Euphoria?

   The old adage of "Red sky at night, sailor's delight.  Red sky in morning, sailor's warning." holds true most of the time.  Sometimes, however, that red sky (or golden in yesterday's case) is eerily beautiful, if that makes sense.  We have had a good number of thunderstorms lately and after yesterday's rain, the sky turned remarkably golden.  Although I was inside, the vividness of orange lit up the room.  Curious, I had to head outside to see what was happening.  Seriously?  Not much other than the entire sky was orangish colored but it made the whole place "feel" different.  As I meandered through the back gardens, a feeling of inexplicable euphoria overcame me.  Since I was alone, I came to feel as if this "magical sunset" was meant just for me.  I quietly padded along the footpaths without a care in the world.  (Too bad that feeling cannot be everlasting.)  Soon enough a slight mist started falling again and forced me to take cover.

  Back inside, I could only admire the beauty through the window.  Still, I smiled.  I had been submerged into the mysteriousness of an early evening stroll. The smells, the sounds, the closeness of nature...always make the heart sing.

High In The Treetops

  Late this afternoon, the old dog and I went for a nice hike about the back part of the property.  It has been a long time since he has felt well enough to meander the hillside with me so this time was special.  He needed a number of rest stops but that was fine by me.  Just having him along for the hike was perfect.  It was on one of these rests that I was delighted to observe a small bird out catching supper for its brood.  Mama Flycatcher could be seen high in the old black gum tree as she snatched insects from the branches.  She would land on a branch and scan the limbs until she spied a potential treat.  Then, she would hover near the branch and take her insect while on the wing.  A quick flight back to the nest assured that her little ones would have a full belly for the night.  She repeated this action time and time again.  

  This is a Great Crested Flycatcher and she has nested in a tall white oak tree behind the canebrake.  This type of flycatcher nests in cavities in the tree and line their nests with soft grasses but also make sure to weave in a snakeskin or long, slender piece of plastic that could be mistaken for a skin.  This action is believed to be a deterrent for potential predators.  If some other bird or squirrel tries to raid the nest, the skin might just scare them and make them abandon the idea thinking a real snake is present.  With the number of flycatchers we have around the area, I would venture to say their tactic is working!  

  Little Mama worked hard to feed her little ones and I almost came to the conclusion that she was a "single mom" until I noticed yet another flycatcher working in the canebrake, itself.  The dad was busy finding supper, as well.  The brood would be well fed tonight and we will have a great many less bugs on the loose!  It is often hard to photograph these birds since usually stay high in the treetops as to not compete for food with other insect-eating  birds.

Hiding Beneath The Oak

  Late this afternoon, thunder rolled in the distance.  Knowing that Mr. PJ does not like the rain, I decided that it might be prudent to get him down the hillside, let him do his business and get him back inside before any rainstorm caught us.  Well, that was the plan, at least.  Once we reached his "preferred spot", I got a bit distracted.  A bird caught my full attention and I promptly forgot the possibility of a storm.  I, also, forgot the dog.  He sat patiently while I tromped through the palmettos to get a clear shot of the bird.

  Back up to the first inkling that something interesting was occurring in the marsh.  A fleeting glimpse of a heron quickly evacuating the spot was my first clue.  The bird squawked as it went westward.  It seemed to be a bit too noisy for just an ordinary flight.  That bird was trying to distract me and lure me from the spot.  That meant one thing...a youngster was hiding in the area.

  Sure enough after just a few moments, I spied the little one.  A young Yellow Crowned Night Heron was hidden beneath the old oak tree.  This tree has several branches that swing low over a small pool of water that lies between the marsh and shoreline.  The pool attracts many tiny crustaceans and minnows which are perfect for a young bird.  These critters are more or less trapped in the pool making it easy for a youngster to practice his fishing skills.  This bird still had his "camouflage-wear" of speckled feathers.  He blended quite well with his surroundings!

  The setting allowed me to get great photos of the young bird without making it feel too ill at ease.  Eventually, I apologized for the intrusion and eased my way back up to where the old dog patiently waited.  He was almost oblivious of my absence and the rains held off so all was well.  

The "Hole" Thing

  During our evening walk, the old dog refused to go any further.  He balked about going down the hill.  He turned this way and that instead of following the path.  Then, he sat and was not about to go any further.  One thing is certain about this fellow, when he decides to do something (or not do), there is no changing his mind.  So, I changed my course and took him back inside.  I really had no choice.  Once inside, he happily plopped on his bed and looked at me as if to say, "I won!"  Yeah, you did.

  After getting the dog settled, Mark and I continued our stroll about the hillside.  Our hikes do not go "down the hill" simply because that is the dog's designated potty spot.  We meander across the top of the hill and then down around behind the canebrake.  That path, however, could have meant trouble if we had taken the dog.  I am glad he rarely goes across the area especially after this evening. 

  As we were walking, Mark and I both noticed a rather large hole in the ground.  It was probably a good two inches in diameter and the sides were smooth.  Hmm?  My first thought was that the voles had returned but on closer inspection, I found that having voles would have been far better.  This was a yellow jacket nest entrance!!  Goodness!  That hole seemed a lot larger now!  As we stood there watching, nigh on fifty of the wasps entered the hole.  Had the old dog stumbled across the hole, he would have been covered in a matter of minutes. The poor old dog would have received many painful stings. The fact that he never goes this path and his bull-headedness saved him!

