Wondrous World

   I braved the mosquitoes yesterday morning to venture back behind the canebrake.  Down in this part of the woods, there is always something interesting.  Yesterday morning, it was what was beneath my feet as I padded along the soggy pathway.  With the copious rainfall of late, the ground was literally covered with mushrooms and other fungi.  All were brilliantly colored but so tiny that you could not see them from a distance of about forty feet.  Also, dotted here and there were tiny flowers that I have yet to identify.  Had the biting critters not been so vicious, I would have loved to linger there longer just photographing this "Land of Miniature".  

  Perhaps, after dousing myself with mosquito repellent, I will venture to the back of the property once again and find more treasures on the "forest floor".  The nigh on constant rains have kept me, more or less, housebound and I feel as if I am missing out on so much.  I was not made to be kept inside.  I need to roam the swamps to clear the mind and salve the soul.  A free spirit was never meant to be trapped within four walls.  I have to breathe.

Adventuring!

   This afternoon, it was just too hot to be indoors.  Even with the AC going full blast, it seemed stifling.  So...I turned it off, opened the windows and doors and headed outside.  There, I could breathe freely.  With work being out of the question, I meandered the hillside and down near the creek.  The swamp can always be refreshing.  The canopy of trees overhead keep it relatively cool.  Very little sun dapples the ferns and lilies growing there.  It is the perfect hideaway from the heat.  

  At one point, I came across an empty eggshell.  It appeared to be the egg of a brown thrasher by the size and color.  The eggshell was not near any nest but I knew exactly how it got there.  Whenever the eggs hatch, the parent birds "clean house".  They remove the shells (and later any droppings from the baby birds.)  This keeps their nest tidy and babies healthy.  The empty shells will be dropped a good distance from the nest in hopes that they will not attract predators to the nest.  Finding the shell made me smile as it let me know my bird friends are doing well.

  On my wanderings, I also found the fox den.  It has been some time since I have seen the mama fox so I was happy to find her den even though she was not nearby.  She had been careful to cover her tracks at the opening of the den but left several distinct tracks in the soft mud about ten feet away.  At least, I know she is alive and well.  Since I stumbled upon the den unaware it was there, I simply backed off and left the area.  There was no reason to disturb the fox and make her have to move her kits. 

  After about an hour, I meandered back to the yard all-the-while thinking of my critter friends and my love of the swamp.  What a wonderful way to spend a sweltering afternoon.

Some Things Are Never Explained

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

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

A Bright Yellow Day

   When folks hear that I live on the Bayou, they often have ideas that I conjure up all sorts of weird potions, fill the Little Bayou House with oddities and have knowledge of all sorts of things crammed in my brain.  Well, two out of three ain't bad, right?  I do, indeed, conjure up a lot of "potions" but mostly they are herbal tisanes and not of the magical sort (maybe).  The Little Bayou House is home to thousands upon thousands of "treasures" as I have been dubbed the "Keeper of Weird and Wonderful Things".  That knowledge of all sorts of things is more like an inkling of a vast sort of things and, probably, nothing of importance.  The information is still crammed into the nooks and crannies of the brain along with spiderwebs and the smell of old books.  Occasionally, that information will spill out at the right time and that makes it appear that I am an swamp sage.   Most of the time, however, the tidbits are trivial and have no bearing on current situations.

  Just this morning as I was making my rounds about the place, a tiny morsel of information slipped out of its hiding spot and spilled into the spotlight.  Aha!  That is "Witch's Butter"!  Hmmm...where did that come from??  I pondered a bit and another name came to mind for the mushroom or fungus which I was trying to identify.  Yellow Brain Fungus...I am not even sure where I learned that!  

  The fungus is actually a parasite to the wood decaying fungi that helps to rot fallen limbs.  It is a jelly fungus that is soft to touch but is most notable for its bright yellow hue.  That is what immediately caught my eye!  Yellow on a gray day is most welcome.  The second thing that caught my eye was that, at the angle I was taking a photograph, one blob bore a great resemblance to a tiny, yellow bird.  That set me off on a different search as the Prothonotary Warblers should be flitting about the creek bed, too!  

  I did find my bird!  If there is one thing that I have noticed about these birds, they seem to like people.  They have no problem dancing about the grass or flitting among the branches just a few feet from a hiker.  Prothonotary Warblers love to find spiders and other insects but will eat berries if a live meal cannot be found.  I sometimes see them in the marsh but, more often, they are down in the thickets of the creek bed.  

  So, all in all, this turned into a very yellow day.  The brightness of the bird and even the fungus did wonders for my mood that had turned into a blah mess with all of the gray days as of late.  

Memory Holders

  Years and years ago (way back when the kids were small), we used to take hikes back into the creek bed.  While other parents were too afraid to let their kids even go outside, I encouraged mine to roam the woods.  Of course, I was with them but the dangers were still there.  I figured my kids needed to learn to handle scary situations rather than hide from them.  Obviously, it worked.  As adults, they are alert to their surroundings, are able to face and conquer problems and have an infinite love for nature.  Our treks allowed them to learn to smell snakes before seeing them, explore the hidden wonders of wild creek beds and learn the flora and fauna of the area.

  It was on one of those "expeditions" that we found the creek bed filled with purple flowers.  The wild Stoke's Asters were in full bloom.  The kids were so enthralled with their own "Secret Garden" that we decided to dig up a couple of plants to bring back to the yard.  I had no idea if the plants would even grow after being moved from their boggy domain but they did.  This week, I was surprised by a few blooms peeking out from under the jasmine vines.  Their rich purple color led me to believe that the asters were happy where they were planted so many years ago.

  Stoke's Asters are wildflowers that can be found all over the Southeast.  They do well being transplanted into gardens as long as they have a bit of shade and well-drained, acidic soil.  After they are established, the plants require little to no care.  The blooms also do well as cut-flowers as they will last up to a week in a vase!  

  I love my little aster patch, not only because of the blooms, but also because of the memories of our creek bed hikes.  I miss those times.  It has occurred to me that perhaps I do not have gardens but, instead, have "memory holders"!