Let Them Sleep

   I rise before dawn and relish my alone time while I meander the Small Gardens.  It is here that I can revel in the beauty of the new day and give thanks for the peaceful sleep of the night before.  It is also here that I find a lot of my critter friends.  We share a love for the wildness of the overgrown plants and the dewy coolness that the night has brought.  

  This morning found me almost entranced by a single bumblebee that was snuggled down inside calyx of a spent bloom of the mist plant.  The bee had probably sought shelter for the night but had not been warned of the predawn thunderstorm.  My poor friend was waiting for the sun to dry its wings and warm it so it could continue its daily foraging.  I let the little one sleep even though the plant needed deadheading.  Bees are of high importance to anyone who gardens so they are treated kindly.

  It is funny how it never occurs to some folks that things like bees sleep.  Just like us, they need rest and will seek out some cozy spot to bed down for the nighttime hours.  My little bee friend did not choose its napping place wisely as the rains had to be startling.  Perhaps next time, it should shelter beneath the ginger leaves.  Rest on, Little One.  I bid you a good day.

Just say "Please!"

  Usually, when the morning breaks with odd clouds, you are looking at some pretty quirky weather.  Yesterday morning, I was on the pier far before daybreak.  This is my peaceful time before the hectic pace of the day starts.  A very slight breeze made the morning air feel just about as perfect as it could get.  Overhead, clouds.  Lovely, lovely clouds.  I was in hopes those clouds would linger around a bit and then dump some rain on us as we have been quite dry lately.  Plants do far better with Mother Nature watering them than with me dragging the hose about the gardens.  I sat and contemplated the clouds.  Please rain!  Please rain.

  For the past week, I have been grubbling through a huge mess of rotted boards.  It amazes me how things get all stacked up and never thought of again.  The boards were stacked with good intentions of being used but you know what they say about those good intentions.  So, after leaving the pier, my chores began again but I kept thinking about those clouds!  For several hours, I dragged out boards and cleared the space.  About midmorning, a threatening thunderhead loomed to our north.  Please!  Within ten minutes, drops were starting to fall and I figured it was time to head inside.  Just as I got to the door, the bottom fell out and we got the most glorious rain!  Almost a full inch fell!  Then a thought...maybe if you beg those clouds enough they take pity on you!

The Glow

  It is no secret that daybreak is my favorite time to be out and about.  The silence of the world prepares me to face the day.  There is something invigorating yet peaceful about the cool air hitting your face.  This morning was no different.  It was almost cold!   Easing our way to the pier, Mark and I surveyed the Bay and Bayou.  If only both skiffs had not received damage during Hurricane Zeta, it would have been a grand fishing day!  But they did so we were stuck on an unfinished pier.  Repairs are slow when you are practically rebuilding the entire thing.  With a fishing trip out, we wandered the shoreline just talking and enjoying life.  Suddenly, we noticed a beautiful egret standing in the shallows.  It was a breathtaking sight.

 At daybreak, it is always interesting to see how the sunbeams shoot through the pines and illuminate things in the darkness of the marshes.  The bird's feathers were literally glowing!  I am telling you....there is magic in the Bayou!  We watched the egret for a bit before continuing our walk.  The bird had no worries from us and was allowed to hunt in peace.  Mornings on the Bayou are like that...live and let live in peace.  All is good.  

A Good Sunrise Can Mend A Lot Of Things

  When the brain hurts from too much stress, it is my nature to cut myself off from the world for a bit.  I head to the pier before sunrise to contemplate what can be done to remedy the situation at hand.  More oft than not, just a bit of time in solitude pondering the sights around me is enough to mend my frazzled state.  I figure that some things just cannot be changed no matter how hard I try so accepting them is the next best thing.  Perhaps not accepting the worrisome part but accepting the fact that it does no good to fret over the inevitable.  We all have times that are not to our liking but, hey, life is not easy.  It is not supposed to be easy.  If it was, we would all sit back on our haunches and become nothing more than a bump on a log.  It is necessary to have things that kick our butts now and again purely to keep us on our toes and striving forward. 

  This morning, the sunrise did its job in rectifying a few of the hiccups that got in the way yesterday.  Listening to the birds awakening in the back woods, watching a redfish as it played the mullet along the shoreline and seeing the sun slip up over the pines on the opposite side of the Bayou was all the medicine I needed to face the day with renewed energy. After about twenty minutes of Bayou Magic, I headed back up the hillside.  There was work to be done and I had no time to be muddling around in despair.  Life is good.

