Something Else Southern?

   It is a southern thing.  You hear that often with everything from blessing folk's hearts to eating grits and fried mullet.  It is a southern thing.  While some people think we are a bit backward, we really do not care.  We do our own thing, love one another and live life to the fullest.  We are just happy to be alive and if that is confusing to you...well, kiss my grits.  Who cares?  

  One thing that I was told was pretty much a southern thing by a cousin who lives way up north, is the fact that if visitors ever comment on our garden, they have set themselves up to receive whatever caught their eye.  We give.  We almost over-give.  Armloads of vegetables or fruit are pushed on anyone who comes.  The same goes with our flowers.  Compliment a flower garden and you are bound to be the recipient of cuttings, small plants or seeds. We don't care who you are or where you came from, when you leave, you will be loaded down with something!  No one can leave empty-handed. It is a southern thing...we share...a lot.

  Pass-along plants are a thing much like hand-me-down clothes.  One of the favorites down here is the Confederate Rose.  This is not a rose at all but a member of the hibiscus family or mallow family.  It is one of those plants that is easily rooted by a snippet of stem.  Stick it in some water and a few weeks later, you have a sapling.  Then, it is not long before you have a nice sized shrub that will be covered with lovely saucer-sized blooms during the fall.  Just about everyone down here in the Deep South will tell you their story about receiving a cutting from someone's garden.  The tales are about as interesting as the shrub, itself.  We take pride in giving credit where credit is due.  It is a southern thing.

Winter...the time to garden!

   Early this fall, I put a lot of cabbage plants in the garden.  They are doing well and are making heads.  It won't be long before we can dine upon lovely, fresh cabbage.  In the meantime, however, we have been enjoying the mustard greens several times a week.  Those things grow so fast!  I, also, planted broccoli and cauliflower.  Broccoli has been in the garden in the past and has done remarkably well but I have never attempted cauliflower.  Well, I was surprised today to find that the cauliflower is heading right along side of the broccoli!  The fall/winter garden is doing amazingly well!  

  That said, it was time to add to the garden goodies.  Spinach and beets were planted today!  I have a few more seeds to put in as soon as I can get rows made.  Once the seeds sprout and the plants are about four inches tall, more of the (hurricane debris) mulch will be hauled up the hill and scattered under the plants.  Folks, never burn nor discard that debris!  Grind it!  Oh, my goodness!  That stuff makes incredible mulch and is improving the soil as it rots.  I will never again look at the debris line the same.  

  I did want to make mention that the home supply stores down here have no inkling of fall/winter gardens.  Seeds are sold "seasonally" which means nothing after August.  If you wish to plant after that time, you had better stockpile a few seeds, fertilizer and any other gardening supplies.  The employees looked at me like I was nuts when I questioned their lack of seeds.  Moral...buy early and don't depend on anyone there to have gardening knowledge.  Happy (winter) gardening, folks!  It's gonna be good!

Another Tiny Visitor

  Our rain continues which is normal February weather down here in the Deep South.  Fog, warm, rain then a short cold spell and back to fog again seems to be the routine.  This year, however, those cold spells seem to forgot to come.  As a rule, it is warm enough to be called spring but we are all holding out on the thought that there will be one more "freeze" before the gardens are planted.  Critters, on the other hand, have already declared that spring is here and that love is in the air.  Nesting has begun.  

  Braving the drizzly rain this morning, I put more birdseed out on the tray on the lawn table.  I still have no feeders but the birds do not seem to mind.  As long as they are getting free food, they are happy.  As I stood just a few feet away from the table, a pair of chickadees popped in for breakfast. These tiny birds are often found flocking with their buddies the titmice and sure enough, I could hear them in the nearby cedar tree.  The little chickadees are more vocal about demanding seed if I dare forget to fill the feeders but the titmice express their elation when I do.  

  Here, we have the Carolina Chickadee which closely resembles the Black-capped Chickadee.  Really, the only visible difference is the Black-capped Chickadee has deeper grey on its back and more pronounced white wing edgings.  Our little Carolina Chickadee has greyish wing edgings.  The songs are different between the two birds which helps somewhat but the biggest factor in knowing what type Chickadee is found here is the range maps.  Black-caps do not range this far south and Carolina Chickadees do not range far north.  Their ranges do overlap a tiny bit and the birds are not overly concerned.  They get along fine and will often hybridize.

  Chickadees of all types are very approachable birds.  If you have enough patience and the gnats are not too bad (our bane), these tiny birds will often land on your hand to feed.  Put a bit of seed in your hand, sit still and wait.  Soon the little ones will come to visit!  

