The "Feather Tree"

  Growing up on the old farm place, I was introduced to gardening at a very early age.  In those days, it was not "child abuse" to have tots as young as 3 years of age doing chores.  Not a one of us ever thought that it was a bad thing to help out about the place.  We were expected to do our share and we did it without grumbling.  These chores instilled a strong work ethic in us.  To this very day, I still get up at 4am, do my household chores before dawn then head out to the gardens.  On the farm, we had working fields but Pop also enjoyed keeping a beautiful yard full of flowers.  I try to do the same.

  In the Small Gardens here, I have many plants (from tiny jonquils to large trees that came from the old place.  One of Mark's favorites is what he calls the "Feather Tree".  This is a deutzia that I started from a cutting.  Pop had the shrub on the edge of the circle driveway so it was only natural that I took cuttings when I moved to the Bayou.  The shrub is in full bloom right now and I have to agree with Mark.  Its snow-white blooms do look feathery!  

  Since I am remaking the pathways that Hurricane Zeta demolished, it is my intention to start more cuttings of the deutzia along with roses, dogwoods and azaleas.  Lining the pathways with blooming shrubs will provide glorious color to my hikes.  The Feather Trees will have to have a special place in the sunshine so their blooms will spotlighted!

Let's All Garden!

   Growing up on the small farm, I have gardened all of my life.  It was life.  There was no mollycoddling of kids back in the day.  Kids worked.  We worked....and we were all the better for that work.  Look at the mess the nation is in today and you can sure tell who got their butt whupped when they misbehaved as kids and also who did chores.   Now the world is full of a bunch of whiney babies who cannot do anything for themselves and full of adults who raised them that way.  Sorry, folks, but I call it like it is.  Don't like it, move along.  Chores are not bad things.  Being disciplined is not a bad thing.  The state of this nation is a bad thing...and is probably going to get a whole lot worse.

  But...we are not going to dwell on that.  The whole point of this post is to say that, as old as I am, I decided to try something new.  While the garden here is tended year round, I have never tried raising cauliflower until this year.  Yep, you can bet that will be on the agenda again next fall!  Cauliflower has to be one of the simplest things ever to grow!  Just this week, the heads started "showing" and now they are ready to be enjoyed!  The broccoli is the same.  Both rows decided that the cabbages and mustard greens could not be the only ones being flashy so now they are just as gorgeous!

  Speaking of gardens and plants, now might be a fine time for you folks in warmer climates to take up the hobby and you folks still in winter's midst, to start pondering seeds, garden plots and the likes.  Personally, I now have spinach, beets and sweet green peas sprouting and carrots on the way.  Also, the spring garden is already being planned.  Good stuff.  You can never have too many fresh veggies and fruits to suit me.  

Priorities, priorities!

  Early this morning, I headed to the pier.  It was starting out to be a beautiful day and I wanted to make good use of my time.  There were several more gardens that needed digging and a trellis that needed to be made.  First, however, it was highly important to "make my rounds".  Each morning, I find myself following what Pop did back on the farm.  He would wander around the farm "taking inventory" of what needed to be done during the day.  His day was structured around the priority of tasks.  The man put in long days as he rose before the sun and worked until it fell behind the pines.  My days are similar to some extent.  I start with a hike to the pier then wander through the gardens to check what chores needed to be tackled.  Then, I set my hand to the tasks in order of importance.  It is all good.

  It was that stroll to the pier that was a bit unsettling, however.  I have numerous critter friends that live in the marshes and their well being is always a concern.  This morning, the small marsh rabbit greeted me for the first time this spring.  I have watched this one since it was more or less abandoned at an early age.  A red-tailed hawk caught the mother so the little one was on its own far too soon.  It held its own, though, and grew to adulthood.   She is a pretty, little thing that usually has big, brown eyes.  This morning, the bunny's right eye was bluish gray.  As I sat on the pier about five feet from the little rabbit, it occurred to me that she had met with some accident.  While I think she could see some movement, it was quite apparent that her vision was impaired somewhat.  This is not a good thing in the wild.  Critters need all of their senses to be in tiptop shape to be able to survive.

  It breaks my heart to know this little marsh rabbit may be vulnerable to predators. Hopefully, she will be able to stay well hidden under the marsh mats or in the palmetto clumps.  Life is not going to get any easier for her after her struggle to survive past babyhood.  I sure wish there was some way to help her.  If I could only convince her to come live in the gardens, she would be much safer!  Sorry, Pop!  I know you always tried to keep rabbits out of your garden...but...this one is a friend and you always said we should help friends in need even if they are critters!  Poor Pop.  He is probably looking down from Heaven and shaking his head wondering where he went wrong teaching this daughter!  Now...priorities!  Find a way to help a wild marsh rabbit!

Maybe What Started It All...

  Growing up on a small farm taught me many things.  I use a lot of this knowledge every single day, here on the Bayou.  I will come face to face with some odd problem and it only takes a few moments of retrospect before I remember a similar enigma from far back when I was a kid.  A few more thoughts and the answer is often shown clear.  My problem is solved purely from things learned as a kid.  

