The Morning After...

   Last night, Son walked out with me to view the Night Blooming Cereus.  The plants are potted and sit on a plank bench near Pebble Creek (the glorified roof drain).  I know it is probably silly but these plants have a strong meaning to me.  These are direct descendants of plants that Granddad grew. In fact, he rooted my very first plant and gave it to me when I was still in high school.  Over the years, I rooted more until I have a dozen and have shared with all my friends.  I did, however, almost lose every one during Hurricane Katrina.  There was no way to protect the plants and, at the time, that was the least of my worries.  Afterward during the massive cleanup, I found one small "leaf" and from that started anew.  The memories of "Night Blooming Cereus Parties" still hold a special place in my heart.  About a week ahead, we were put on "bud watch".  As the tiny buds grew, so did the excitement (at least for me.)  Then, on the big night, the family would drive over to my grandparent's place and we would have supper and wait for the buds to open.  The buds usually began to open around 8pm but were not in their full grandeur until about 10pm.  That late hour added to the intrigue.  It was one of the few times that I was ever allowed to be up late and especially to be that late at someone's house.  It was special!  Like I said, Son and I went out to view the blooms.  Nine of the buds were opening!  I marveled at the beauty and the aroma.  Son, on the other hand, patiently humored his mom.  

  Then...the day after.  The morning after the blooming, the excitement fades and a sort of sadness settles in to replace it.  The blooms of the cereus only last for one night.  They open late and then before dawn, the blooms start to wane.  By sunrise, the once dinner-plate-sized blooms are sad, wilted remnants of themselves.  This morning, I snapped off the spent blooms and tossed them to the wayside.  They were done.  I was sad.  Until tonight!  More buds are set to open tonight and for the next few nights.  This is the third time this summer that the plants have set buds.  I think I finally found the perfect spot for them to flourish.  Sadly, however, not a one of the plants that I shared with friends and family have bloomed yet.  Perhaps they are lonely and I should root some more!  Granddad would have.  He always said that if you want your plants to do well, then you should share them with others.  It works, for sure.  Memories...tied to plants, just like to people are well worth hanging onto.

Hello, Gator!

  Early this morning brought a pleasant surprise.  With all of the mess of algae bloom, polluted waters from the spillway openings and runoff from northern farms, the Gulf, bays and bayous have had a hard time.  The first part of the summer saw us in a tizzy over the tainted seafood that is so important to our area.  Also to suffer, were the critters of that live here.  During the early part of the summer there was a great lack of waterfowl, fish, aquatic mammals, reptiles and crustaceans.  Things were not the same without my friends.

  The hike to the pier proved to be a happy time since an old friend paid a visit.  For the first time this summer, a lone alligator lingered just outside of the pier.  That was good news.  If the gators are back, that means the food supply is back.  Sure enough, schools of mullet and menhaden were breaking the surface of the water and a lone redfish was stalking the bull minnows in the cut.  Moe, the heron, was hanging out on the next pier over and a pair of pelicans was diving for breakfast.  Life was getting back to normal.  A slight bit of blue/green algae still floated near the marsh but not enough to cause problems, it seems.  Now, barring any other incidents, the bayou could start being its old self again.  Happy times!

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.

The Endless Beauty

  Sometimes you just have to stop whatever you are doing at the moment and marvel at the wonders of nature.  Although, humans claim to "create" great things of beauty, we can never compete with what is there naturally.  We gather inspiration from Mother Nature and then attempt to copy but can never....ever...rival her.  She has this beauty thing down pat and our feeble attempts fail massively no matter how hard we try. This evening while on the pier, I had to do just that.  I stopped and was left in awe of the splendor of the light show that was called a sunset.  It was simply breathtaking.  The sky was ablaze and I sat enthralled by the sheer power that created this old world.  

  As I sat staring at the western horizon, I thought of how blessed I am to live on this Bayou.  Here I was being treated to the spectacular show of lights, having a wonderful time visiting with a friend all the while catching our supper.  Not many folks can do that.  Not many folks care to do that.  While others are in glued to their TVs or computers, I am having the time of my life.  Yes, I realize it is not for everyone but living on the Bayou is definitely suitable for me!  I would not trade this for the world!