  Chickadees are cavity dwellers just like the titmice.  They will, however, create their own holes in rotted wood if no empty holes are available.  The male and female bond and stay together for many years. During courtship, the male will bring food to the female.  Both build the nest and both share parenting responsibilities.  Folks, fill the feeders and watch for these sweet birds.  They are perhaps the most adorable birds to visit and will be happy to visit a spell with you.  

Yet Another Swarm

  Ok, folks.  Any of you living down here in the Deep South, you are receiving fair warning.  It is THAT time of year again.  It is high time you make preparations for the coming "storm".  Yep, August/September is THE season and I noticed the very first intrusion just this morning.  Lovebugs!  Yep.  The lovebugs (also known as Honeymoon Bugs) are coming.  You had best be ready so get out your hairnets, bug sprays, car washing equipment and suit of armor (if you so desire) even though that is overdoing it just a tad.  Just be prepared for the bazillion or so bugs to soon be swarming....everywhere!  Much to the disdain of every Southerner, the bugs are coming whether we want them or not.

  Lovebugs are a type of marsh fly that swarm in early spring and then again in fall.  Contrary to what folks believe, these critters are not coming from other places just to make life miserable.  They are born here.  It is just a fact of life.  The lovebugs (so called because usually the only time they are seen is when they are mating), transform from larvae to insects then fly about in search of a mate.  Once a suitable mate is found, they stay conjoined for about 5 days then they land and the female lays her eggs in leaf litter and mulch.  The male dies almost immediately after mating while the female dies a few days later (after all, she is busy laying eggs).   The eggs hatch and the larvae stay in the leaf litter/mulch nursery and grow.  That is all fine and dandy except when you consider the millions upon millions of lovebugs that keep crawling out of that leaf litter to mate.  It takes a good month or so before the critters are through swarming.  (Don't we have fun??)

  There are "conspiracy" theories that these are an experiment gone wrong.  Folks are eager to blame anyone or anything when they are being covered in critters.  Most likely the critters are just an invasive bunch that came here in a shipment of whatever from South or Central America.   Now, they are here to stay as they have found the place to their liking.  Good news...they do not bite nor sting!  Bad news...their decaying bodies that become plastered to your car can eat through the paint job.  That said...car washes are going to be really busy for the next four or five weeks.

The Biggest One I Have Ever Seen!

  Early this morning found me stalking a Great Golden Digger Wasp.  I had seen the hole next to the front door but could not find my wasp.  I love these wasps!  Yeah, that is a pretty strange thing to say about something that could sting you but these are solitary wasps that are hesitant to sting.  Unless you grab hold to one, it would be extremely rare to be stung.  They just go about their business digging holes, laying eggs and stuffing the hole full of bugs.  That is another reason to love the wasps!  They clear the garden of a lot of caterpillars, stinkbugs and other insects.  Like I said, I was out stalking the wasp but got sidetracked along the way.


  About twenty feet ahead of me, I saw something moving on the ground.  Well, with the old eyes getting weak and a slight, drizzly rain coming down, I was not positive what I was seeing.  I actually thought a mouse was scurrying about the leaves.  Quietly slipping over to where a better view could be had, I came to realize that my "mouse" was not a mouse.  A cicada was struggling to take flight with its newly formed wings.  Ok, so a little help was needed.  The cicada readily climbed up on my extended hand and waited to be lifted high in the air.  My goodness!  That thing was the size of my palm!  It filled the palm of my hand with its beauty!  Never in my life, have I seen one this large!  It was a good three inches in length from the tip of its nose to the ends of its wings.and was such a fat bugger!  I had no idea what type of cicada it is but was told it was called a Giant Oak Cicada.  Maybe?  It was huge!  It is flying free as it took flight and flew to the top of a nearby oak.  It can now live out its life being a happy cicada.

  It was strange that this cicada was found on the ground instead of on the trunk of a tree.  Usually, when the critter digs its way out of the ground, it immediately hunts for some place to hang above ground.  There, it wiggles its way out of its old skin (molts) and hangs to let its wings unfold and dry.  Sometimes, the cicada will climb even higher in the tree to give it a better place to try out those wings.  It is a bit wobbly, at first, but then gains strength and can fly high into the trees just in time to begin singing for a mate.  My cicada never made it up that tree to start or something knocked it to the ground where it was struggling.  It just needed a helping hand...my hand.  Now, I can listen to its music as the sky darkens. 

