Henbit...and a bit of knowledge.

  While out tending the vegetable garden, I came across a small plant in the spinach row.  My first instinct was to pull the "weed" from the row and keep the spinach neat and clean.  As my hand closed around the plant, I had second thoughts.  Even though it is deemed as a "weed", I felt that I should leave it grow.  There was nothing "special" about the plant but, when I started remembering what Granddaddy taught me, the "specialness" was there.  He had taught me many things of survival and the plant was one of the best lessons.

  The small plant is called Henbit simply because chickens seem to love eating it.  That, in itself, should tell you something.  (Chickens are not stupid, even though, we take advantage of them everyday.  Keep in mind, it is easy to control and keep captive a gentle animal.)  Anyway, back to Henbit.  This mundane, overlooked, often maligned little plant could actually save a life.  The plant is edible and highly nutritious.  Why in the world do we label it as a weed and discard it while keeping the spinach?  Granted spinach is nutritional so, perhaps, a better comparison would be lettuce.  Why is lettuce such a large part of our diet?  Lettuce does nothing to support our nutritional needs.  Henbit, however, is high in iron, vitamin C, fiber and contains a fair amount of vitamin K.  Henbit shall stay in my garden!  In fact, I am beginning to ponder how I can incorporate it into more meals.

  Now comes the true fact about Henbit and other overlooked edible plants.  With all of the people up in arms about the fix this fine nation is in, would it not be a grand idea for more of us to delve into learning what will help us survive?  Sitting in an ivory tower and spreading fear with false information, hate with condemnation and widespread angst with conspiracy theories does not help one iota.  If our economy is truly about to crash, those who depend on what is stocked on the shelves or served in fast food places will be in for a rude awakening.   Having all the money in the world will not help you, if there is nothing available.  We shall only survive as a "people" by learning and helping each other.   History does, indeed, repeat itself.  Those who lived through the Great Depression are no longer here to help if we need them.  It will entirely be up to us to use our own abilities to survive and rebuild.  

  Not that the lowly Henbit plant will be our saving grace but, rather, knowledge of survival on a whole will.  (Henbit and its redeeming values just stirred the pot of thoughts in my brain.)  Survival meaning...knowing how to grow and preserve food, how to sew or mend clothes, how to entertain ourselves without electronics, how to mentally stay alert and healthy, how to help others, how to help ourselves, how to not be dependent on others for the comforts of life.  If the economy is going to come crashing down as our naysayers are touting, then whining and complaining is all going to be for naught.  Do something productive.  Hiding behind a computer screen is not an effective method of fixing things.  Ingenuity, resourcefulness, perseverance, kindness and KNOWLEDGE...those will pull us through the tough times...always have...always will.  (Thanks, Granddaddy, for teaching me.  As an old lady, myself, I still draw upon the lessons taught so many years ago.)

Pretty, Little Millipede!

  I am curious by nature and find some of the most mundane things exceedingly interesting.  What others pass by as boring,  I will drop to my knees and study for hours.  Of course, now that I am...ummm...a LITTLE older, I have the time to do this but the curiosity has been with me since I was a wee tot.  This was perhaps most instilled in me by my grandfather.   Being the youngest of a brood of five, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents...or...maybe they were stuck with me when Mom needed a break.  In my small mind, it was a treat, regardless.  Granddaddy often would take me outside to explore the yard.  Every flower, tree, bird and bug was met with great excitement.  He would take the time to tell me odd little facts about each discovery.  I am not sure just how he knew all of these things but I am so glad that he saw fit to teach me.

  This morning while Son and I were cleaning up after some major construction on the Little Bayou House, I noticed a tiny sand circle on the ground.  We had cleared the area of some large sheets of cement board and of course the spot was teeming with critters.  This circle, however, stood out as being my curious find of the day.  It was just too perfectly formed and had a critter dwelling inside!  The palest of pale millipede seemed unperturbed that we had removed the roof of its house.  The millipede was tightly coiled inside its earthen home and was probably hoping we would just go away and let it finish its nap.  Nope!  I needed to photograph that sweet thing!

