While wandering the hillside with the old dog, one has plenty of time to ponder things. Since movement has to be kept at a snail's pace with rest stops about every forty feet, there is not much to be a distraction. In fact, I have to "find" things to keep the brain from becoming bored. The early morning hikes at least give me a glimpse of what the day has in store. The sun peeking over the pines on the far side of the Bayou can let me know if it is to be clear or rainy. That sun also gives me a view that never fails to astound.
This morning, Mr. PJ decided he had to go out before the sun was high in the sky. Our walk took us down near the marsh edge. As he sniffed for the "perfect spot", the sunrise pulled my attention. The only way that I can view the eastern horizon from this area is through a gap between trees. Looking across the marsh, it occurred to me that from the right angle two pine trees appeared to be one. Move slightly to the side and a small sliver of sunlight could be seen between the trees.
This sight started me thinking of how a lot of what we see can be deceiving to the eye. It pays to look at things from all angles before making a judgment of what things actually are. Life is funny that way. There is always more than one view...one angle...one side to every story....or, in this case, tree.
For the past few days, my thoughts have been on the arrival of September and what all it brings. We covered the chive blooms and those pesky love bugs and, of course, the clue hunt decorations. These are all things that are pleasant in compare to another part of upcoming month. September sees an upswing in the number of hurricanes that zip across the Atlantic and, unfortunately, sometimes into the Gulf of Mexico. Those storms are the ones that are worrisome. Today, all thoughts around the city of Biloxi were centered on the same exact date 13 years ago when Hurricane Katrina ravaged the entire city. To be honest, there was not a lot left. But, to be equally honest, there was no doubt that the good folks of the area would pick ourselves up, shake off the shock of what had hit us and get to work rebuilding the place. We did. We are all breathing a sigh of relief that August is almost over but....
Now, with September looming just days away, the tropics are, once again, "heating up". Things are starting to churn and swell. Since the Gulf waters are hot, it does not take much for a maelstrom to kick its way into action. These storms bear watching as any one could veer our way.
While the old dog and I sat on the edge of the pier this morning, a low veil of clouds hung on the horizon. These clouds were hinting of things that might come and come quickly. So, September, I am onto your shenanigans! I will keep a weather eye on the horizon!
The other day, a cousin from out of state made the remark to me that I had to be exaggerating about the fog. "It cannot be that thick." he stated with quite an air of insistence. "Fog lifts before midday." again with a little bit more emphasis that he knew what he was saying. Well, folks, if you have not lived on a bayou in the Deep South, do not go telling us about winter fog. It is a real thing and we deal with it...sometimes all day...sometimes for days on end. Fog! Thick pea soup fog that shrouds everything and lays a dampness to every nook and cranny of even the tightest of houses. The wood floors in the Little Bayou House stay sticky and dust clings with more of a vengeance to the damp furniture. It makes you just want to stay inside where at least you remain somewhat drier than if you went traipsing around the hillside. Mr. PJ and Ms. Nycto (the dog and cat of the place) have decided that the best way to endure the weather is to nap continuously.
Yesterday morning had particularly dense fog. The sun did not poke its face out until well in the afternoon. The whole Bayou seemed to be cloaked from the outside world. Not being able to see what lay beyond the marsh, I felt a bit isolated. The old dog hung a bit closer when we headed back behind the cane to gather firewood. Instead of his usual romping and exploring, I think he felt the need to protect me from unseen foes.
The fog did make for some interesting photographs. When nothing else can come into focus, those figures nearest stand out strangely beautiful. Mundane things such as the tangled smilax vines dangling from a bay tree became the perfect frame for the fog-masked sun. To me, this is intriguing. To others...it is probably rather boring. Still, it does show the density of the fog as this photo was taken about 10 am. So, Dear Cousin, it really is that thick.
