Midnight Baking

   Last night was interesting, to say the least.  It was chilly so I had the old woodburning stove chugging away.  Several nice sized hickory logs would slow burn for most of the night keeping the Little Bayou House somewhat warm.  Along about midnight, I awoke to the delightful scent of bread baking.  Hmmm?  Was I dreaming?  Did Son decide to try his hand at baking in the middle of the night?  Had a burglar entered then opt for making cinnamon rolls instead of thievery?  Since the only logical scenario was that I was dreaming, I promptly put my head back on the pillow and tried to sleep.  Nope.  Somewhere in this house, bread was baking and I was hungry!  I might as well get up and investigate.  Plus, the fire probably needed stoking anyway.

  My "dream" was not a dream at all and, no, neither Son nor any intruder was making breakfast.  Instead, I found my delectable aroma.  Earlier in the week, I had longed to bake sourdough bread but had no starter.  I had given my last bit away and needed to begin again.  Well, I did.  My sourdough starter had been put together three days ago and, since the house gets rather cold at night and I was in a hurry, I placed the starter on the back of the old woodstove.  There it would stay a nice 80 degrees and could grow rapidly.  It was far enough away from the heat not to spoil nor scorch yet stay almost lukewarm.  Sourdough starter does not smell like much for the first couple of days but give it a few and it starts to give off that nice, yeasty smell.  That was what I was smelling...not bread baking but yeast making!  My brain just twisted the two together and left me with hunger pangs!

  This morning, the sourdough starter looked divine.  A few more days and this will be the beginning of many tasty treats.  There is something oddly satisfying about creating your own yeast from scratch.  Try it!  It is not hard at all but you do need a bit of patience as it takes a while.  Happy baking, folks!

Dreams of Birds and Tranquility

  It is sort of ironic that a Great Egret was circling the pier early this afternoon.  The bird flew in three large circles around the entire Bayou (and pier) before coming to land in the midst of the marsh.  It is not uncommon to see the egrets but having one circle around me after having a dream about one last night was a bit...well...soul-stirring.  In my dream, a Great Egret flew in to greet me on the pier as they often do but this one came to my side and gently laid its head on my hand.  Its wings were wide-spread and its beautiful white feathers gleamed so brightly that I could hardly look at it.  Then, the bird flew straight up and out of sight.  When I awoke, my heart was racing and I felt as if something was on the verge of happening.  In view of my love for the critters of the Bayou, perhaps the dream of an egret befriending me was enough to move me but seeing the bird today has caused a good bit of pondering. Was there some deeper meaning to the dream?  Was the bird trying to tell me something?  If one is to go around looking for images and signs, they are sure to be there, yet, I was not looking.

  It has often been said that there are deep meanings to our dreams.  An appearance of a Great Egret has been associated with a new beginning.  That an preceding task set before you has been completed and that a new prosperous, peaceful life is ready to be attained.   In other words, it is time to stop living in the past and get on with the future.  The battle before has been won the hard way and now a life of peace is at the threshold.  While a lot of folks do not put much trust in dreams, one can only hope that something like this one holds true.

  Then, there was the actual bird flying in circles around me and my home.  The large, white egret flying around and around the Bayou with me as the centerpoint was purely fascinating.  I like to choose that the bird in the dream was foretelling of peace and prosperity and the bird doing the flying was letting me know that this tranquility was to be found where I live.  The Bayou has always been my little piece of paradise so this comes as no surprise. Then again, the bird may have been just trying to decide where would be the best place to catch supper.  Who knows?  It is something to ponder, however.

The Clams Are Biting........The Fishing Report

  Every now and again, I used to get a call from my elderly uncle who had moved from Mississippi to Missouri.  He wanted to "check the fishing reports".  Uncle Alfred used to live just one house over from the Little Bayou House and loved to go fishing.  He and my Aunt Marie fished just about their entire lives and the love of the water lived on with him even though he moved away after she died.  Before he passed away, he and I would chat on the phone about fishing and his dream of coming back to the Bayou "just one more time".  While he knew the trip was not reasonable at his age of almost 100 but we "dreamed" and made plans, all the same.  The fishing report was about whatever was in the Bay at the time.  It did not matter if I told him about menhaden, redfish or otters.  He loved every minute of the report.  I loved every minute of sharing with him and I miss his calls terribly now.

  The fishing report of the day sort of goes like this.  I caught a nice sized fishing line complete with sinkers and hook!  I was slow-dragging my bait along bottom thinking I may pick up a flounder but hooked into the old line. It was a good pull!  At this point, Uncle Alfred would have made a joke and asked how long I thought the line had been snagged there before I caught it.  We would banter back and forth for a bit before I moved on with the next bit of the report.  Also, the clams are biting really good now!  Mark caught a nice, heavy one up near the shoreline this morning.  He was hoping to catch a redfish that was running the marsh but the clam bit first.  We decided to let it go, however, since we only had the one.  Again, Uncle Alfred would have had some quip about the clam and probably have related a tale of going clamming during his younger days.  The rest of the fishing report would have been filled with tidbits of news about the number of schools of menhaden, recent catches of shrimp and how many crab pots we have at the end of the pier.  Once the report was complete, he and I would, once again, make those plans for his fishing trip.  That fishing trip was never made, at least, not physically.  He told me that he fished from our pier in his dreams and that made him happy.  Talking with him made me happy.

  The truth behind the above fishing report was that I did, indeed, hook and bring in an old line that had been snagged on a log.  Pulling it off was quite the job but I am glad it is no longer posing a danger to the sea life.  Mark did catch a clam on his line but not on the hook.  His sinker weights became wedged between the hinge of the clam shell allowing him to pull the large clam right up on the pier.  These tales would have delighted Uncle Alfred and made those dreams even more exciting.  Even though it has been several years since he passed, I still think of our phone calls and reports.  I sure miss that man!

 

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.