Critter Encounter

  Have you ever been out at the break of dawn and suddenly get that feeling that someone or something is watching you?  The hair starts to tingle on the back of your neck and you start peering into the shadows to see if something is lurking nearby.  It is a strange feeling.  Normally, it would not bother me much being way down here on the Bayou but, with the old dog ailing, we do not need a critter attack.  Coyotes and bobcats are roaming the hillside and if they ever deemed that we were too near, it would not be a pretty sight.  I am sure that, even though he is feeble, Mr. PJ would try to defend me and, in a sense, give his life for me.  He is just that good of a friend....canine or not.

  On this morning's hike, I suddenly stopped in my tracks.  The hair started standing on end and that gut started knotting.  Something, somewhere was keeping a steady eye on the old dog and me.  Mr. PJ did not get the feeling and kept his slow amble down the path.  Silently...slowly...I reached out and put my hand on his back.  He stopped immediately and stared at me.  This gave me the opportunity to scan the area.  Somewhere among the underbrush, a shadowy figure lurked. 

  It did not take long before I found our "menacing monster".  A raccoon was keeping a wary eye on this pair that was invading "his" territory.  I breathed a sigh of relief but kept my hand on Mr. PJ's back.  "Stay, boy, stay!"  I said in a hushed voice.  While I was somewhat more at ease with this being a coon, they can be vicious in their own right when cornered and this was one HUGE coon!  It was nigh on as big as the old dog. There was no need to push the critter into a fight mode.  

  We stood motionless for a bit as the coon stared at us.  Then, he silently turned and waddled down the path in the opposite direction.  Mr. PJ and I turned and retraced our steps.  Finding one critter was enough for this morning.  If Mr. PJ had been younger and stronger, we would have ventured further down toward the creek bed but not today...not today.

A Love That Lasts Through The Ages....

  Just before dawn, I awoke and could not return to sleep.  So, there was nothing else to do except hop out of bed and make coffee!  There is nothing like a good cup of coffee at the break of day when no one else is awake.  It was just me and the world sitting on the back step.  Not a bad way to start the day.  From there, I headed to the garden to plant two more rows of green beans.  Hopefully, the squirrel will refrain from dining upon the seeds this time. 

  While there, I had a perfect view of the east arbor of the rose garden.  Just a few weeks back, this arbor was snow white with the blooms of the Cherokee rose.  This week, the first blooms of "Grandmother's rose" are starting to open.  Grandmother's rose is what I grew up calling this particular rose.  In reality, it is named "New Dawn".  The blooms are the palest pink and are a good five to six inches in diameter when fully opened.  This is one of the old type garden roses that were found in just about every cottage garden of our grandparent's and great-grandparent's homes.  The rose rambles about arbors and fence lines and is usually covered with hundreds of blooms.

  The name "Grandmother's rose" has nothing to do with when the rose was prominent but everything to do with Grandmother.  My grandfather had the perfect yard.  Nary a weed could be found in his gardens and, at any given time, blooms of some sort could be found.  He worked tirelessly to keep his place pristine.  It was a sight to behold but he did not take credit for the beauty.  "These are Grandmother's gardens!" he would proudly proclaim.  Now let me tell you a little secret here.  Grandmother never planted a single seed in that garden!  Nor did she weed, trim, fertilize or water.  Her "yardwork" consisted of putting on her pretty gloves, toting her large flat basket and picking a few blooms for a vase that always stayed on the dining room table.  That was it.  The fact was that theirs was a true love and Granddaddy did little things to show his love for Grandmother.  He would bring her a single daisy from the lane or maybe a pretty pebble he found in the creek.  She cherished each and made him feel so appreciated for each tiny act.  The rose was one of the many little ways that he showed his love.  He worked hard to help that rose bush bloom to its fullest and when the very first bud opened, he would take Grandmother by the hand and lead her out to the garden.  There, he would tell her to close her eyes and he would take her to the large trellis where the rose grew.  Then, he proudly would ask her to open her eyes!  She would always squeal with delight and tell him that it was the prettiest that the rose has ever been. Hence, this is Grandmother's rose...always was...always will be as long as it is in my garden.  It is a tribute to their love.

  It is things like this that can make the day perfect.  After working in the garden and then finding Grandmother's rose, I knew the rest of the day would be grand.  My grandparents played a huge part in my early years and even the tiniest memory brings a smile.  Grandmother's rose!
 
