"I wanna go home!"

  First off...do you ever talk to inanimate objects?  I do.  If you do, would you mind telling me if you get any replies?  Again, I do.  Maybe not so much in words or sounds but in feelings, I guess.  To me, if you really get to know an object...especially one that has been through some trauma...an odd sort of aura emanates from it and that aura speaks volumes.  At least, it "speaks" to me.  Yeah, there are those who claim that I am weird or eccentric and those are the kinder folks.  Ask others and you will get some more "elaborate" descriptions.  But, back to "talking" objects...

  About a year and a half ago, my dear friend had a most devastating event happen to her.  While she and a friend sat talking, lightning struck her house causing a huge fire.  They both managed to escape unharmed but her house was a total loss.  Only a few items were salvageable with one being a clock.  The poor clock did not go unscathed as the finish crackled and the clockworks itself was full of soot.  So...what better place to bring a clock for the duration than to the home of that weird friend who kinda/sorta fixes antique clocks.  I immediately cleaned and oiled the clock.  The outer case could not be remedied much without devaluing the worth so I simply used denatured alcohol to even some of the finish.  Now...the test...I gently swung the pendulum and the gorgeous clock started ticking!  It worked!  After all it had been through, the clock still ran smoothly! The clock has been here since.

  Several times, I moved the gorgeous clock to a different spot in my living room from my work table.  I figured it deserved a better spot.  Perhaps the buffet!  There it would be showcased as the beauty it is.  Nope, the clock immediately stopped working.  Well, perhaps on the coffee table!  That lasted just about ten minutes and no more.  Well, maybe the bookshelf!  The clock was not having it.  Nary a tick could be heard.  Out of desperation, I set it back on the center of the work table.  Tick, tick, tick...the clock did not miss a beat. So...I asked it why?  Why will you not work anywhere but this work table?  You deserve better, my friend.  Then, in soft silence other than the steady ticks came the answer.  "I wanna go home."  My heart broke.  The clock had let me know that the work table felt the closest to going back home where it belongs.  It needed to go back to the loving care of my beautiful friend.  All of the other locations, though comfortable, were not home.  The clock felt like those moves were permanent.  It needs to go home.

  So...the clock will go home...back to where it belongs.  Slowly I glided my hand across the sloping back of clock as I whispered..."Soon...soon, you will be back where you belong.  I promise...I promise."  Sometimes, objects murmur, but this time the clock spoke loud and clear.  

That Feeling Of Belonging

   People often ask me why I cling to my little house here on the Bayou.  I have one answer...because it is HOME.  I find peace here.  This is where I belong and where I shall stay as long as possible.  This...this is my little piece of paradise.

  Early this morning as I was on the pier, I had to smile as several dolphins were putting on quite a show just for me...obviously, just for me since I was the only person up at the crack of dawn when they started.  I smiled because of a recent news article where the reporter was "surprised" to see dolphins and porpoises in the Bay.  Hmmm...perhaps that reporter is not very observant or perhaps he has just never spent much time on the water.  The lovely creatures can be seen frolicking whenever there are mullet schooling. Today, the dolphins were quite close to the pier.  I watched as the pod worked together to corral mullet into a tight wad so their hunting could be easier.  Then...a surprise!  Among the adults, there were two calves with this pod!  

  As I sat there watching the show, an overwhelming sense of belonging came over me.  This...this is where I belong.  This...this is indeed my little piece of paradise. Just home...just home.

He Is Home

   It is strange how much happiness and love can be shared between humans and animals.  While there are those who say animals do not have emotions, I will beg to differ.  They do.  They have as many emotions as humans do.  Anyone who truly takes the time to interact with critters understands this.  

  Take, for instance, the poor, little kitten that my son-in-law rescued and brought here.   When it came to the Little Bayou House, it was so malnourished and unkempt that we thought for sure it was only weeks old.  Instead, it was months old but had been starved and stunted.  Now, with love and proper care, the cat has flourished and has tripled its weight.  But, back to emotions.  The first night that the little fellow was here, he was so frightened that I held him all night.  Or rather, he held me.  He literally wrapped his paws around my arm and refused to let go.  We slept like that the whole night.  I got the idea that he was afraid that if he let go of me, he may wind up back on the streets.  Our poor, little throwaway cat wanted to have a home.

