The "Collector"

  It is strange how some folks "collect" things while others are "hoarders".  What is the difference?  Sure, the term hoarding has lately been removed from its original use of stockpiling needed supplies or money to just never throwing away anything but can't that be said about collecting as well?  Think about it.  There are those who amass huge "collections" of one type item and then there are the rest of us who have "stuff".  I have stuff.  Lots of stuff.  BUT!  The big difference between merely having a collection and having stuff is that I actually use my stuff.  Granted, most of the time, it is as props for the clue hunts we hold here on the Bayou each October but it is, nevertheless, used.  I have always been referred to as the "Collector of Weird and Wonderful Things".  I do not collect things like most folks.  I do not have beautifully displayed racks of commemorative spoons, neatly organized books of stamps or categorized pages of mounted coins.  I have stuff.  Just stuff.  I have shelves filled with dusty old books from eons ago, drawers filled with stiffly starched, handmade doilies and a buffet top filled with antique (lead-filled!) pewter that is unsafe to use.  I have an armless wooden statue of some warrior, a zoetrope and two dead foxes.  (Those are actually antique stoles but dead foxes just the same.)  Weird things.  Wonderful things.  Things that others see as clutter.  Things I like. What is the difference?  

  Collecting, or maybe hoarding, is also noticed in the critter world.  We have all heard of how male crows will steal shiny items to woo their ladylove and how mice will drag small bottles, knickknacks and jewelry into their nests but how about a crab?  This afternoon after I coerced the old dog, Mr. PJ, to take a hike with me, we wound up on the pier.  Here lately, Mr. PJ would rather nap inside instead of hiking but I figured fresh air would do him good.  While on the pier, I noticed that hundreds of fiddler crabs were in the process of protecting their nesting holes.  The males stood waving their large claws at any passerby.  Any "unmarried" males were threatened with bodily harm if they neared an occupied den.  There is nothing unusual about this.  Each summer sees the same thing.  Lots of fiddler crabs being crabby.

  However, one rather large male had another goal in mind. He was not protecting a ladylove and her brooding den.  Instead, he had collected a rather large prize and was busy defending his right to own it.  On the last high tide, a nasty looking tennis ball had washed ashore and the crab obviously thought it was quite grand.  He stood defiantly against all interlopers and waved that large claw violently.  This was HIS prize and his alone!  

  Whether this action was truly an act of love for the tennis ball or whether this was an unattached male who was bored, it made me think of folks who collect and those who hoard.  They are one and the same.  If the collection or "stuff" makes you happy...so be it.  It is no one's business but your own.  If a crab can be in love with a tennis ball...so be it.  It is no one's business but his own.

Masters of Bluff

  As I have said before, one of my favorite pastimes is watching critters.  It matters not what types of animals I encounter, they interest me. Their defense actions, feeding techniques and even their nesting habits intrigue me.  People could learn a lot by watching the critters around them as most animals behave a lot nicer than most humans. 

  This afternoon, I grew weary of chores so headed out to traipse around the hillside.  As usual, I wound up at the marsh edge.  There is never a shortage of critters living in the marsh and each face a daily struggle to survive.  Bayou life is not easy for humans nor critters but we choose to live here and each love the place....so we stay.  This afternoon's entertainment providers were the "Masters of Bluff" better known as Fiddler Crabs.  The male crabs have this bright idea that if they wave their large claw in the air, it will prove their virility.  While the younger crabs actual have fierce combats, it is not after a good bit of intimidation by "my claw is larger than yours".  This goes on for a while until one gets a bit foul tempered and attacks.  The battle ensues but not much damage is done to anything but egos.  The older crabs win their ladyloves merely by having larger claws.  These claws are moot points as the ability to wave the large claw is about as far as the fierceness goes. Waving and battling abilities are two entirely different things in the crab world.  

  Fiddler Crabs live about two years and during that time will shed their shells periodically.  If a leg or claw is missing, a new one replaces it with each molt. If they have not lost a claw, the old one just gets bigger. With each molt, the crab seems to lose a bit of strength in its claw.  The mobility increases but it is just a bluff.  The weaker claw can wave intensely but not do much in defense.  

They are hard to see but there are more than a dozen male Fiddler Crabs waving their claws in this photo.