Glinting in Blue

  Here lately, I cannot sleep past about 4am.  I am up, coffee brewed and ready to start the day.  I figure I might as well make use of the time if I am going to be awake so there is not much use in tossing and turning trying to go back to sleep. Just get up and get going.  Daybreak is one of my favorite times anyway so a hike is always in order.  Meandering about the hillside goes slowly since the old dog, Mr. PJ, cannot keep up the pace.  At one point this morning, the old dog needed a rest so while he sat, I photographed how the sun played on the leaves and created shadow puppets of weird shapes.  

  Just as the old dog was about ready to continue our walk, I noticed how the sun was shimmering on the bottle tree.   The bottles were aglow with the sunbeams!  This makeshift bottle tree was a clue hunt prop from several years ago.  The Annual Clue Hunt on the Bayou that year had a theme of Deep South Legends and so a bottle tree was a necessary addition.  It has become sort of a quirky part of the yard now and it would seem odd to remove it.  In reality, with today's light show, it occurred to me that perhaps I should expand the "limbs" on the tree and add a few different colored bottles.   While the blues are gorgeous, if there were a few more colors sparkling with the sunbeams, it would add another magical touch to the Bayou.

  For those who are not familiar with bottle trees, they are somewhat a custom down here in the Deep South.  The idea behind the "tree" dates back hundreds of years.  Empty bottles are stuck on the small branches of a dead tree or, nowadays, on a wire "tree".  The idea is that spirits are attracted to the colored glass and soon find their way into the bottles.  There, the spirits become trapped during the night and are destroyed by the morning sun.  According to legend, the spirits are most attracted to the cobalt blue glass but, in a pinch, any color will suffice.  

  Like I said, my bottle tree began as a clue hunt prop but has now become part of the mystical, magical existence of the Bayou itself.  I think it is probably here to stay.

The Scent Wall

  Years and years ago, I bought a small sprig of a jasmine vine.  This was the Confederate Jasmine that can be found all over the Deep South.  To be perfectly honest here, this is not a true jasmine nor is it truly southern.  It just happens to be something someone liked, brought here, planted and then it sort of took root (pun intended).  Folks of the Deep South are all about flowers that smell good and this vine fit the bill perfectly.  Here, we go from wisteria and citrus blooms to jasmine and roses to magnolias and gardenias.  These blooms have some of the most heavenly scents around so we claimed them all.  Having each of these be easy to grow is another apple in the basket for us.  Smell good, easy to grow, pretty to look at...what's not to love.

  Although I did some major pruning on the roses and jasmine this past winter, both have outdone themselves already this spring.  The "wall" of jasmine is filling the entire yard with its sweet, spicy aroma.  At night, with the windows open to let in the cooling bay breezes, the scent fills the house and is far better than any air freshener or candle.  This is the real thing, folks, and it is amazing.  

  The Confederate Jasmine combined with the heritage rose, Seven Sisters, fills the fence.  It makes a perfect privacy screen at all times of the year but in spring, the fence line becomes my "scent wall".  I love it so much that I have rooted several more vines to completely surround the small area known as the Rose Garden.  Roses and jasmine!  What could ever be better?  Maybe it is a southern thing!

Azaleas...Not Just A Bush...A Memory!

  The weather is quite perfect....if you are a plant.  The warm, foggy nights keep things at just the right condition for plants to grow and grow they are.  As I was out walking the old dog, Mr. PJ, I came across the one part of the yard that is not cluttered with construction material from our ongoing battle with termite damage.  The lane that leads down to the main road is lined with azalea bushes and these appear to be nearing their peak bloom time.  As we meandered in the midst of the bright blooms, it almost seemed to transport us to some mystical, magical place.  Of course, the entire Bayou is sort of a mystical, magical place but when you throw in a whole slew of azaleas that tower above you head, it is perfectly exhilarating.

  Azaleas are often thought to be strictly a thing found in the Deep South.  Our places are dotted with the bushes or lanes are lined with them.  During the springtime, nigh on every yard has at least one bush and most have dozens or even up to hundreds depending on how old the homestead is.  Interesting thing is that these are mostly nonnative plants!  The azalea was first brought to the United States from Asia around 1830.  Word is that a plantation in South Carolina was the first known place to use the bushes in their landscaping.  From that time on, the popularity spread like wildfire and now the azalea has become synonymous with the Deep South.  Granted there are a few native azaleas but none look much like the showy blooms we now know.  

  Another interesting fact is that most locals are quick to share their plants so there is not a lot of need to "buy" bushes.  If you want some, ask.  Someone will definitely have "a few layered".  Most locals know to throw a brick, log or shovel full of dirt on a low lying branch to root them.  If a need arises, there are plenty to share.   In fact, every bush on the place here has come from an old homestead.  My grandparents and parents gave us some as did several aunts and uncles.  Sharing plants used to be the thing to do when a young couple married and set up household.  It is sad that the custom has almost gone the wayside now.