  Now, that he has come to know this as his home, he purely is blissful.  You can literally see in his actions that he is fully appreciative of his surroundings and of his new friends (us).  The cat tries his best to please us in every way and to show us his love.  Gentle pats from his paws lets you know that he cares.  He does not want anything when he does this.  He pats my arm or face then settles in next to me for a nap. Animals do show compassion.  Animals can show love.  People, on the other hand, sometimes forget how to have either.

  Folks, be kind do animals.  There is no reason in the world for them to be abandoned.  There is no reason in the world for them to be abused.  Just be kind.

Snug Little Home

  Today saw us preparing for the upcoming "winter".  So far, the worst we have had was a "near freeze" and a couple of "maybe freezes".  Supposedly, that is all to end with a "severe freeze".  My garden is not going to be happy.  The day started with rain so it was rather miserable work to split and stack the firewood that would see us through this next week.  The work had to be done, however, so Son and I set to it.  We managed to get enough for at least a week's burning in both wood-burning stoves so we turned our attention elsewhere.  Plants and pipes are covered but the in ground garden will have to wait.  Most likely, the 30 or so cabbages will have to be harvested and the rest will just have to suffer.  I am in hopes that the system will not swing down this far but it is a "wait and see" game, at this point.

  While doing chores, Son called my attention to yet another tiny tree frog.  This time, the little squirt decided to make its home in a hole in a brick.  Luckily for the frog, the brick is in the chimney which will provide some warmth for the critter.  Once the old stove is cranking out the heat, the bricks will warm and the froggy will be quite snug.  The metal stovepipe extends up inside the brick chimney so the smoke will not harm the froggy.

  It is probably sad by others' standards but I fret over my wild critter friends during times like this.  Extra food will be put out for any that need a bite to eat, the greenhouse will still have the eave vents left open so birds can seek shelter and the brush piles will not be cleared so other critters can be protected from the ice.  Most will snuggle down in their nests or dens but the steady rains will still cause a lot of problems.  Folks, be kind to the critters in inclement weather.  They deserve some sort of protection just as we do.

His Compass Is Broken

  It is not unusual to see the common loons around the Bay and Bayou during the winter months but by early spring they make their way back up north to spend their summers.  There, they do all sorts of "loony" (and I mean that as a bird way not a crazy way) things like finding a mate, nesting and raising their young.  In fact, I cannot remember ever seeing one around here after the first of April until recently.  Once that warm weather sets in, they make haste in their migration.  

  Last year, however, one very young loon was injured and opted to stay on the Bayou a bit longer.  The bird rested, fed and healed but since there were no other loons around, its migration was put on hold for the entire summer.  Its plaintive wails could be heard ringing out in the night in hopes that at least one other loon was in the area.  Nary a return call could be heard.  So the bird spent the summer in "solitary confinement" of the Bayou.  When the weather started to chill a bit, I thought sure other loons would migrate here and our local bird could find its family.  It was saddening to know that the other loons never made it to the Bayou at all this year.  Our winter was far too warm, I suppose, and the birds never came this far south.  The resident loon spends its time wailing and wailing.   "I am here.  Where are you?"  Wait...wait...no answer.  Silence.

  While it is still early in the spring, it does not appear that the bird is going to migrate.  It is happily scooping up minnows and little mullet.  Unless, by some odd chance, other loons fly over, the bird will most likely spend yet another summer here.  Obviously, it has no idea where "home" is other than here.  While I am good with the bird hanging around, it has to be extremely lonely for my friend.  Perhaps his "inner compass" is broken!  Poor, sweet bird!  Here's to hoping the bird heads north!

Home for the Holidays...Sort of...

  Several folks came to visit the Little Bayou House this afternoon.  My sweet sister-in-law came first and is always a delight.  She and I can sit back with a mug of hot coffee and spill out any problems that may be bothering us.  The time shared can usually solve the situation and we part ways much happier than before.  Just as she and I were settling in for our chat, a knock was heard at the back door.  Huh?  Not many folks come to the back of the house but, sure enough, there were two of Son's childhood friends standing on the porch.   What a surprise to see two of my "adopted" sons!  These two young men have been coming to the Bayou since they were small lads.  Two generations of folks sat and chatted as if all was right with the world.