  After my photography session, I did, indeed, leave the critter be.  In fact, knowing it desired a cool, dark place to spend the day, I gently covered the sleeping critter with some damp mulch.  Whereas other folks would have immediately pulled out the insecticide, I saved the creature.  These things do so much good, whether folks want to believe it or not.  Millipedes are sort of the great recyclers of the critter world.  They have an intense appetite for decaying plant matter, fungi and small insects. They do their part of keeping all of this recycled back into the ground.  Pretty neat.  Pretty Millipede!

Blowflies...nasty creatures? Or helpful tools?

  Living on the Bayou for as many years as I have, one thing is certain.  I have learned to observe.  It is one thing to look at things, yet quite another, to actually "see" them.  Now, it has become sort of an obsession with me to not only see but learn about what I am viewing.  Back when I was a youngster, Granddaddy tried his best to shove this in my head but, being like every other rowdy kid, I would rather romp about the place.  However, his teachings did make a difference albeit a bit late.  Here I am some 50+ years later following his lead.

  This afternoon as I (not so) patiently waited for the old dog to do his thing (which never happened), I noticed a swarm of blowflies swirling about a sandy place.  This small area was chosen by the cat, Ms. Nycto, as her "loo".  These flies were uncovering her morning business and crawling all over it.  Blowflies, also known as green bottle flies, have a penchant for fecal matter and decaying bodies.  I never thought I would say it but I am glad this was fecal matter and NOT a corpse.  Anyway, I got to thinking about those blowflies.  They are pretty things with their bright jewel-tone, emerald green bodies but they are pretty nasty critters.  Even though the blowflies do not bite nor sting, they do spread all sorts of disease.  Diseases are transmitted from their food source to ours.  After crawling about on Ms. Nycto's poop, that same fly may land on someones burger.  Everything on its legs is now plopped right down on the hamburger that will be eaten.  That is pretty disgusting, when you think about it.  

  Since the blowflies also use the fecal matter and decaying corpses as places to lay their eggs, those areas are soon covered with maggots...yep...another ewww!  There is a set time that the eggs hatch and the maggots start to develop.  (All of this is what I learned today!  Interesting, huh!)  Anyway, this is where the whole scenario gets pretty cool.  Those eggs/maggots help with police work!  Forensic scientists can look at a corpse, observe the blowfly evidence and then determine a "time of death".  They can also use the blowfly evidence to determine if the body has been tampered with and even if the person was moved to that location after being killed.  Blowflies are important tools in evidence collecting!

  Who would ever imagine that something so mundane as a fly could have such an important job??  I had no idea until today and it was all caused by a swarming of flies.  *Just as an added note, the blowfly maggots are also used in medical situations where antibiotics and surgery are not an option with an open wound that is infected.  It sounds pretty terrible but they do an excellent job in cleaning the wound.  So...I will leave you with that bit of "food for thought",  My visitation with the blowflies led to an afternoon of learning.  Granddaddy would be proud.

A Love That Lasts Through The Ages....

  Just before dawn, I awoke and could not return to sleep.  So, there was nothing else to do except hop out of bed and make coffee!  There is nothing like a good cup of coffee at the break of day when no one else is awake.  It was just me and the world sitting on the back step.  Not a bad way to start the day.  From there, I headed to the garden to plant two more rows of green beans.  Hopefully, the squirrel will refrain from dining upon the seeds this time. 

  While there, I had a perfect view of the east arbor of the rose garden.  Just a few weeks back, this arbor was snow white with the blooms of the Cherokee rose.  This week, the first blooms of "Grandmother's rose" are starting to open.  Grandmother's rose is what I grew up calling this particular rose.  In reality, it is named "New Dawn".  The blooms are the palest pink and are a good five to six inches in diameter when fully opened.  This is one of the old type garden roses that were found in just about every cottage garden of our grandparent's and great-grandparent's homes.  The rose rambles about arbors and fence lines and is usually covered with hundreds of blooms.