  Once again, however, I must say that these wasps were rather docile.  Mark and I both were within a foot of the hole when we were pondering the source.  Not one of the yellow jackets made an attempt to attack.  They were intent on doing whatever they do down in the hole and were oblivious to our presence.

  Mark took things in his own hands and got rid of  the yellow jackets.  He used a tried and true method of "Bottle of Gasoline in the Hole".  Find a bottle that has some sort of neck, fill it with gas, wait until dark and then turn the bottle upside down with the neck sticking down in the hole.  The gas pours into the nest below ground and kills the wasps that are inside.  Waiting until dark assures that most of the yellow jackets are inside the nest.  Every year since we have been here, we kill several nests like this.  It is the safest way of eradicating the critters.

The Bottle Captured the Sun

  Some days you just have to shirk your chores and take a hike.  I have been sanding, painting and generally redoing the entire living room for the past three weeks and it seems the job is getting bigger and bigger.  One thing leads to another and now it seems there is nary an end in sight.  So, the best thing to do is walk away for a bit.  The old dog and I hiked far down into the creek and then back around the woods for a good couple of hours. He had to stop several times for a rest but that was fine by me as it gave me time to photograph whatever caught my eye at the moment.   The sun was starting to slide down behind the pines before we headed back to the Little Bayou House.  With a chill in the air, he was happy to be close to his warm, cozy bed.  He trotted off to sit near the steps as I had to take just one more picture!

  Years ago for the "Clue Hunt on the Bayou" (our annual fun time in October), there was a need for a bottle tree.  This was an easy prop to erect so it was stuck down in the front yard.  Now, several years later, the bottle tree is still in its place.  That is not so spectacular in itself but the way the late afternoon sun was gleaming through the blue bottles was quite striking even though it was never meant to be a thing of beauty.  It was nothing more than a long forgotten clue hunt prop.

  It is funny how something that you see every day of your life can take on a new appearance just because of the lighting.  That old saying about being in the right place at the right time is true.  It takes a special moment to see a mundane object in an whole different way.   My bottle tree became mesmerizing purely by happenstance.  This evening, it was sort of pretty in a weird way.  Tomorrow, the bottle tree will, once again, become something that I should have removed long ago.

They're Back!

  Late this evening, the old dog and I made our way down the hill to the pier.  It was already starting to get a bit shadowy so I knew I would not stay long.  When I first got to the end, fish were breaking everywhere.  Ok, so there was nothing else to do except catch bait and toss a line.  I did not hobble to the pier on a sore leg for nothing!  A few casts of the net gave me enough bait to give it a try.  Well, to make a long story shorter, I caught nary a fish.  

  I did, however, see a couple of old friends.  Just before it got too dark to see, I noticed something come out of the Bayou and turn toward the pier.  The shadows from the tall pines hampered my view so I just waited.  This could be any number of critters but the wake left behind it as it swam led me to believe that this was my friendly gator.  Soon, the critter was near enough for me to identify it and, sure enough, it was an alligator.  As this one neared the pier, a smaller one came out of the Bayou.  That one hung near the far shore but could clearly be seen.  The two gators knew Mr. PJ and I were on the pier so they kept a slight distance away.  Mr. PJ, the old dog, never noticed the gators.  In fact, he snoozed the entire time they visited.

  It has been a while since the alligators have visited the pier at the same time I was there.  More oft than not, they come out after I have retreated to the Little Bayou House.  Their crab trap raiding shenanigans go unseen under the cover of darkness!

Just A Trim

  I am slowly getting back into the "have a dog" mode.  Fostering PJ has brought back a lot of memories of Ms. Ezzy, the Bayou Dog and has changed my lackadaisical attitude back to the mentality of a responsible pet owner.  After Ms. Ezzy died but before Mr. PJ came to live at the Little Bayou House, I had gotten out of the habit of walking through the gardens in the evening.  The last hike of the day usually found me just going to the pier to watch the sunset.  Now that the dog is with me, I take longer hikes and find myself enjoying the gardens more.  PJ seems to like sniffing the blooms as much as I do. 

  This evening, as we came back up the hill from the pier, the old dog and I made our way through the vegetable patch, through the garden gate and out to the fig trees.  There a raised herb garden had suffered greatly because of the copious amounts of rainfall this summer.  While the herbs looked a bit ragged, a sweet scent enveloped us.  The Four-O'clocks were in full bloom.  Yep, by this time of summer, those, too should have looked a little worse for wear but, instead, they were gorgeous.  This made me smile and the old dog and I stopped to smell the blossoms.

  The aforementioned smile was evoked by the fact that just three weeks ago, I had taken the weed-trimmer to the plants.  They had gotten so straggly that the bed looked terrible.  While trimming the edges of the lawn, I turned the weed-eater and cut the flower gardens down to about six inches tall. The Four-O'clocks, Zinnias, Marigolds and Purple Basil all were zipped down and left for goners.  All of the plants decided that they were not giving up so easily!  Once again, the gardens are overflowing and the blooms are spectacular!  In the late evening the Four-O'clock blooms send out their sweet aromas to attract pollinating moths.  Those moths might fully enjoy the blossoms but probably not as much as Mr. PJ and I did this evening.  What a pleasant walk we had!