 

The Sentinel

  After taking the old dog out for a short walk to do his morning business, I let him go back to bed.  The morning fog would not be good for an ailing dog.  I ventured out alone for a few moments merely because I had heard the "critter neighborhood watch" gang screaming their alarms.  The blue jays were up in arms about something and they were not letting it go easy.  With finding the snake yesterday, this was most likely another.  Best I keep track of where they are since the old dog's senses are dulling and I do not want him getting bit.

   This, however, was not a snake.  The birds were alarmed that a great horned owl had decided to rest in the tall pine.  The jays were relentless causing the  owl to move further down into the creek.  Once all the commotion had calmed, the sweet music of a cardinal could be heard.  My path changed to find this bird.  Perched high in the old dead tree that sits on the edge of the marsh, the male cardinal was keeping watch on his ladylove below.  Obviously, birds think winter is over and nesting time has arrived.  In the shrub below the dead tree, the female cardinal was trying out her new abode.  Whether she chooses this nest or waits to lay eggs in another is to be seen.  Whichever, I am sure Mr. Cardinal will stand guard for her.  Last year, the small screech owl actually raided the cardinal nest in this very same shrub so it is doubtful she will try it again.

  My quick outing had to come to a halt as I needed to check on the old dog.  He does not do well without my presence, as of late.  

Just A Little Bird Friend

  As I have often stated, daybreak is probably my favorite time of the day.  It is then that I can sneak down to the pier to watch the sunrise in peace and do a bit of meditation before the hubbub of the day begins.  The old dog (Mr. PJ) and I sit in silence as the world around us begins to stir.  More oft than not, we find ourselves the audience of any number of spectacular critter visits.  These visits make our time on the pier even more special.

  The other morning, the tide was low making for a feeding frenzy for many shore critters.  Tiny shrimp were hovering in the shallows and some had even become trapped in small divots in the mud.  One fine critter to visit just a few feet from our sitting spot was a small rail. She was so busy in snatching up the tiny shrimp that she never noticed that a dog and human were so close.  Not that it mattered as neither the old dog nor I had any interest in harming the bird.  Even after Mr. PJ sneezed, she continued with her breakfast.  

  The rails often come out of the marsh to visit.  The birds have become special friends of ours and will even bring their little ones out to scamper the mudflats while we are watching.  Our nigh on daily sunrise trips to the pier have caused the rails (and many other critters) to lose their fear of us.  They seem to understand that our presence is not a threat.  This is just another positive part of sharing the Bayou with so many critter friends.

Help! My Brain Has Gone To Mush!

  Pop always lived by the mantra of "Early to bed and early to rise".  Growing up on the farm, we were all expected to do the same and do it without argument.  We had better be out of that bed and in the kitchen by 5am if we wanted breakfast.  Pop cooked breakfast and we ate it...again without arguing.  There was no "I do not like this!"....you ate it.  Pop's idea of a good breakfast was something that would "Stick to your ribs." so, needless to say, we did not have a choice.  We ate mush.  Yep, cornmeal mush was usually what the pot held and what we ate.  Then, about mid morning, we were treated to a snack!....of fried cornmeal mush.  Yep...leftover mush was allowed to cool in the pot, then sliced and laid on a cast iron griddle loaded with butter.  After frying on one side until crispy, it was flipped then fried on that side.  After the stuff was done, it was served with homemade sugarcane syrup.  I could have easily passed on the first go round of mush and had mine fried.  At least, the syrup helped the taste tremendously.  But, no one complained.  We were thankful for what we had.

  Although, I have not had cornmeal mush since I became an adult, I still stick to that mantra Pop instilled in my brain.  "Early to rise" comes naturally.  I have never used an alarm clock nor needed one.  Come 5am, I pop awake and cannot for the life of me go back to sleep.  This morning was no different.  Even though the sun refused brighten the horizon, the old dog and I headed to the pier.  A heavy cloud cover prevented even the least bit of light to guide us.  It was nigh on 7am before I caught a glimpse of the sun.  This gave me time to sit and think about all the things that rattle around in the brain while sitting in the darkness.  I thought of Pop serving up steaming bowls of cornmeal mush each morning and of the fried mush snacks.  Back in the day, it was looked at as a good, solid breakfast that could be served at minimal cost.  Now, I find that the the fried stuff is on the menu of several "high-end" restaurants.  Three small (3 inch) squares of mush drizzled with syrup cost a whopping $9!  Imagine if you added eggs, sausage and a cup of coffee??   I had no idea I was eating so high back in the day! 