  While out doing a bit of yard work this afternoon, I mused that the sapling camphor tree really should be transplanted from its pot into the ground.  The thing has already outgrown the largest pot I have and to be a healthy tree, it needs room to grow.  No problems there but this started me thinking back on camphor trees, the old farmplace and Pop. I had to smile.  It was a camphor tree that sparked an interest in gardening on a full scale.  There was a rather large camphor tree in what we called the "Circle".  This was an area in the center of a large circular driveway that was on the west side of the house.  The area was not actually round but more of a large teardrop shape.  It was a good seventy five feet long by perhaps thirty feet wide.  This area was filled with camellia bushes, roses, golden rain trees and my beloved camphor tree.  The "Circle" was my private "Secret Garden" where I often played in a make-believe, fantasy world.  It was also my place to learn a lot of gardening tips from Pop as I was his "hired" help when it came to caring for his plants there.  The camphor tree was a large, spraddled tree with branches that just begged for climbing.  There was also a neat hole in the middle of a the main trunk where a rat snake lived.  The snake and I became quite friendly with each other but I dared not tell another soul of my friendship as the snake would have surely met its demise.  Snakes had a tendency to eat eggs and baby chicks both of which were part of the livelihood of the family.  But enough about my friend, the snake, and back to the camphor tree.  I mentioned to Pop how much I loved the tree and the scent of its leaves.  With that, he took a notion to teach me how to take cuttings and root new trees.  My very first successful attempt at rooting a plant of any kind was that camphor cutting!  I was fascinated that I could make many more trees simply by trimming branches and rooting them.  To me, a young child of about 6, that was amazing!  I was hooked for life on the captivating world of gardening.

  I find it bewildering that these days not many folks are teaching their kids any useful "tricks of the trade", as Pop used to call these tidbits of information.  You would be hard-pressed to find any youngster or even young adult these days that can identify a camphor tree, yet alone, propagate one.  I use the knowledge gained from the farm on a daily basis and have passed a lot of what Pop taught me along to my kids.  Hopefully, my kids will, in turn, pass it along to theirs.  I understand that not everyone is interested in plants or gardening but it has never hurt anyone to learn new things.  In fact, I strive to learn something new everyday just to keep the brain in good operating condition.  In reality, it only takes one small instance to trigger a passion about doing things.  Then, again, most people (even youngsters) have their noses stuck to some electronic device and have no interest in anything other than some blinky (irritating) screen.  I am glad I grew up on a farm and still live much the same life.  

Good For Something

  Granddad always used to tell me that I needed to make myself useful.  Each and everyday, I was to find something to do so I would be "good for something".  I think it was more of a way to keep me busy and out of the way but I searched hard to find that bit of usefulness each day.  Being the youngest of five siblings, it seemed that I was more "in the way" than "good for anything".  But, I tried.  I fed the cats.  They seemed to appreciate the extra food and soon became fat and lazy!  That lasted until Pop told me that the cats were not doing their jobs of keeping the rats and mice out of the barns.  I moved on to watering the porch plants.  Carrying that water from the kitchen to the porch was a hard job for a 4 year old but I kept at it!  At least I did until Mom told me that I was making a mess by leaving a trail of splashed water.  Next, I thought perhaps I could help gather the eggs from the hen house.  That did not last long as the hens were not appreciative of a toddler stealing their eggs.  (Chicken pecks hurt!)  I tried my hand at weeding the rows in the field but soon found that I could not tell a bean plant from a weed.  Thus ended that chore. My usefulness seemed to be a hard thing to find.  Eventually, things all fell into order and I was assigned jobs on the farm that fit my age.  The chores included picking ripe fruit, hand washing the fresh eggs and packing them in boxes for sale, arranging fruit and vegetables on the market table and feeding the chickens. (They were not so apt to peck when they saw corn being scattered on the ground!) I felt good about myself as I was now "good for something".

  All of these memories came flooding back this morning as I observed an item being "good for something".  Years ago, Hurricane Katrina "donated" many items to us via the flood waters.  One was a duck decoy.  Where this thing came from was beyond me but since I had it, I might as well use it.  The plastic duck was tossed into the Frog Pond and there it has resided since.  It was not my intention to coax live ducks into the little pond but use the thing as a decoration of sorts.  Today, however, I noticed that the duck being used.  The frogs in the pond have decided that the decoy was a good perching place.  Two fine frogs were sitting atop of the floating duck!  While this looked humorous, it made me think that, at least, that old duck was not a waste.  It was good for something!  A bit of satisfaction was achieved! 

"Larvae Fishing"

  A few days ago, I noticed a dozen or more Black Tiger Beetles darting about the sand.  I had taken the old dog down to his "favorite" spot and, as I waited, I critter watched.  These beetles are known as the "fastest beetles in the world"!  In fact, they are so speedy that they can run over 5 1/2mph or 125 times their body length in 1 second!  They dart around catching anything that they can overpower with their powerful mandibles.  Since they eat so many "pest" insects, the Tiger Beetles are considered as beneficial but, watch out, as they will bite humans as well.  Ouch!  The females lay their eggs in the dirt and once they hatch, the larvae dig deep lairs where they will spend a good portion of their lives. 

  Watching the beetles brought back a lot of memories from growing up on the farm.  Not knowing any better, my brother and I would catch the rainbow colored Carolina Tiger Beetles and let them reside in our dirt "houses".  The beetles were our residents as long as we could keep them corralled.  It is funny that I never remember being bitten by an adult beetle.  I also remember catching the larvae of the beetles and making them wiggle their way back into their holes.  This memory triggered a thought.  Could I still fish for the larvae and actually catch one?  I started searching for a "fishing" hole!