  My mystical. magical place in the midst of the azaleas brought back many happy memories of the folks who supplied our yard!  The sweet scent of the blooms will definitely draw me back down "Memory Lane" a few more times before the blooming wanes.

Deep South Winter?

  The weather on the Bayou sometimes is not as agreeable as we wish.  With family here for the holidays, it would have been nice to have sunny days so the kiddos could play outside.  Instead, we are having storms.  Not winter storms by other folks' means but Deep South Bayou winter storms.  Storms with rain and strong, gale force winds....and warm temperatures.  While I love a good storm, this mess could have waited until I could sit back and enjoy it.  Silly storm, what were you thinking?

  The good side of this is that Old Santa brought enough toys to entertain the kiddos for months.  They are fine.  They are squealing, running, jumping and playing until they drop.  The adults are mostly wishing they could nap the days away...except for me.  I am going stir crazy and this is only the first day of many of predicted storms.  A week!!  Yep, a week of storms should be pounding the Little Bayou House so I guess I will have to slip out in the rain if I want to keep my sanity.

 

Persimmon Snacks!

  Along about this time of year, I start to keep watch on the wild persimmon trees that dot the woods around the Bayou.  Late October and early November sees the fruit starting to ripen and, if I am not quick, I will get nary a nibble even though there are dozens of trees.  The quarter-sized fruit goes fast when the possums and coons get a sniff of them ripening.  Each time the old dog and I take a hike, a good handful of the persimmons is a must-have snack. 

  This afternoon's snack provided a dozen or so seeds from the persimmons.  These were brought inside, rinsed and dried.  The seeds had a purpose!  The winter weather forecast was about to be revealed!  The seeds (when split) reveal the type of weather for the next few months...supposedly.  Each year, I carefully split seven or eight of the seeds just out of curiosity.  This is easier said than done, however.  To my imagination, splitting a persimmon seed is akin to splitting a penny.  It is hard to do!  If you are not careful, that splitting can become slicing of the finger!  So...I made things easier.  First, as I mentioned, wash and dry the seeds.  Persimmon seeds directly out of a persimmon are slimy!  Even after their bath, the things are still slippery and hard to hold.  It is a good idea to have a dish towel handy.  Now for my brilliant idea!  Use a pair of sturdy kitchen sheers to trim the edges of the seed.  This helps tremendously!  Trimming the edge gives you a flatter spot to start the knife.  After trimming, pinch the seed between the thumb and forefinger and SLOWLY, CAREFULLY begin slicing.  WATCH THOSE FINGERS!!  Trust me...It is easy to slip here!  Once you get one seed split, it is time to give up on the rest!  Nah, keep going.  You are doing great!  I did nine seeds from four persimmons.  The results show the weather forecast.  Snow?  Sleet?  Cold? Warm?  Inside the seed, you find a quite clear image of cutlery.  Spoons (snow shovels)=snow/rain.  Forks (Pitchfork)=warm.  Knife (spear)=stabbing cold.  Well....

  This year, I found all spoons.  That usually means rain, here in the Deep South, if the folklore rings true.  BUT....looking back since I have been recording this "evidence", we sure have had a LOT of spoons!  Admittedly, there have been a few knives but rarely a fork (even though, one may argue that our winters are warm compared to other folks').  Perhaps, looking at the inside of the seed, just gives us the idea whether the seed is viable.  The "spoon" may simply be the part that will eventually sprout.  This makes more sense as we sure have a lot of baby persimmon trees each year.  Those possums and coons seem to plant lots of seeds.  At least trying to get the seeds gives me a good reason to be munching the fruit!

The Importance of a Screen Door

  While most folks understand the utilitarian function of a good screen door, not many can grasp the full importance of the piece.  A good screen door is just about the most important feature of a home other than a front porch.  (Which by the way, is fully being reconsidered as a feature of the Little Bayou House!  Yes, please!  I miss my porch.)  But back to that screen door.  In the Deep South, screen doors a sort of a status symbol.  It is an unwritten code that signifies that you are truly from the South and not some wannabe southerner.  We know you by your door.  

  First, down here, most screen doors are painted one color...black.  All of the new-fangled colors are not something we prefer.  The screen door should match the window screens that serve the same utilitarian purpose as the screen on the door...they all keep out the bugs.  Anybody that has lived here a while knows that a black screen door does not attract deer flies.  Those pesky, biting flies (along with most other flying, biting insects) swarm light colors so, black is the color of choice.  As soon as the weather warms to about 60 degrees, all of the windows and doors are flung open to "freshen up the place".  The winter doldrums are wafted out on the breeze but who wants biting critters inside the house??