  After a bit of reminiscing, the sun started to rise, the dog alerted me to a band of rain coming across the bay and we headed back to the Little Bayou House.  Since then, thoughts of Pop and his cornmeal mush treats have been sneaking back into the brain.  Perhaps a pot of mush will find its way onto my stove in the next couple of days.  I wonder if it will taste like the "Stick to your ribs" breakfast of long ago or like $9 of fancy food?  Funny the things you ponder when waiting on the sun.

What Better Way?

  Mark and I made a hike to the pier at daybreak.  The sunrise was a thing of beauty.  With it, peacefulness befell the Bayou.  After leaving the pier, we edged our way around the shoreline to where the Bayou makes the bend around behind the Little Bayou House.  Almost instantly, we were engulfed by a sweet scent wafting in the soft breeze. This was not the spicy aroma of the jasmine that bedecks the southmost arbor but rather the flowery scent of the albizia better known as mimosa.  The hot pink blooms looked like little fluff balls in the morning sunlight!  Both Mark and I stopped in our tracks.  I reached up to draw down the branch.  What better way is there to start the morn? The hike, the sunrise and sweet-scented mimosa blooms make for a happy morning, but all good things must come to an end.  Our delightful morning was shortlived.

  The serenity we experienced early in the day was the calm before the storm.  Four hours later, winds whipped about the hillside and even made the windows rattle and shake.   Rains became torrential causing the garden to flood.  A storm settled in for the day and raged throughout the evening hours.  While I sat listening to the sounds of the gale, I pondered if this was setting the stage for the summer.  Will we be pounded by tropical systems this year?  Will another bad hurricane wreak havoc on the area?  I hope and pray not.  

And The Birds Sing

  Dawn comes to the Bayou with all of the birds singing praises. As the sky begins to lighten in the east, one after another bird will join in the chorus of welcoming the day.  Ornithologists claim that the birds do not sing because they are joyful but rather as a means of communicating.  I beg to differ.  To my way of thinking, birds sing to express themselves (joy being an expression) and call to communicate.  If you listen carefully, these are two very distinct sounds.  The trilling, warbling and chortling cannot be just for telling other birds some important information such as where a food source is located or that the house cat is now on the loose.  The sing-songy sounds are not alarms that the hawk is in the area nor are they from a female begging her mate to come relieve her from nesting duties.  It is quite evident that there are different calls for different situations.  The threatening calls of territorial rights sound much different than the alarm for a snake warning.  The communicating calls usually consist of tweets, chirps, squawks and squeals.  Compared to the melodic trilling, calls seem sharp and abrupt.  But, never mind what I think by just listening to my critter friends every day.  Scientists always know best.  (Did you detect a bit of sarcasm there?)

  With the rising sun, all diurnal birds let loose with their own version of welcoming a new day.  They sing praises that they survived the night and all its perils.  Now, they can face the day with a new attitude and new vigor.  I hear all of this as I watch the sun rise up over the pines. Usually, the blackbirds start the harmonious blend of notes and are soon joined by the mockingbirds and thrushes.  If one listens carefully, the warblers, cardinals, towhees, wrens and thrashers can be heard adding their musical notes to the symphony.  Far off in the distance a couple of crows and blue jays attempt their lyrical input.  All of their vocal efforts blend into perfect harmony of welcoming dawn.  Good morning, Sunshine, the new day has come!  Note...turn up the volume and enjoy what I hear each morn!  

Praise for the Morning!

  Daybreak is my favorite time of the day.  After a good night's rest, the world awakes to new possibilities.  If you ever observe the critters around you, it is evident that they, too, appreciate the new day.  All are praising the morning in their own way.  Even nocturnal critters, who are yawning and creeping into their slumber, welcome the rising sun. Others literally raise their song on high and welcome whatever life throws at them.  

  Yesterday as we were watching the lovely sunrise, a cormorant sat high on the post of my brother's pier.  With its wings outstretched and its beak pointed heavenward, the bird looked as if it, indeed, was singing praises for the rising sun.  Yes, I know this is a common position for these diving birds and that it helps them to dry their water laden feathers but, still, I imagine that the bird was happy for the new day....as we all should be.  

  Years ago, Eleanor Farjeon penned the lyrics to a hymn called "Morning Has Broken".  These lyrics run through my mind almost every morning as I am watching the sun rise above the pines and listening to life around me.  Sometimes, I actually start humming the tune.  It seems fitting.