  To fish for larvae, one needs fishing gear.  The only thing needed is a long thing grass or straw.  First, find an occupied hole, poke the straw into the hole and feed it as far down as possible.  Make sure to leave about six inches above the ground level so you  have something to grasp while "fishing".  Keep in mind that the holes are sometimes 18 inches (or more) deep so the straw should be quite long or the larva may just pull it in and you will be "gearless".  The fishing trip will be over!  Once you get the straw in place, wiggle it gently until you feel something tug on it.  There is your "bite"!  In one quick movement, whip the straw out of the hole and, if you are lucky, you will have your larva.  Just make sure that with that "whipping" you do not fling the larva on someone as they will receive a pretty nasty bite!  If you were not successful, you can reinsert the straw and try again.  The larva is not going anywhere.  That lair has no back door so the critter will still be there for you to tempt again.   If you do not wish to fling the larva out to parts unknown, let go of the straw and watch the larva push it up and out of the hole.  You will be able to see the flattened head as the larva comes to the opening. 

  Yep, I still had it!  I caught my larva but not before trying a dozen or so times to fling it from its lair. Once, I caught it, the critter was flipped into a plastic container and photographed.  It was not happy being this vulnerable so after a few moments, I tipped the container and let the critter could crawl back into its lair.  Word of caution here.  If you are like me and wish to let the critters live, do NOT put it in a different hole.  Make sure to return the critter to its own lair otherwise it will meet certain death from the resident larva.  The intruding larva will back right into the clutches of the resident larva and become supper. 

  So now you know how farm kids entertained themselves years and years ago.  At the same time, we learned about the critters and learned an awful lot of respect for them.  Just for the record...while I never recall being bitten by an adult Tiger Beetle, I can fully attest that the larva are pretty vicious and their bites are quite painful!

Pop's Petunias

  Back on the farm, Pop had knowledge of just about everything.  He always claimed to be a "Jack of all trades but a master of none".  I have to disagree with him on that one.  He was a true master of so many things and gardening was one.  How the man had so much energy was beyond me.  He kept the fields planted and tended, took care of the farm animals, helped Mom with the kids, had a side business repairing small motors and still had time to have gorgeous flower gardens.  Even when he had become aged, he still worked from sun up to sun down.  I truly wish I could be like that.

  It was those flower gardens that came to mind today while I was out picking figs.  I could see beyond the fig tree, across the garden fence and under a peach tree where a pretty little purple flower was blooming.  This is a volunteer that comes up every year somewhere in the yard. I never know where I will find the tiny petunia plant but I always cherish it.  You see, this plant is one that originated in Pop's gardens.  He had petunias spilling out of every garden in the yard!  For some reason, he was partial to the plants.  Each year, he would scour the beds to find the tiny seedlings then transplant them in between other plants such as zinnias and marigolds.  The petunias would "fill in" any bare spots.  I always remember only purple petunias.

  This year, two volunteer plants came up.  One was under the grapefruit tree and the other in the back vegetable plot.  Since I had no flower beds prepared yet when I found the tiny plants, I potted them both.  Neither plant is doing as well as Pop's but, then, I am not the gardener he was.  I am just happy to find the plants each year so I can enjoy a little "throwback" time to the old farm.

Tricks of the Trade!

  So while most folks are just now putting in their garden, Mark and I dug our first potatoes.  The new potatoes were beautiful and mighty tasty.  Seeing the rewards of a little effort made me wish I had filled the garden with rows of potatoes instead of one small patch.  Actually, that was all of the "seed" potatoes that I had handy so the short row had to do.  These were simply potatoes from the grocery store that had gotten shoved in a basket and overlooked until they were slightly shriveled and had inch long sprouts on them.  Six potatoes turned to about three gallons.  When we made the row, I carefully cut those six potatoes in three to four pieces (around those nice sprouts), laid them in the row and hoped for the best.  They did extremely well for being kitchen discards!

  Back on the farm, Pop would start planting in January.   Seeds were sowed in the hotbed and then by mid February, the seedlings were set in the field.  "Plant early.  You may lose some plants to freezes but you never know when the weather may be agreeable and you will have early crops."  We always had new potatoes, yellow squash and green beans by Easter.  Sure, there were times when the weather would turn for the worst and we would lose a lot of plants but the risk was worth taking.  When our little farm could produce fresh vegetables a full month ahead of others, it was worthwhile.

  When digging the potatoes, I told Mark how we (as kids) had to cover hundreds of plants in the field before unexpected freezes.  The kids would put black plastic flower pots over the tomatoes and squash plants, then Pop would use the tractor to plow dirt over top of the pots.  After the threat of a freeze was over, we would head back to the field to dig out the pots.  More oft than not, Pop was right and the plants were fine.  Things like potatoes were simply plowed under.  By the time the potato plant pushed through the six inches of dirt, the threat of bad weather had passed.  These were all tricks of the trade for Pop.  These are all tricks of the trade that he taught to me.  Plant early!  

Tomatoes...Potatoes

  Ok.  So spring is here.  It matters not if the weather agrees...spring is here.  We do not need any more cool nights to befall the Bayou.  There just cannot be!  Why, may you ask?  Well...because of tomatoes.  Yep.  Tomatoes.  I have a strong hankering for fresh tomatoes.  And maybe some new potatoes.  Also, a few green beans would be nice.  The cold weather is not welcome at the moment. 