The Nebraska Folks

  Back in the day when I was just a tyke, the old farm house was occasionally graced with the presence of some mighty special folks.  It never failed to excite me to no end to see Pop's cousin and wife from Nebraska come to visit.  Steve and Una were my type relatives!  She was the most amazing cook in the world and did not hesitate to commandeer the kitchen of any home she visited.  Treats were turned out in startling speed all the while a full meal was being cooked and by full meal...I mean  FULL MEAL!  It was nothing to see the table, sideboard, freezer top and stove all filled with delectable delights! Everything was almost too good to eat!  As a little kid, I was always treated with a secret taste now and again without Mom or Pop noticing. Even though she was a large person, Aunt Una (we never called them cousins, the most respectful term we could think of was aunt and uncle!) would scurry about the place with lightning speed and make everything smell divine! She never seemed to tire of making folks happy and....well fed!  

  But while Aunt Una was most special to me, it was Uncle Steve who stole my heart.  He was a big bear of a man but was entirely an old softy when it came to kids.  He would sit for hours and play checkers with me while spieling out some wild yarn of things back on the ranch in Nebraska.  To my way of thinking, the man was some sort of "Tamer of the Wild West".  He talked of steers, horses and rattlesnakes.  He told tales (true or not, I never knew) of grabbing rattlesnakes by the tail and slinging them until their heads popped off!  There were stories of coyotes and mountain lions being chased with whips.  My favorite was about the prairie dogs that were caught and trained to polish his boots! Perhaps, the tales were all fictitious and created on the spot for the entertainment of one gullible little girl but to me, everything was as true as gold! (Except maybe the prairie dog one...I was always a bit dubious of that one even though he assured me that it was true!)  I was fascinated by his every word!

  Steve and Una are long gone now which breaks my heart. Their passing was a passing of an era for me.  While going through pictures today, I found this small photograph of them and a whole wealth of memories started swirling around in my head...good times, good food, good people.  Yep, I still have relatives in Nebraska.  I have cousins that some day, I shall meet in person.  I talk with them occasionally and I am quite sure that we will be fast friends forever.  But...none can ever be the giants of people that Steve and Una were in my life.  I miss them.

Thoughts of Pop

  January is the month that most folks prefer to be inside where it is nice and toasty.  February brings much of the same if not worse weather.  That month, too, is one that can chill a person to the bone. When we do have chilly weather here on the Bayou, I try to find some chore inside to keep me busy.  I will attend what is needed outside such as getting firewood or covering plants but most days are filled with inside drudgery.  In a way, it is strange that I do this since winter is my favorite season.  

  Back in the day, Pop always loved the winter if for no other reason than fishing was good.  He did not mind freezing temperatures as long as he was hauling in the large trout that filled the Bay.  Pop had an old wooden skiff that he sometimes had to shove a good distance over mud to get to the water.  He would take a board and shove the old boat for a good twenty feet sometimes and this was no easy task. The cold, biting wind was another obstacle he had to endure.  The man learned to dress in layers and top everything with a heavy rain-suit just to keep the biting wind from getting to him.  An old, oil lantern was kept in a bucket to keep his hands warm. Over this, he draped an old towel. Each time his hands became wet, the towel was nice and warm.  He just loved fishing that much.  The amazing thing is, he could catch fish when no one else could!  Other fishermen would tell him that there were "no fish in the Bay" and he would come home with a veritable boatload!

  When I was still in high school, I loved to go fishing with him.  On weekends, we would head out before dawn and, more oft than not, had buckets of large trout by 8 a.m.  On one such trip, we were catching fish one after another.  The live well in the boat was used to house our bait so he started tossing the fish up in the front of the old skiff.  That meant that the flip-flopping fish were under MY feet!  This was not a problem until there were about twenty or so fish slinging slime all over me!  Ok, Pop!  Turn around is fair play!  I started returning the favor and threw fish in the bottom of the boat under HIS feet!  By the end of our fishing trip, we had amassed forty or more of the large trout each weighing five pounds or better.  Pop knew his fishing!

  I miss those days spent with Pop.  I often think about our times together as I gaze out over the water.  He had passed on to me a bit of his knowledge, a love of fishing and a respect for the water and all that is in it.  I sure miss Pop.