"Morning has broken like the first morning.

Blackbird has spoken like the first bird.

Praise for the singing,

Praise for the morning,

Praise for them springing fresh from the word."

Bayou Life All Wrapped in One Photograph

  First, let me say thank you for those who cared to check on me after my mention of being ill.  Your concern warmed my heart and I adore each of you for the prayers, advice and concern.  You are wonderful!  

  Second, since I am still sort of under the weather....much better but still just not "feeling it", I decided that one more lazy day could not hurt. Tomorrow. I may venture out to the greenhouse for a bit to see if I can start my tomato seedlings for the garden this spring....maybe.  But, in the meantime, I had to be satisfied lounging about the house...or at least I had to endure it.  With nothing else to occupy a lazy mind, I scrolled through some of my old photographs.  When I hit one folder full of pictures from five years ago, I thought "Wow...I like that photo!"  It is not that it was a perfectly timed photo nor even a particularly well thought out display, it just sort of "spoke" to me.  It was perfect.  The photo single-handedly described life on the Bayou.  The daily struggle to find sustenance while keeping an eye open for predators.  I stared at the photograph and tried to recall that early morning so many years ago.  

  In the photograph, a small Green Heron tries to lure small fish or crabs within range of is sharp beak.  This heron is one of the only birds on the Bayou that has developed the skill of "fishing" for its breakfast.  Not many critters have learned the art of using tools like this bird.  It will use a small piece of leaf, twig or portion of fish as bait.  The bait is dropped in the water and the bird stands motionless as it waits.  Sometimes the wait is long and the bird will reach out to wiggle the bait.  The Green Heron hardly ever "wade fishes".  It is much more adept at catching its prey from a firm foundation and simply has remarkable patience.

  The almost silhouette effect caused by the pre-dawn hour is what caught my eye.  This is my favorite time to be out tromping about the marshes and I have not done it much since the loss of my old dog.  I miss her.  I really need to get back out there, though, so soon..perhaps..soon.  First on the agenda is to fully kick this illness's butt, though!

What's for Breakfast?

After a nigh sleepless night, I was on the pier before daybreak. There is just something that calms and relaxes me being there with nothing but the sights and sounds of a new day. As I sat watching the fish break in the mouth of the Bayou, I realized just how blessed I am to live here and how thankful I am that my little Bayou is obviously healthy. Just a few moments after the sun rose over the pine trees, I heard a ruckus in the back part of the Bayou. Wondering what was causing the minnows to be astir, I hurried up the pier to get a better look. I knew whatever was in the water was quite large but still could not get a clear view. Although the sky was getting brighter by the minute, it was still very dark down in the marshes. Ezzy, the dog, started barking as she sensed something was amiss. Hmmmm...if I wanted to see what was in the Bayou, Ms. Ez would have to be locked in her pen. That done, I slipped down to the marsh edge.

The water was roiling..whatever was there, was having a heyday with the minnows and little mullet. Something was eating breakfast! Edging closer and closer to the marsh, an eerie feeling swept over me..what if...just what if this is something that I should not be cornering! Still the allure of the Bayou overcame that fleeting feeling angst! Under the trees, it was almost pitch black. I had to be careful here..a snake would not hesitate to inflict a nasty bite and I was only wearing leather moccasins. hehe..My moccasins would not stop a moccasin! Hubby has some brand new snakebite boots and at this moment, I thought that was probably what I needed! SPLASH! I was shaken out of thoughts of snakes and other creepy-crawlies. The sun was up and shooting little beads of light through the marsh grass and I was near enough to survey the deep pool in this bend of the Bayou. Suddenly, little mullet were frantically trying to escape by taking flying leaps through the air! With a sudden shower of water droplets, a head popped above the water's surface!

The playful River Otter was dining on the juvenile mullet that were teeming in the Bayou. The otter would dive under the water and literally burst out in a leap that sent water showering everywhere! Then when it would catch a fish, it would roll over on its back and crunch away on its meal. I noticed that each time, the meal was eaten head first! Unusual but effective method of eliminating the possibility of the fish escaping, I suppose! I watched, enthralled at the antics of the otter until breakfast-time was over. My wild friend made a hasty exit into the marsh and I headed to the house for coffee. My daughter and son-in-law are here visiting and I needed to get breakfast on the table! We had plans for the day and they did not include my Bayou Watching!