  This afternoon (after an all-nighter of storms), I ventured out to the vegetable plot to be surprised by tomato blossoms!  It seems that the torrential rains are agreeable with the growth of the plants.  The plants have been in the ground for a couple of weeks and are truly looking sturdy but to find the blooms made my day.  Seeing the tomato blooms and the healthy looking row of potatoes made me think of Pop and his plants and of "grubbling".

  Back on the farm, Pop planted nigh on forty acres with assorted vegetables.  He usually had fresh sweet corn, tomatoes and beans by mid April and I can remember him "grubbling" for the tiny, new potatoes so we could have a special treat to go with the Easter ham!  He had vegetables ready before most other folks were tilling their ground.  Seeds were started in "hotbeds" by the end of January so the plants were ready at the first warm day.  If a late freeze (Mom called those "Easter freezes") hit the area,  the plants were covered with black plastic pots then plowed under with about a six inch deep layer of dirt.  After the threat passed, it was an easy task to find the pot, pull it out from the dirt and leave behind the saved plant. He kept thousands of the pots in an old shed just for this purpose. This method allowed for early vegetables!  

  Now I will get a little off topic (from tomato blossoms)!  Even though the potatoes were not quite ready to be fully dug by Easter, he always managed to grubble enough for a "mess". There is a word that you do not hear often nowadays!  Grubble!  (For the longest time, it never occurred to me that the word meant anything other than digging potatoes!)  Grubble, by the way, means to fumble around in the dark.  He used it to refer to digging with his hands under a large potato plant to find a few hen's egg sized potatoes which is sort of like fumbling around in the dark! Later, the old hand plow (that had, at one time, been pulled by a mule) was hitched to the back of the tractor.  While he drove the tractor, one of the kids held the plow upright with the point just at the right angle to dig deep enough to upend the potato plants.  Then, we all would go through the soft dirt with our hands and toss the potatoes down in the furrow.  Afterward, buckets and bushels were filled to be hauled to the old truck.  This was back when kids actually helped out around the place.  We all had chores to do and were expected to do them without grumbling.  Life was great.  Too bad this does not happen in this day and age.

  Back to the small scale garden that flanks the east side of the house.  Pop probably looks down from Heaven and cringes at my feeble attempts.  My dozens of plants vs his thousands, most likely does not seem worth the effort but it keeps us in fresh veggies and I am able to can (or freeze) enough to last most of the winter.   Looky, Pop!  My tomatoes look great!  And have blooms!  Not quite as early as yours were but still looking promising.  I think I will grubble for some potatoes for Easter dinner!

Warm, Crusty Bread...A Little Slice Of Home

  Warm, crusty breads have always been a favorite of mine.  Their texture and taste remind me of the homemade loaves warm from the oven back on the farm.  Then, the thick slices were used to sop up gravy or syrup depending on the meal.  This is a far cry from the fancy-smancy "herbed oils"  (and I am teasing there.  I love the herbed oils!) used for dipping and, guess what...our way tasted better.  What is the point in eating more oils?  Nope...slather a bit of home-churned butter on the slab of bread and dunk it in some fresh made sugarcane syrup and things are right with the world.  Maybe that is what is wrong nowadays, folks have forgotten the down home goodness of things.

  Today was a rainy, rainy day.  There was not much use in trying to escape the confines of the Little Bayou House so my thoughts turned to baking.  Since it had been a while since I made sourdough bread, I figured today would be a good day to experiment.  A crusty seeded bread sounded right nice but nary a recipe could be recalled at the moment.  When that happens, I just start tossing things in the mixing bowl and hope for the best.  

  The sourdough starter was at its prime this morning so things were easy.  A little of this, a little of that and a good bit of resting time and the dough was ready for the oven.  I am pleased to say that it turned out really well.  My expectations were met.  I sat, ate a slice of warm bread and reminisced about times back on the farm.  The only thing lacking was that cane syrup and I think I have a smidgen of that left from a jar my cousin gave to me.  The second slice will definitely taste like home.

  In a few days, I will try to repeat the bread-making process and, this time, write down the recipe.  I have a tendency to plop things in a bowl with no measurements so I cannot pass this recipe on to you just yet.  Hopefully in a few days, I can tweak it to perfection because this is just too good not to share.  Crunchy, crusty on the outside and pillowy soft on the inside.  Plus!  It is full of flavor!  Perfect for down home style dipping....or, if it is to your liking...herbed oil dipping.  Whatever suits your taste.

Loving the Canebrake

  Back when I was a kid just about every home place had a canebrake.  Since most places around here were small farms, the canes were of high value to the owners.  Not only were the canes used as fishing poles, the wood was strong enough and limber enough to be used for many different purposes on the farm.  In the springtime, hundreds of canes were cut to be used as tomato stakes.  The stakes would last one season and then could be tossed next to the fence line to rot.  There was no need to retrieve the stakes for future use.  An easy fence could be constructed using the readily available canes.  Canes were cut to length and laid along the fence site.  Two wires were attached to a stable post then each cane was wrapped (top and bottom) to create a fence row.  This was a dense fence that kept even the smallest animals contained.   The canes were also split and used as slats in gates, temporary roofs and floors.  There is a fine canebrake on our property that I was able to start from a single cane years ago.  I find many uses for the canes from gardening aids to crafts. The canebrake is well tended so it can supply many strong canes.