  Another thing that tells us that you are from the area is how you use the door.  The decorative doodads that embellish the door are not a way to open the door.  Also, true southerners NEVER push on the screen!  That is a big no-no!  The screen is hard to replace!  To open and close the door, there are handles...all screen doors have them.  They are neat little things.  We cannot have torn screens or busted doodads.  That just does not set well with us.  Don't mess with a southerner's screen door or there may be trouble brewing.

  Then there is one last thing (and probably the most important thing) that distinguishes the wannabes from the honest to goodness southerners.  When someone comes calling, and this is important, the door is an integral indication as to whether the guest is welcome.  Welcome guests are met with the door being flung open and a "Come on in!" while those that are not as happily received are met with conversation through the screen door.  It is not opened.  In fact, more oft than not, the home owner's hand will casually reach up and throw the latch on the door especially if the caller is a stranger.  This is reason enough for the caller to make a hasty retreat.  It is a sign that, although pleasantries are being made through the screen, you are not going to come in for a glass of sweet tea.  

  So, aside from keeping out bugs, the screen door can identify a true southerner merely by being there, being painted black and by how it is used.  New homes seem sorely lacking in this essential feature.  Future generations will never understand the importance of the screen door.

A New Lesson

  It is sort of a southern thing to have crepe myrtles planted in your yard.  Most of the locals have at least one tree but there are those who have dozens.  Pop did.  All across the front lawn was a row of crepe myrtle trees lining the road.  He took remarkable care of all of his plants but his crepe myrtles were a thing of pride with him.  Each summer along about July, the entire row was a solid mass of blooms.  When planting the trees, he alternated the hot pink with a purple.  He would trim the trees each winter and by blooming time they were about 15 feet tall and thick with branches.  Each of those new limbs was loaded with the foot long clusters of crinkly flowers.  It was a sight to behold!  But...all of Pop's yard was.  I try but mine will never compare with his.

  However, the crepe myrtles are blooming!  I have about ten small trees all started from cuttings from Pop's.  While these do not do justice to their parent plants, the beauty is there.  As a tyke, the blooms reminded me of our favorite "bought" summertime treat...the snowball!  For those who are not familiar with a snowball, it is finely shaved ice flavored with sickly sweet syrups that come in a variety of flavors.  In early summer, snowball stands would pop up all over town and always had a long line of folks waiting for their turn to purchase the treats.  It was a family outing to "Go get a snowball!" Not only was eating the snowball tasty, the fun lasted for hours as we all could make fun of the syrup stained teeth and lips of our siblings.  I was smart.  I always got peach...it did not stain as much as say, blueberry. But now I have gotten off track of the crepe myrtle and I have found an interesting note about the tree.

  While sorting some items on the shelf, I came across an old farm manual.  As I flipped through the pages, I was stunned to find that many parts of the crepe myrtle tree were used in home remedies. Everything from fevers to cuts could be treated with parts of the tree.  I had never known this even though I am sure Pop was familiar with the uses.  Back in the day, there was no running to the corner drugs store or grocery store or department store on a daily basis.  Sometimes, it would be as long as a month or even six months before a "trip to town" was made.  (Not with Pop and his brothers as they had to deliver milk, vegetables and eggs to folks in town.  Their almost daily treks in the old farm wagon put them in the midst of town.)  But, using home remedies was far more prevalent then than now.  It was a matter of survival.  Folks knew what worked and how to use it.  They also knew what was toxic.  Not too many folks are aware that a lot of plants in their yards can be healing or can be deadly.  It may be a wise thing to read up on what is growing out there!  I am sure glad that my grandparents and parents taught me....but why omit the crepe myrtle from my training?  Perhaps, they did not.  Perhaps that was one of the days that I was a dawdling kid without a strong attention span. Ha!  But now I know!  And it is time for me to start studying up on the crepe myrtle!

The Evil Ones?

  A lot of folks suffer from allergies this time of year and pollen is the biggest threat to their comfort.  A few weeks back, these folks were in fear of allergy attacks due to the pine pollen that covered just about everything in sight.  Few reports of sniffles, itchy, watery eyes and sneezes resulted from that outburst of pollen flurries since pine pollen is not the culprit.  Now, another layer of pollen.  It seems that the Deep South is spared the heavy snow storms only to endure the onslaught of heavy pollen storms. Once again, everything has been coated yellow.  This does, indeed, make you thankful for the spring rains that also hit the area.  Today, was a nice rainy day.  The latest layer of pollen has been cleansed from outdoor surfaces and people can breathe again!