  One of these young men is in the air force and has wandered the world with his job.  At one point, he made the statement that "I always like coming home to this house."  Wow.  That "home" bit was pretty strong.  It made me start thinking of how so many of these young folks come back "home" here.  They have told me time and time again that this is where they found stability in their topsy-turvy lives.  The Bayou and Little Bayou House was a place of security for them when they were youngsters and, now, it is a place of happy memories.   

  It seems that my little bit of paradise, is also an idyllic setting in the minds of a lot of folks who have passed through my life.  So many folks have proclaimed that there is something here that brings peace but it never occurred to me that a good many feel that this is their only memory of what a true "home" is like.  Not a house, not a building but a home.  A place where these folks can return and find comfort.  

  As the young men prepared to leave, they both gave huge hugs and one bent over to whisper in this old lady's ear "Thanks, Other Mother, for letting me come home for the holidays."  Tears welled up in my eyes.  "Son, you are always welcome here on the Bayou."  Another hug and the two were off to see their real families.  Wow.  The heartstrings were pulled a bit tighter.  Perhaps there really is something magical about this place.  I feel it.  Others do, too, obviously.

It is all about location! Choose your home wisely!

  The other day, I was cleaning a bunch of crabs when Son walked in to help.  He picked up one crab and let out a quiet "Hmmm."   This was not a "yum" since he does not eat crabs and definitely not a "Ho hum" as in a yawn.  It was just a "Hmmm" as if he was pondering some deep question.  I looked over at him to see him staring at the crab he was holding.  Yep, deep thoughts were milling around that brain so I questioned what he was thinking.  Maybe a mistake on my part...I suppose.

  "If a barnacle attaches itself for life to some surface and it attaches to a crab, what happens if that crab sheds and becomes a softshell?"  We pondered that fact for a bit.  Barnacles are steadfast once they cement themselves to a surface and they live up to ten years (or longer).  Once cemented in place, they cannot move other than the feathery apparatus that they use to catch food.  A crab, on the other hand, eats tons, gets fat and molts.  Once that old shell (with barnacle attached) comes off, it falls to the bottom and deteriorates rather quickly.  The barnacle is just in a fine fix.  If it does not die due to the fact that its backside is now vulnerable, it is at the mercy of the elements.  The tide can brutally batter it and wash it ashore.  There the barnacle is nigh on cooked by the sun and can be attacked by birds and other critters.  Its life would be deemed over, through, kaput.  Without some sound surface, the barnacle does not have much of a chance of survival.

  Son and I discussed the unwise decision of the barnacle and how its choice of living arrangements led to its early demise. Had that crustacean cemented itself to a pier post it would have still been alive. Latching onto a crab shortened the barnacle's life tremendously.  Even if the crab had not been caught and cooked, it would have surely molted and left the barnacle to sink beneath the mud.  Either way, life was cut short for the barnacle all because its choice of  a homesite.

Home is where the heart is!

  Today was moving day.  It is official now.  My daughter and her husband are here on the Coast.  They have bought a house not too far from the Bayou and this was the day to move their furniture from our place to theirs.  It was an all day job using a cargo van, pickup truck and three SUVs each making several trips.  She and I stayed behind at the house to arrange furniture and unpack boxes as the fellows drove back and forth loading and unloading.  Tonight will be their first night spent in their new house.

  This morning as we were loading vehicles, Elizabeth pointed out that my cactus had several heart-shaped lobes.  I think that cactus was trying to tell us something and Elizabeth summed it up in one sentence.  "Home is where the heart is, Mom!"....and she is right.  My heart (Elizabeth) is now home..back on the Coast.  

  The day was hard but fun.  She and I did a lot of chattering and laughing all the while unpacking.  The house is now in some semblance of order and we are exhausted but it was so worth the effort.  Seeing these young folks starting out in their new home does the heart good. Happy lives, kids, happy lives!  Mom and Dad love you!