  I remember two distinct uses of the bamboo on our farm.  One of the funnest uses (for the kids anyway) was to use the canes as bean poles.  Posts were erected about every ten feet between two rows of beans and a strong wire attached about eight feet from the ground.  Then canes were wrapped with heavy cording along the wire.  This gave a sort of teepee look to the bean rows and allowed for great imaginary play once the beans covered the "tent".  Cowboys and Indians was a favorite playtime event and the bean rows were the perfect teepees.  Besides!  For those of you who do not know, bean leaves stick nicely to clothing!  A leaf badge was chosen for the "sheriff and his deputies".  No fancy store bought stuff for us!  We did not need it...we had imaginations.  (Something that is lacking today with all of the current toys that simply numb the brain.)  Hours of fun could be found romping in the fields.

  Another interesting use for the canes was carving.  Each year, Pop would carve a netting needle out of a prime piece of cane.  Again, for those who do not know, cast nets are knitted with strange looking needles.  These needles used to be carved from wood. Pop either use bamboo or cedar.  I remember that Pop's shuttles would be a good ten inches in length, as flat as a coin and were tapered at the top to a point. Along about half way up from the bottom, an "eye" was carved into the slat.  This eye had a inner sharp point that held the line.  The bottom of the needle had a U shaped groove for the cord to be held in place.  After the needle was carved, it was sanded to silky smoothness then oiled. Pop made all of his own nets and some for the neighbors so a good needle was in constant demand.  The trick to carving that needle was not so much the outside but cutting the inside of the eye so the thin shaft was not cracked.  If that broke, the shuttle had to be discarded and carving began again on a new slice of cane.

  These days, when you mention a canebrake to folks, they stare at you with confusion in their eyes. Most have never heard of such and surely did not realize that the bamboo was a useful tool.  Of course, nowadays, folks rush down to the nearest store to purchase everything instead of using their brains to create.  Gone are the days when folks actually worked.  It seems now that people sit around trying to tell everyone else what they should do instead of actually doing something themselves.

By The End Of The Day

  My day begins before the sun rises in the east and ends long after it slides behind the pines in the west.  For my way of thinking, there are just not enough hours in the day to do all of the things that need doing.  I have no complaints about this other than it would be nice just one day to think that I accomplished all I set out to do that day.   Nope, it will never happen.  In a way, it is for the best.  Folks who loll about all day seem to have far too much time on their hands and that old saying "Idle minds are the Devil's workshop" may just come into play.  Nah, not always.  My busyness comes from having a work ethic pounded in the brain at a young age but a good hike to refresh the body and soul is always welcome.  On the farm, there was little time to sit idle even for toddlers.  As soon as we were able to be up and about, there was a number of chores assigned to us.  Shelling peas, snapping green beans, feeding the hundreds of chickens and picking the eggs, bundling turnip greens for the market, weeding the rows of vegetables, gathering firewood or what have you, kept us quite on our toes.  What little time we did have for play was spent running around the yard, woods or fields.  There was no sitting inside "twiddling our thumbs" as Pop used to say.  

  Lately, I find refreshment of the mind while on the slow hikes with the old dog.  His legs do not carry him like they once did so we, more or less, meander the hillside with him stopping to rest often.  It is then that I am able to do a bit of photography without the worry of the dog wandering off on some daring escapade.  This is my relaxation time.  The time at sunrise and then again at sunset.  The leisurely stroll is good for the both of us and, by the end of the day, I am ready to wind down and settle in for the night.  

 

Trunk Wraps and Smudgepots

  While we await round two of the frigid weather to strike the Bayou, I did the usual preparations.  One of the chores was to rewrap the citrus trees.  While there is not much that I can do about the entire trees due to sheer size (some are a more than 20 feet tall), I can only hope wrapping the trunks will save the the tree above the grafting point.  A blanket and a wind/ice shield wrapped and tied in place will have to suffice.  There is hardly anything else that can be done.  

  Back on the farm, I can remember getting up for "my shift" as fire-stoker.  This meant, not only making sure the fireplaces in the old farmhouse were burning, but also, the smudgepots in the midst of the citrus trees were chugging along properly.  Being a small-time farm family, we did not have the expensive gas or oil burners that folks with huge orchards used.  Our smudgepots were simply 50 gallon drums that were piled full of logs and kept burning all night.  Once the hot coals filled most of the drum, things were easy.  It was those first hours that needed tending the most.  Getting out of that warm bed and going outside in the middle of the night in icy temperatures was not something that I relished but it was necessary.  Pop tended the fires most of the night but if the weather continued for a week or more, he needed rest.  The kids took over and tended the fires, made sure the faucets were still dripping and lights were still burning in the pump shed.  It was also necessary to keep check on all of the farm animals so they were as snug as possible.  Life on a truck farm was not easy.  I would not have traded it for the world, though, as I learned so much.

  This afternoon as I went out to do one last check on things, I noticed that the grapefruit trees did not fare so well during last week's big chill.  There was no earthly way to protect these trees so I left them be and hoped for the best.  With north winds blowing a gale today, leaves were tumbling to the ground. There was already a thick carpet of leaves beneath the trees.  This is not good as I was in hopes that the leaves would provide coverage for the trunks.  The poor trees are in for another cold week!  Perhaps, I need to get a couple of smudgepots going!