  This latest bout of complaints of allergies CAN be attributed to the pollen storms of this week.  The oak trees are heavy laden with the pollen makers.  Oak trees make both male and female "flowers" with the male being most noticeable.  The male "flowers' or catkins droop down on all new branches of a mature oak and produce the pollen that causes all the problems for allergy sufferers.  

  This year, if all goes well, it seems as if there will be a bumper crop of acorns for the critters to munch.  Every limb on the oak trees around the Bayou are literally covered with the pollen producing catkins. On sunny, dry days, that pollen floats on the breeze and pollinates the female flowers but, also, coats everything else.  So....it is the oak pollen that folks should deem as the "evil one" even though without it, there would be no acorns.  Things all have a way of working for the good.  Folks, if need be, go take your allergy medicines as it is going to be a rough spring for you.  The oak trees are blooming.

We Have a Plan!

  Lately, it has been foggy as pea soup here on the Bayou.  Each morning, Mr. PJ and I are met with drippy, misty, almost rain type weather.  This is fine by me but the old dog prefers drier weather.  He is not overly happy to have cold, wet fur and I am not happy about having that "wet-dog" smell wafting about the living room when we return from our hikes.  Still, he has to go out to do his morning business but then hustles back indoors to snuggle in his warm bed.  Our old dog, Ms. Ez, being a Lab, did not mind the wet.  She reveled in being out on hikes where the sounds, sights and smells were different than on drier days.  She was my constant companion until her death but Mr. PJ has other ideas and that is fine by me.  I fully understand his desire to be warm and dry!

  The hike this morning led Mark and me to the pier as usual.  Instead of fog, however, we were greeted by a fine, misty rain that obscured the shorelines. A lone pelican braved the weather in search of his breakfast while the cormorants sat dismally on the pier posts with soggy wings. This drizzle later developed into a regular rain which is heralding in what could become snow.  Yep, snow on the Bayou is being predicted.  Rather unusual but not unheard of this far south.  

  This day found me gathering firewood to add to my stockpile.  The Little Bayou House gets its heat from two wood-burning stoves that need constant stoking.  Once the fires fill the fireboxes with hot coals, I can damper down on them and let them do a slow burn.  Like that, I save on wood all the while keeping the place rather warm.  I figured it was better to get out in this drizzly rain to gather the wood than to wait until there is slippery ice on the hillside.  

  If, indeed, we do get the forecasted weather, my days will be much simpler.  Along with the wood stoves chugging out their heat, the kitchen oven will be going full blast.  Snowy or icy days are great baking times.  Christmas goodies will soon fill the trays and platters.  While we may not have all the fun entertainment that other places will, we shall have lots of tasty treats to fill our tummies.   Mr. Pelican will dive by himself, Mr. PJ can snuggle in his warm bed,  Ms, Nycto, the Bayou Princess Cat, can lounge on the sofa and I shall bake.  Sounds like the perfect plan to me!

All In Less Than A Week!

  Well, we have had a season change. Several actually! Our summer ended and fall came this week.  Yep, ours is late by others' standards.  We had a hint of fall where a few leaves changed colors.  The old hickory tree was in its glorious golden hues!  It was amazing and as I decorated the Little Bayou House for Christmas, I could look out the window and see FALL...not Winter!  No snowy hillside.  No icicles hanging from the eaves.  No gray skies with flocks of Canadian Geese flying overhead.  Nothing but a hickory tree dressed in her finest gown of gold.  And, by the way, the geese have stopped trying to figure out our weather and just stay here all year round.  We are soon going to have to change their name to something more suitable if this trend keeps occurring.  But fall came to the Bayou.

Mr. PJ is pretty well camouflaged in the hickory leaves!

  Fast forward until this morning....A thick fog rolled in off the Bay and shrouded everything in its wet, white blanket.  The sun tried to peek through but could not make its appearance until well on 8am.  By mid afternoon, summer had returned.  The temperature soared upwards into the 80s and hovered there.  A stiff southeastern wind blew across the hillside and attacked my fog-laden, golden hickory tree.  Every last leaf fell to the ground!  Instead of the gorgeous, gilded gown that she wore the day before, the old hickory now rested her feet on a thick carpet of soggy leaves.

  That fickle weather is not done with us yet!  We are forecasted to have temperatures in the 30s sometime tomorrow night!  So...four days...three seasons...summer, fall and winter!  Not unusual for these parts.  This far south we keep our flipflops sitting next to boots, T-shirts hanging by jackets and we fluctuate between hot cocoa and iced sweet tea.  Oh, well....I have a nice stock of chopped wood for the old cast iron stove so I am set for our "winter".  Sure wish it would last!