  All of this waving and battling is purely to attract females.  The better display and the larger the waving claw signals a strong male (whether that bluff is in action or not!).   That large claw also is indicative of how roomy a burrow is so the female goes for the guy with the bigger house!  A lot of times, the older crabs merely bluff their way into attracting females and intimidating young males.  In other words, the male simply lies his way through courtship.   It is all about survival of the fittest and if you can make others believe you are strong then you will come out on top.  Whatever works.

The Naming

  Take one tiny girl fishing and introduce her to critters that she has never seen and she will name them all.  For the past few days, we have been able to share the Bayou with our granddaughter, Mary Ruth and grandson, Mark Charles.   While he loves being outside and seeing everything, the little fellow is still to young to fully appreciate what is around him.  He is all about playing and exploring his newfound freedom of toddling.  Mary Ruth, on the other hand, is at that perfect age of learning about nature and she loves it.  

  One of the highlights was the feeding of the two pelicans.  It did not take long before Mary Ruth decided to name them. The Brown Pelicans of the Bayou have always been called "Old Gus" for as long as I can remember but Mary Ruth decided that the two needed individual names so the second of the pair became known as "Cinderella".  Hey, this worked for me.  Gus and Cinderella now reign as King and Queen of the Bayou.  It is great but being as both male and female pelicans look the same, I can only hope that they are named correctly.

  After feeding (and naming) the pelicans, her daddy showed her a baby shrimp that he caught in the minnow trap.  At first, she was having no part of holding that weird looking thing!  She soon warmed up to the idea and shyly put out her hand.  The shrimp laid quietly in the palm for just about two seconds before it flipped (as shrimp are prone to do) and slid between the pier boards.  This caused Mary Ruth to burst into a fit of giggles before settling down to the task of naming the critter.  "Tiny." she quietly murmured.  "Tiny."  Well, at least that was appropriate!

  Next came a baby crab.  Since she had held a shrimp, her dad thought she might like to hold the crab.  NOPE!  THAT WAS NOT HAPPENING!  I let the little critter crawl up on my finger to show her that the crab was not out to eat her but she still was not convinced.  The crab never made it to her hand before it, too, scooted between the pier boards back into the water.  Since she had named the other critters, I knew it was best to ask if this one to had a name.  I was not disappointed..."Yes, it was named Crabby!"  Alrighty then.  Crabby, it was.  

 So, Old Gus, Cinderella, Tiny and Crabby all live in the Bayou and all are probably back at home telling their friends about the cute little girl named Mary Ruth!  I know for a fact that the first two are going to miss their friend when she heads back to her home tomorrow.  This mawmaw is going to miss both tykes terribly.  The Bayou is going to feel so very lonely.

It is all about location! Choose your home wisely!

  The other day, I was cleaning a bunch of crabs when Son walked in to help.  He picked up one crab and let out a quiet "Hmmm."   This was not a "yum" since he does not eat crabs and definitely not a "Ho hum" as in a yawn.  It was just a "Hmmm" as if he was pondering some deep question.  I looked over at him to see him staring at the crab he was holding.  Yep, deep thoughts were milling around that brain so I questioned what he was thinking.  Maybe a mistake on my part...I suppose.

  "If a barnacle attaches itself for life to some surface and it attaches to a crab, what happens if that crab sheds and becomes a softshell?"  We pondered that fact for a bit.  Barnacles are steadfast once they cement themselves to a surface and they live up to ten years (or longer).  Once cemented in place, they cannot move other than the feathery apparatus that they use to catch food.  A crab, on the other hand, eats tons, gets fat and molts.  Once that old shell (with barnacle attached) comes off, it falls to the bottom and deteriorates rather quickly.  The barnacle is just in a fine fix.  If it does not die due to the fact that its backside is now vulnerable, it is at the mercy of the elements.  The tide can brutally batter it and wash it ashore.  There the barnacle is nigh on cooked by the sun and can be attacked by birds and other critters.  Its life would be deemed over, through, kaput.  Without some sound surface, the barnacle does not have much of a chance of survival.

  Son and I discussed the unwise decision of the barnacle and how its choice of living arrangements led to its early demise. Had that crustacean cemented itself to a pier post it would have still been alive. Latching onto a crab shortened the barnacle's life tremendously.  Even if the crab had not been caught and cooked, it would have surely molted and left the barnacle to sink beneath the mud.  Either way, life was cut short for the barnacle all because its choice of  a homesite.