 

How Soon Forgotten

  There was an "unheard of " weather phenomenon here in Biloxi this past week.  THERE WAS ICE ON BILOXI BACK BAY!!!  Yeah, right. Unheard of...some folks must never get out of their warm, cozy beds before the sun is well up above the horizon.  Ice on the Bay...pffft!  Like that has never happened before in history.  The local news folks had a heyday with this earth-shaking news.  Granted, it does not happen every year because, well face it, we are in the Deep South where things are a tad warmer but ice does occur and ice on the Bay does happen regularly.  People are just too wimpy to get out in the cold to see it.  The phenomenon that was making the news was captured by a weather camera and not a real live person and the quantity of ice amounted to little more than some crunchy particles near the marsh edge.  Still, ice on the Bay is fun, in a weird sort of way and even though the temperatures are not too bad, there was ice again this morning (but no one was excited this time!).

  Now, back in 1936, things were a bit more exciting.  Pop and my Uncle Jim, both, told stories of the time that the Bay froze.  Not just a little frosting along the edge but it froze almost all the way across.  THAT was unusual and cause for an uproar.  The fact that the weather was cold enough that year for so much ice to form was rare and, of course, these two guys had to have a story to go along with it.  When they got out of bed at daybreak to find so much ice, these two fellows got the bright idea to shove the old canoe out on the ice sheeting.  Being adventurous young men, they thought it would be great fun to skid across that ice. Sure enough, their shaky plan worked and the canoe slid along with ease.  A good  poke with a pole sent them scooting across the ice.  They were having a grand time when they spied the first fish.  It seems that the cold, icy water had stunned the fish enough that many were floating on or near the surface.  The two young men started breaking the ice and grabbing the fish with their bare hands.  The canoe filled quickly so they headed back to the house.  Once there, they hauled their catch to the house and proudly presented it to their mom (my grandmother).   She reprimanded them for bringing home "dead fish" and told them that the fish were not fit to eat.  "Go make a fire and get the big kettle hot.  Cook those fish for the hogs!"  So, the boys did just that but once they put the frozen fish in that warm water, they came back to life!  Amidst the peals of laughter, the two young men called to their mom.  "Come see our dead fish now!"  She was amazed and told them to quickly get the fish out of the kettle and clean them.  "We will smoke the fish!"  So, the fish were smoked and provided a good many meals for the farm family!

  This tale was told at all family functions and the tale grew with each telling but, it just goes to show, that the Back Bay of Biloxi really did freeze one year and that year was 1936!  It seems to me that with all of the archives associated with news papers, someone should have done a bit of research before proclaiming "2018 is the FIRST year for ice to form on the Back Bay!"  Obviously, someone is not doing his/her job very well.  It took a grand total of 14 seconds to find the exact year that the event took place and to verify Pop's story. (The Internet is an amazing tool.)

Things are different....

  After our so-called winter storm that did not materialize much more than a bit of sleet, I was out early this morning to check things.  Other than a few patches of ice here and there, the yard did not look much different.  No snow blanketed the place making it look like a Winter Wonderland.  Instead, all I had was cold, soggy leaves that were knocked from the treetops.  My hike was going well until I reached the pier.  Nope!  Not going there!  I found our where Winter Storm Benji dumped his ice crystals.  The pier was glistening with the crystals and I knew that all that beauty was just an accident waiting to happen.  It was cold enough outside to make me call a halt to the hike and scurry back inside by the old wood-burning stove.

  Back in the day on the farm, we had our fair share of cold, wintry days.  It was not bad for us in the old farmhouse as there were two huge fireplaces that warmed us.  There was no heat in any of the bedrooms so on nights when the temperature plunged to the teens or even the single digits, we would warm our backsides by the fireplace then run quickly to jump in the bed!  Quilts and blankets were piled several deep and you learned to appreciate sharing a bed with a sibling!  We never knew anything different so were fine.  I guess that is why even today, I cannot tolerate a hot room during the winter.  My little cast iron stoves provide enough heat for me but others find the Little Bayou House a bit cold.

  Sometimes the animals on the farm did not fare so well.  I can remember Pop being upset several times that some of the sows gave birth during hard freezes.  He fretted over the well being of the piglets but other than putting down an extra layer of hay, there was not much we could do to help.  The barn was a huge thing with an open front so heating was out of the question.  Mama pigs are not known to be that snuggly with their offspring so it was entirely up to the little ones to seek the warmth of the sow.  Usually, they were fine other than the fact that some had a bit of frostbite on their wee tails causing them to drop off.   The chicken houses were a bit more draft-free and several times Pop would hang lights to help heat the birds.  This did not work out so well as the chickens pecked at the bulbs until they broke.  On one particularly cold night,  several of the hens' feet froze to the roost.  We would find the hens frantically flapping their wings as they tried to hop off but could not.  A bucket of warm water fixed the problem and a few days later, the hens were as good as new.  Pop would probably say that I mollycoddle the animals here on the Bayou and I guess I do.  Mr. PJ, the dog, is curled up on his soft bed next to the stove while Ms. Nycto, the cat, is snuggled next to me on the sofa.  Stay warm, folks!

