like "Ahh! There is a yellow-billed cuckoo!  This is such an exciting day!" or "My goodness!  There are TWO common loons!!"  Yeah, well people, you are all a tad cuckoo and act like a bunch of loons! was all that I could think.  I wanted to romp around on the sand dunes when we went to the island.  I wanted to swing on the vines when we were walking the creek beds.  I wanted to be a kid and not be hushed or told to be still as I would scare the birds.  Phooey on birding!

  Things change.  As I aged into an adult, I cherished the time spent with Fairie Lyn.  She and I went birding.  We went to concerts.  We went to the ballet.  I found she was just as quirky as I am.  We tangled at times but it never changed our relationship.  As she said, "We are true partners in crime!"  I never retained all of the information she tried to push at me but, at times, tiny bits worm their way into the forefront of the brain chamber.  Those thoughts haunt me just enough to make me research what she was trying to tell me for free.  A few of the things come in loud and clear.  Like the identities of the white pelicans.  I knew it was them simply by the black wing bars that show only when they are in flight.  I knew that they do not dive like the brown pelicans.  I knew that these birds will only be here on the Bayou for a short time during the winter.  All of these things were "Fairie Lyn" identifying facts.  I believe that my intense love of the birds of the Bayou (whether year long friends or migratory ones) is all due to my early experiences with Fairie Lyn.  

  Speaking of this dear lady (rest her soul), I always loved her name.  Fairie Lyn!  What a perfectly magical name to give a baby girl!  And to think...she had an older sister named Fern!  Yep, my great aunt really knew what she was doing when she named those two!  I do wish Fairie Lyn would have been here today to see the pelicans gliding overhead.  I bet she could have filled me in with a lot more information about the birds. 

Dusty Corners Of My Brain

  Every now and again as I am meandering about the place, a sight, sound or smell will jog a memory that has been long hidden in some dusty corner of my brain.  The memory is covered in cobwebs and all but unrecognizable but it IS there.  Sometimes, the memory is not clear and I struggle to bring it to light so I can wallow in the bliss that comes with recollections of the past.  Perhaps this split second memory is nothing more than a brain trick but it often comes with a bit of yearning of something that is there...yet is not. The feeling is hard to explain but with it comes an overwhelming desire to search...for the unknown.

  Yesterday morning as I was walking the old dog, one of those brain blips wormed its way into being.  The sun was just peaking over the pines on the opposite side of the Bayou and sent beams shooting through the oddest places.  This cast some unsettling shadows about the place but also created points of curiosity.  From the garden gate, there appeared to be almost a darkened tunnel to a brilliant point of light.  I had that nagging urge to follow that light even though it merely led to another part of the yard.  

  That "dark tunnel" sent the wheels of my mind turning and churning.  Somewhere, somehow, some time, I had been in just such a tunnel with the light at the end.  Where?  How?  When?  I have no clue  but the sight left a yearning for something from my past.   I really must dust the corners of my brain and pull down the cobwebs so I can see a bit clearer when it come to these things.  

One and the Same...Yet, Entirely Different

  I take a lot of photographs.  In fact, I have been told that I take far too many photographs.  I think not.  Each picture is something personal even if it is of the Bayou Cats, a bug or even merely a photograph of the horizon.  Each means something to me.  I especially like to peruse each picture with "a fine-toothed comb".  While doing this, I sometimes find things that "accidentally" become part of the picture.  In the past, eagles have made their way in pictures of sunsets, snakes in photos of waterlilies and raccoons in photographs of persimmons.  Sometimes the unintentional picture is better than what I thought I was taking.  Then there are the photographs that are just thought provoking.  Ones where you can get lost in the depth of the surroundings.  

  A recent photograph of the sun setting in the west was one of the more thought provoking ones that I have come across in a long time.  The almost spiritual depth of the scene sent me in to deep contemplation. With the layers upon layers of clouds in front of the fast sinking sun, the few pine trees seem almost desolate.  How many millions of miles can be viewed in that one picture?  How many layers of clouds float between that last bit of blue and the viewer?  How amazing is the Creator to have granted me the vision?  Ponderings upon ponderings flitted through my brain.