One Way Ticket

  It seems that most of the South is talking about the hoards of dragonflies that have been visiting.  This mass migration is something to behold when you can view it from across the water or an open field. Millions upon millions of dragonflies come flitting across the area without taking a break until nightfall.  The critters fly southward on their long journey just like birds do in preparation for the winter.  It is an arduous flight for the insects.  They average a good forty or more miles in a week.  While this seems like pitiful progress according to the "instant" rate that humans and larger animals travel but when you consider the minute size of the dragonflies, you will come to realize that covering that distance in proportion to their body size is pretty amazing.

  The last few days has seen the migration in full swing.  Being on the pier gives one a perfect view of the insects as they buzz across the water.  Some grow weary and a strong wind can knock them into the Bay.  Those usually do not survive as a fish is ready to nab this tasty meal.  The others, however, welcome the marsh as a resting point. There, they can rejuvenate to carry on their journey at daylight.  While dragonflies fly southward for the winter, they do not make the return trip.  Those who fly south, mate, lay eggs then eventually die.  It is the next generation that heads north come springtime.  The dragonflies have a one-way ticket to the Deep South but they are more than welcome to come and just stay!  

  The recent rains have caused the mosquitoes to multiply substantially. Those and their larvae are a favorite food of the dragonflies and their nymphs.  The circle of life continues and Mother Nature always has an answer as long as humans do not interfere.  Silly Humans!  Stop meddling and let Mother Nature do her job!

Good Morning!

  There are some plants that just seem to scream "Deep South" when you see them.  Camellias, Grandiflora Magnolias and Madonna Lilies fit the bill perfectly and can be seen dotted everywhere.  Most older gardens and even abandoned home sites from long ago will have ages old plants.  The Madonna Lilies are some of those things that never seem to fully die.  There have been home plots that literally have been plowed, covered in topsoil and sodded but still will have the lilies pop up and surprise the new homeowners.  You never really know just where the plants will suddenly sprout which makes them fully a surprise.  Roadsides, fields and well-tended yards seem to be graced with the white lilies!

  This morning before daylight, I rolled over and looked out the window.  I could see the tall Madonna Lily gracefully bobbing its head full of buds in the Bay breeze.  There was just enough light for the bright white buds to stand out against the darkness that surrounded it.  Seeing the buds made me realize that by this afternoon, there would be some of the sweet-scented blooms opening.  I smiled and made my way out of bed.  What a delightful wake-up image!

  Madonna Lilies actually originated in Asia and have been naturalized in most parts of the world.  Down here in the Deep South, it goes by a number of names including Snow Lily (flowers as white as snow), Morning Star Lily (five petals like a five-pointed star) and even Death Lily (blooms were used a lot at funerals in the past).  The name Death Lily could also be attributed to the fact that, like a good many lilies, it is reportedly toxic to cats.  If ingested the lily can cause kidney failure and death.  Even the pollen collected the fur of a cat (then licked clean) can cause major problems.  I cannot attest to the toxicity of the plant but it might be worth thinking about before planting a Madonna Lily in the garden.

   Here, they grow wild.  They pop up in the yard, woods and even occasionally in the marsh. I have tried moving the bulbs but never seem to be successful.  The lilies grow where they deem perfect so I just let the thrive wherever.  The one outside the window brightened my day from the moment I awoke.  What more could you ask?  The perfect greeting to start the day! 

Come....Sit a Spell!

  With all of the yard work happening on the Bayou as of late, my eye has been catching all sorts of things that need redoing.  While the wicker chairs still are in good shape, the wood and iron benches were looking a mite shabby.  Well, actually, worse than shabby.  They were more on the dangerous side!  The wood slats had seen better days and needed to be replaced before anyone took a notion to plop down on them.  Had anyone decided to take a seat, they probably would have wound up sitting among a heap of broken boards!  The benches were just that bad! Thank goodness, Son has been on a "fix-it" spree lately.  The seats were ripped apart, sanded, painted and then new slats were afixed on the first one.  The slats will be replaced on the other two as soon as the weather clears again.  Come sit for a spell!