 

 

Weed...Wildflower...Weed...Wildflower...Whatever

  To some folks, every plant that that they did not specifically choose for the garden is a weed.  I guess I am just a tad different.  Sure, Cogon Grass does not belong in my tomato patch and morning glories will choke the life out of the zinnias but a wildflower now and again won't ruin the garden.  It all goes back to a childhood chore back on the farm. Weeding was one of my least favorite jobs to do.  In fact, I think it was one of the most distasteful chores ever!  Pop kept the fields immaculate. Nary a weed was to be found.  Most of the time, he tended the rows himself.  This was a huge task as he planted acres upon acres but, every morning hoe in hand, he would walk the fields and chop out each weed.  All was clean except for one row of onions...always the onions. Let one of his kids misbehave and it was his or her job to head to the field and weed that row of onions....always the onions!  (It is amazing that I love onions to this day because I did a LOT of weeding.)  Weeding was not terrible other than the rows seemed to be miles long and the gnats attacked in hoards and that usually it was a punishment.  So, a weed, now and again, in my garden is not deemed despicable.

  All of the talk of weeding and chores brings me to the lovely "wildflower" found blooming in the middle of the carrots. Actually, there were three plants and each were allowed to remain growing where they were.  I sort of like them as they add a certain whimsy to the garden.  I admit to planting flowers in with the veggies so a wildflower sort of blends right in with the others.  This wildflower/weed (depending on who is identifying the plant) is none other than fleabane.  There are several different types of fleabane and I think all of them grow right here on the Bayou.  Not that I am complaining since I think they are all gorgeous.  

  So...wildflower?  Weed?  Pull it?  Keep it?  Yep, it will stay.  Pop is probably shaking his head right now and thinking "Where did I go wrong with this one?  She needs to weed those carrots."  

A Few Short of a Dozen

  Most of the time, egg purchases are made by the dozen or sometimes half-dozen.  Nowadays, these come packed in aggravating plastic, foam or cardboard cartons that do little to protect the fragile egg inside.  Back on the farm, Pop kept several hundred chickens to provide eggs for sale.  As kids, we would pick the eggs from the nest, wash them and pack them for the next morning's delivery.  We packed in a lot worse containers than the cartons of today but lost very few eggs to breakage. The eggs' shells were tougher.  Since we had (what is now called) free-range chickens that got a enough nutrients, the shells were practically hard to crack.  Before I started school, I helped Pop deliver the eggs to folks around town. (These were home deliveries that also included fruits, nuts, vegetables and occasionally a quart of milk or dressed chicken.) For most purposes, the eggs were merely packed in brown paper sacks.  I cannot imagine the eggs of today surviving the trip packed into the back of an old Studebaker, much less, being roughly handled by a five-year-old kid toting them to the door.  The eggs (like most everything) were better back then.

  But this is not so much about eggs breaking except that...well, these eggs did not break.  They, too, survived rough handling and did so for a hundred years or more.  Of course, that said, I should explain that I am not talking chicken eggs here but darning eggs.  For years and years, a few darning eggs survived almost weekly use.  Darning eggs are made of blown glass, marble, wood or ceramic.  The egg is slipped inside a sock that needed mending. (Yep, back in the day, you mended clothing...even socks.)  The smooth surface of the egg aided in sewing (darning) the sock.  A hole could be mended almost flawlessly by even the most novice of seamstresses.  The darning eggs were priceless because of their usefulness and handed down from generation to generation as was the art of darning.  That old adage of "Waste not, want not." was heeded well.  It was actually my grandfather who taught me to darn socks.  He was great about teaching life lessons that have come in handy even some fifty years later.

  A funny little tale attached to these darning eggs comes from back when I was just a kid.  To keep the hens laying eggs in desired nests instead of out in the bushes somewhere, occasionally, Pop would snitch one of the darning eggs to put in one of the nest boxes.  Once the hens noticed an egg, they immediately thought the nest was quite nice and would start laying their eggs there.  There were several times when Pop would forget to bring the glass egg back to the house before Mom missed it.  She would be fretting that one of the kids had broken the darning egg when he suddenly would remember his misdeed!   He would retrieve the egg and present it back to Mom with a sheepish grin.  No kid had taken the egg!  She would reprimand him and remind him of the chicken snakes that often visited the nests.  "What if that snake had swallowed my darning egg!!" she would scold!  As a result, Pop resorted to golf balls.  The chickens were none the wiser.

  Now I have the darning eggs.  They sit idle in a dish in the china cabinet.  Some day, perhaps I will attempt to darn socks once again but I am afraid that I have fallen into the "Throwaway Society".  I find it hard to take the time to mend socks but if I ever do, I have the darning eggs to help me!

We Should Have Listened

  I grew up on a small family farm started by Pop and Mom.  When he decided to ask Mom to marry him, Pop got busy, cleared a plot of family owned ground and built a house.  Since his brothers were all off in the military supporting our country (Pop had flat feet and was not allowed to join), he did most of the work himself.  This building was done after hours of running his family's farm and small dairy.  He put in many late hours working by lantern light since there was no electricity in the area, yet.  That lack of electricity meant that each board had to be cut with a handsaw.  Pop did not complain...he had a goal and stuck with it.  