At dawn, I sat watching the sunrise. The stillness of the morn allowed me to do a good bit of pondering. I have been on or near the Bayou my entire life. As long as I can remember, the family has fished these waters. The Bay and Bayou provided seafood which combined with fruit and vegetables from the old farm gave us sustenance. Although life was hard, it was good. By some folks' measure we were dirt poor but we never wanted for anything and were blissfully happy with what we had. I am still that way. Blissfully happy with where I am at, doing what I am doing. Sometimes, I feel that the Bayou has provided me with more than most folks could ever want.
As I sat absorbing the beauty around me, another thought crossed the mind. How quickly this could all change. As it did with Hurricane Katrina, the weather could pound us with Hurricane Irma. The serenity which surrounded me this morning could again possibly become the wretched turmoil that battered the Little Bayou House twelve years ago. Hurricane Irma is not one to take lightly. This one bothers me...a lot.
That said, I pray for those in the path of this evil entity. I pray that the storm weakens over the next few hours. I pray that the cold front inching closer to us will push the storm enough that landfall is minimal. I pray for strength.
At the moment, there is nothing to do but watch and wonder. There is a gnawing feeling in the gut that won't leave. The could've, would've, should'ves are all worming their way around in the brain. Instead, we sit and wait. We wait for a definite or at least a semi-definite track. If Irma makes its way into the Gulf of Mexico, the waiting game will suddenly become a frenetic pace of storm preparations. For now, however, we wait and ponder. The Bayou has been good to me but, at times, life is hard. Sometimes it throws things at you that try you to the core. I will stick with my tried and true method of preparing for the worst and praying for the best. That is about all we can do in anything.
I have always been one that loves a good foggy day (or night, for that matter). There is just something mystical about the earth being shrouded in a thick layer of fog. It is during times like this that the wheels in my brain start to whirl and spin causing all sorts of fantastical tales to be spun. One might say that the imagination runs amok!
Early this morning during our hike to the pier, Mark and I noticed that the fog looked a mite weird. Talk about things running amok...I think Mother Nature's sense of humor did! The horizon appeared quite...ummm....different? When viewing the horizon from the pier, the west side was clear as a bell while the east side was completely obscured by pea-soup thick fog! There was no "thinning" between the two but, rather, there was a definite cutoff line dividing the two. Right slap dab down the middle of the southern horizon was a clear-cut division of the two. Fog on the east....clear on the west. When I would turn toward the east, my vision was nil. Whiteout fog blocked even the dark line of pines. When I faced west, even the names on my brother's boats could be read. Strange.
This is the first time in all my many years of living on the Bayou that I have ever witnessed this phenomenon. Never before have I seen two different weather patterns cut so decisively. I ponder if this be a harbinger of some rough weather that is to descend upon the Bayou. I suppose I really should check the forecast.
Mark and I meandered down to the pier this evening just in time to watch the sun slide down behind the pines. The setting sun blazed across the sky making the entire thing red. Hmmm. I have heard several old sayings about this and the weather for the coming day. "Red sky at night, shepherd's delight" or the marine version of "Red sky at night, sailor's delight" both popped into the head this evening. Those folks sure did like their sunsets, I suppose. Both occupations seem to love red sunsets. I pondered if there was much truth to the sayings. I had read once that it all had to do with atmospheric pressure or some such scientific knowledge.
I checked and sure enough, it seems as if both the shepherds and sailors were great at weather-forecasting. Our day should be bright and sunny tomorrow. According to knowledgeable folks, that all that redness is caused by dust and other small particles trapped up in the atmosphere by high pressure. This supposedly scatters all the blue light and leaves only the red visible. When we see the red sky at night, it means that a high pressure system is moving in from the west and with it comes dry and mild weather.
Mark and I watched that sun disappear and then headed back to the Little Bayou House. I can rest assured that my garden will need to be watered in the morning and that if I hang the laundry on the line it will get dry. There will be no storms on the Bayou tomorrow! The sky said so!