  The sunset in question also allowed me to take another almost eerie photo.  In this one ethereal rays reflect off of the camera lens fabricating fantastical "beings" that dance on the water.  Orbs float mystically off to one side while irises glisten among the upper clouds.  This is the type photograph that bounces the imagination into gear and lets me form wild tales in my head. Otherworldly images can be seen in the mind's eye with the least bit of effort and the sudden dots of color amidst the dark shadows call the  mind into the inkiness of the night.
  
 One sunset, two photographs....yet a million ideas.  This is how my brain works.  Do I take too many photographs?  No...it keeps my brain jolting at a mile a minute.  I need that.  Sometimes, we all need that.

Lost in the Universe of my Mind

  I ponder a lot of things during the daytime hours but even more by the light of the moon.  It often seems that on the nights that I cannot sleep, for one reason or another, problems loom larger or solutions seem much easier.  Other times, I ponder something that has no apparent purpose other than being an idea worth pondering.  Sleepless nights can see me solving the world's gigantic problems or firing up the imagination on an art project that has yet to be attempted.  My nighttime contemplation usually turns into a game of "Charades" being played out in my brain.  My imagination runs amok creating quite a mess of inane instances that might or already have occurred.  Experts say dreams are merely repressed memories from our childhood but I find this hard to believe.  My dreams are, more oft than not, repressed memories from just the day before.  I guess my brain has a problem digging too deeply into the dusty, old diaries and photo albums otherwise known as my memory.  

  What do all these ramblings about dreams and thoughts have to do with today's photographs?  Not a thing, actually, except for the fact that I find the first picture of the sun filtering through young pine saplings quite inspiring.  Any artist can tell you that a project does not have to be great flash of ideas to pull you into the fantasy world of creation.   Just a mere hint of mystery can jog one into a different world where bliss can only be obtained by releasing a suppressed idea. Inspiration and creativity come together as one to evoke a huge burst of exhilaration.  The conscious mind has no hold on the vividness of ideas wafting about on a sleepless night.  

  The second photograph screams of the multitudes of ideas that blast endlessly about the universe otherwise known as my brain.  These ideas trail like great comets or shooting stars through the ebony space.  Each star, each tiny speck of dust revolves in a huge vortex with a fiery core.  This maelstrom whirls and twirls around in the brain until one small artistic endeavor breaks forth.  All is put on hold while the hands try to recreate what the brain's eye sees.  Try as one might, it never happens.  The image held in the brain never comes fully to fruition but rather stays as an illusive thought just out of reach and always beckoning.  This is so like those thoughts that are pondered at two in the morning.  Always, always just out of reach, yet, so near.

  To be honest, I took neither photograph.  Mark wandered the hillside without me today.  His company being only Ms. Ez, the dog and my camera.  I spent the afternoon rambling about the kitchen with my son.  Together we prepared our evening meal.  He, doing the creative cooking and I, sometimes doing no more than being in the way,  I am sure.  As the sun started to slip behind the pines, Mark snapped several amazing shots.  One of my favorites being the closeup of pine needles backlit by a brilliant sun.  It is one of those photographs that draws me into a fantasy world of mythical beings and faraway realms.  I almost feel if I could just step through the branches, I could finally enter an up-to-now dominion.  The second photograph is a creative misstep.  He, not being familiar with the camera, forgot to remove the zoom lens while trying to get a closeup of the pine needles.  The sun bouncing backing into the lens illuminated all of the dust, grime, nicks and scratches on the glass lens.  My already overactive imagination refused to see this as a result of a piece of neglected equipment but rather as representation of an artist's universe..that vast space crammed with specks of creative endeavors yet to come.  Dreams, imaginations and creativity come smashing together as one sleepless night...one long, yet, far to short night.