  The name "Grandmother's rose" has nothing to do with when the rose was prominent but everything to do with Grandmother.  My grandfather had the perfect yard.  Nary a weed could be found in his gardens and, at any given time, blooms of some sort could be found.  He worked tirelessly to keep his place pristine.  It was a sight to behold but he did not take credit for the beauty.  "These are Grandmother's gardens!" he would proudly proclaim.  Now let me tell you a little secret here.  Grandmother never planted a single seed in that garden!  Nor did she weed, trim, fertilize or water.  Her "yardwork" consisted of putting on her pretty gloves, toting her large flat basket and picking a few blooms for a vase that always stayed on the dining room table.  That was it.  The fact was that theirs was a true love and Granddaddy did little things to show his love for Grandmother.  He would bring her a single daisy from the lane or maybe a pretty pebble he found in the creek.  She cherished each and made him feel so appreciated for each tiny act.  The rose was one of the many little ways that he showed his love.  He worked hard to help that rose bush bloom to its fullest and when the very first bud opened, he would take Grandmother by the hand and lead her out to the garden.  There, he would tell her to close her eyes and he would take her to the large trellis where the rose grew.  Then, he proudly would ask her to open her eyes!  She would always squeal with delight and tell him that it was the prettiest that the rose has ever been. Hence, this is Grandmother's rose...always was...always will be as long as it is in my garden.  It is a tribute to their love.

  It is things like this that can make the day perfect.  After working in the garden and then finding Grandmother's rose, I knew the rest of the day would be grand.  My grandparents played a huge part in my early years and even the tiniest memory brings a smile.  Grandmother's rose!
 
 

Dots of Blue

  Long ago when I was a mere tyke, Granddad seemed to tend to me a lot.  Of course, Grandmother was there but 90% of the entertainment was left up to Granddaddy.  I think by the time I came along, Mom was exhausted and needed a break from toddlers.  I spent countless days and nights with my grandparents.  I thought it was a special treat.  It never occurred to me until much later just why I was shuffled off to visit the relatives.  Like I said, most of the entertainment was left to Granddaddy.  He was a patient man that thought all playtime revolved around some type lesson.  I learned while I played.  We worked his gardens, he taught me a smattering of woodworking skills and taught me countless useful things about plants, rocks and critters.  These lessons linger in the far recesses of the brain and spill forth with the least bit of prompting.  A sight, smell, touch or sound can trigger a memory and those cobwebs in the brain are pushed aside while I examine a bit of information that was stored there.

  This morning, the garden needed tending so I spent several hours weeding and fertilizing.  Once everything was to my liking, I slipped down behind the greenhouse to find at least one "happy" for a day filled with work.  It was my goal to help Son replace the siding on the west side of the Little Bayou House.  Son was with the old dog which gave me a moment to explore.  As I traipsed to a favorite spot, a splash of blue jumped out at me.  Nestled up under the mimosa tree, a nice sized clump of spiderwort was gleaming in the early morning sunshine.  These small flowers never fail to make me smile.   Spiderwort!  It was the blooms that caused the memory of Granddaddy and his bits of wisdom.

  When I was about 4 years of age, Granddaddy decided that I needed to learn a few "survival" tactics.  One of his lessons revolved around plants and their uses.  He made sure I could recognize the plant during any season (not just when blooming), knew whether it was safe to eat and if there were any medicinal uses tied to the plant.  Spiderwort was one of my favorites.  Granddaddy also called it "Meet Me At The Gate" since he said it would spread like wildfire, if given the chance.  To this day, I recall him telling me that the sticky sap inside the stalk of the spiderwort was good for bug bites.  "Just peel open a little spot, squeeze the stalk until the goo comes out and then rub it into the bug bite!"  Do you know...that really works!  Thanks, Granddaddy!  See!  Your lessons have not all fallen to the wayside!  I still remember and use so many!