  That phrase seems to be used a bit more down here in the Deep South than other places about the country.  Perhaps it is in reference to our laid back attitude about life.  There is no need to be in such a tizzy to get everything done immediately. Sit down, grab a glass of sweet tea or coffee (your choice) and take a load off your feet.  Sometimes when looking at the news (especially as of late), it seems as if that is what is wrong with folks.  Everyone seems to be riled up over one thing or another or are "offended" by something that was said but no one ever wants to sit down and have a neighborly chat to right things.  Back in the day, the front porch was the site of many of conferences where the troubles of the world were discussed, taken apart and put back together again in a reasonable order.  Down South, the front porch is our version of a "fireside" chat.  We sit on porches or out under the shade of an old oak and make amends instead of letting things ferment until they bubble out of control.  

  Now that my benches are repaired and are in "sitting" condition, it only seems proper to send out that neighborly invitation of "Come on over and sit a spell.  Have a glass of sweet tea and lets talk."  Life is good here on the Bayou.  It is too bad the rest of the country cannot be the same.

 

The Winter Rose of the Deep South

  Raking about an acre of yard is not an easy task!  I have been at this chore for the past couple of weeks...well, that and weeding the gardens, digging up bulbs and taking down dead trees.  It is hard work but well worth the effort.  Stuff has been let go long enough so I figure if I wanted it done, I needed to do it myself.  The guys of the household are busy revamping the trailer that hauls "Big Red", the tractor so they are not interested in swishing leaves around the yard.  I do not mind as it gives me good exercise and time to ponder.  

  On the west side of the house are two rather stately camellia bushes.  They have been there since Mark and I married so many hundreds of years ago (actually 38 years ago to be honest!)  My Aunt Marie and Uncle Alfred gave us the two bushes as a wedding gift and they have stood strong through thick and thin (sort of like our marriage!)  The bushes have been scorched by a house fire, swamped by hurricane flood waters. been completely buried under ten feet of hurricane debris and even had a tree fall on top of them at one point.  They are still blooming and still gorgeous!  Each disaster saw them come back stronger than before.  I have been clearing out vines and weeds from under the bushes and was surprised to find two seedlings among the mess.  These will be potted for Darling Daughter and hopefully will give her as many years of happiness as our have for us!

  It was under those camellia bushes that I found the "rose-petal carpet".  While this not truly accurate, the camellias are the "winter rose" of the Deep South.  With their saucer sized blooms that have a habit of appearing late December and lingering through February, camellias used to adorn every yard. Bright profusions of pink, red and white could be seen next to screen porches on every street.  Then with the disappearance of front-porch-sitting, so went the camellias.  Now, they seem to be making a comeback!  More folks are opting for screen porches instead of open decks and camellias, jasmine, gardenias and magnolias will soon follow!  There is just something comforting about that thought.  My pondering of life-as-it-use-to-be made the task of clearing the fallen camellia blooms a lot more pleasant.  

Fall on the Big Draw?

  Here it is almost the end of November and the Bayou is finally seeing a bit of "fall color".  While this may seem late to most folks, it is about normal for this far south.  In the Deep South, we seem to have a lack of seasons.  Our year sort of goes like...early summer, summer, late summer and a cool front.  While we occasionally get a visit from Jack Frost, the winter-like weather does not linger long.  From the pier, I could see far up into the depths of the Bayou.  While there are numerous dead pine trees (resulting from the frequent lightning strikes this August), there were still a few trees that were showing their fall foliage. The popcorn trees, maples and cypress trees stood out brilliantly as they were nestled in among some young, dark green pines.  This thicket is home to a good many of my critter friends and stands as a buffer between the Bayou and the neighboring houses.

  The Bayou actually meanders back from the Bay all the way to where it turns into a creek which the previous generation of the family always called the "Big Draw".  (I am not sure where that name derived nor if I am even spelling it correctly but I do recall as a kid hearing folks using it as a name for the Bayou.  "If you go over towards the Big Draw you can always find redfish." "The gator is nesting in the Big Draw this summer."  "I recall the time that plane crashed in the Big Draw."  Everyone knew just what place was mentioned and never questioned it.  We had the Big Draw and the Little Draw.  These are both bayous of sorts with mine being the larger of the two.

  Thinking back on all of the names that were attached to things around here by my ancestors makes me wish that I had listened and questioned more.  Like any kid, I did not.  I do have the ready excuse that I am from the era of "kids are to be seen and not heard".  It was not our place to always be questioning why adults did things so a lot went unlearned.  I now regret not making a written history of the past.  Things go the wayside and will continue to do so.  Soon, no one will even think about the Bayou, Big Draw, Little Draw or possibly even of me.  
  
  In the meantime, however, I will enjoy what little is left of the Bayou and its surrounding area.  Progress is encroaching rapidly and perhaps soon will step in where it is not wanted.   Then, I, too, will become some fleeting memory of those around me.