  As you can see in the photograph, the land was still wooded.  This meant that in order to farm, he had to clear places to plant.  He fell the trees using an ax and a crosscut saw.  A mule named Dan was used to haul the trees to a small sawmill that Pop used to cut the trees into boards.  Tales related to us as kids, told how an old tractor was used to run the saw.  As he cleared the land, he saved every piece of lumber that he could and soon built a fine barn behind the house.  This barn would come to house a few milk cows and several hogs.  Later he built a chicken house and a work shed.  His little farm was growing.  During this time, Mom was busy as well.  Being a "city girl", she had to learn the fine art of being a farm wife.  She often told how her sister-in-law, Marie, came to her rescue on many occasions. She learned to preserve foods, sew clothes and generally be there to help Pop whenever necessary. It was also during this time that she became pregnant and lost a set of twins.  Two years later, the tragedy was repeated and another set of twins died after being born prematurely.  The struggles were real and most devastating to the young couple but they persevered.

   Years later, Mom became pregnant with a single child and was able to carry it full term.  My oldest brother was soon joined by a baby girl, two more boys and then ME!  By this time, Pop had the little farm doing well. His fields were producing fine crops, his chickens, cows and hogs were multiplying and he had added a pecan trees and many fruit trees to the place.  A small shade-tree mechanic shop was opened to supplement his income.

  Nowadays, we have no idea of the amount of work it took to merely survive back in the day.  We have a tendency to complain of how tired we become with our daily tasks even with all of our modern conveniences.  We whine about not having "anything" to eat even with the ready made foodstuffs that line our shelves and whine that we have "nothing" to wear although our closets are jammed with clothes.  We spend thousands of dollars on appliances, gadgets and electronics that were never heard of back in the day.  I wonder...just wonder....how many of us would survive one week living like our parents or grandparents did.  They did not whine or complain as it would have not done any good...others were in the same boat.  Instead, they rolled up the shirtsleeves, picked up their tools and went to work.  We should have listened when they tried to teach us.  There may come a day that we all need to know at least some of those skills. Will the ingenuity, the ability to improvise, the knowledge be there when/if we need it?   With some folks....I am not so sure.  It sort of makes me happy that I listened and learned a good bit.  I admit that I would never be able to do what my Pop and Mom and grandparents did but at least I know a few of the basic skills and I am proud to say that my kids were receptive to learning ideas from the past.  Some day, the knowledge might just come in handy......point to ponder....point to ponder.

A Time Long Ago

  Once upon a time long, long ago, there was a little farm.  On these acres lived a farmer, his wife and five kids.  They did not have a lot as far as money but they were happy.  They did not seem to need a lot of cash.  Sure, it would have been nice to be able to afford what others had but, in the long run, none of that mattered.  The kids worked hard in the fields, played hard in the yard and woods and ate heartily from what was raised in the fields.  The farmer and his wife never complained of any hardships even though, at times, there was simply not enough to even buy a loaf of bread.  Instead, cornbread sufficed and did a grand job of brightening the spirits of all.  Simple things like family meals, songs sung while the wife played the piano and stories told while sitting on the front porch after dark filled the days and evenings of the family. There was no television, fancy clothes or new toys.  Even during the bleakest of times, love pulled the family closer.  All was good.

  Then, as families do, the kids grew up, moved out and had families of their own.  Without the helping hands of five kids, the crops were pared down to a minimum and the house seemed empty. Grandkids visited, thought it was great fun to "help" in the gardens and then went back home. The farmer and his wife aged and eventually passed on from this world.  The little farm was sold and a subdivision took its place. It was sad.

  But!  No matter how much things change, they sometimes remain the same.  Yep, that statement is in stark contrast with its own self but things have a way of coming a full circle.  What was once, will always be again.  Today while sitting in the cooling breeze at midday, I watched as my brother rode his tractor about his yard.  A whole flood of memories flashed about in the brain.  His appearance was so much like that of Pop.  I had thoughts of the little farm, of Pop and Mom, of my childhood spent in sheer bliss.  I thought of Christmases without new toys, of a house without air conditioning, and of the sound of rain on the tin roof.  I thought of homemade jams and jellies, fresh baked bread and dresses made from flour sacks.  I thought of sitting by the fireside doing homework on cold nights, sitting on the porch swing listening to tales of long ago told by Pop and visits by cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents.  I thought of days spent in the fields either in the blistering heat of summer or the icy cold of winter,  of nights listening to the frogs and watching the fireflies and of sharing a room with my sister.  I thought...I reminisced...All because of a sight of my brother on a tractor.  For a bit, I missed all of that.  A tear rolled down my cheek.  All is good.

A little about me!

I wish I could say that I was fed up with the rat race of the corporate world and gave it all up to live the "simple life". Maybe that I moved to the countryside to free myself from the stress and worries of the everyday world. Although that would make for a great blog, it would not be true. Actually, I was born into the "simple" life and just never left it. I live a fraction of a mile from where I grew up on a small farm. On a farm where we grew our own food, raised cows, chickens and pigs and went barefoot all summer. We worked in the blistering heat of summer and in the icy cold of winter. We did not take off weekends, holidays or have a summer vacation. We did have wonderful family gatherings, picnics in the backyard and remarkable meals. No one ever came to our house that were not urged to "grab a plate", "sit a spell" or "make yourself at home"! We had homemade toys, family sing-a-longs and stories told on the front porch in summer and by the fireplace in winter. There was also homemade bread, hand-me-down clothes and lots of hugs. We were, by far, the richest people in the world! Most of my day now is filled with things that I learned on that farm and I would not have it any other way.