There is a idiom that one "cannot see the forest for the trees" which refers to spending far too much time paying attention to the details that you cannot see the overall picture. It really has nothing to do with trees or forests or much of anything to do with Mother Nature in general but is rather to point out a flaw found in a lot of us. We become far to focused on things...maybe even to the point of being nitpicky. It is those pesky details that get in the way of our happiness. Then, there are those that are just the opposite. They brush off details as not important. If the whole picture is good, why bother with the little things? They have a way of twisting things to where the trees (details) are not important. In my case, I seem to vacillate between the two ideas. At times, a good bit of effort is spent delving into the finest detail while during other times, I just view things as one big grand world and let it go at that.
A while back, the morning sunrise took my breath away. The view was to perfection and I could do nothing but sit in awe of the handiwork of the Master Artist. It never occurred to me to do anything but stare ahead at what was being laid out before me. After photographing the sunrise (as I inevitably do), I left the pier feeling as if this wondrous sight had been created just for me. My day had been started magnificently! What more could one ask? Then, I checked my pictures and found that I had totally missed an equally impressive event by not seeing the details that made up the overall spectacle that I had witnessed. There was one detail that I had overlooked.
Between that big, ole ball of a sun and the pier, there not only stands the gazebo and bridge of a nearby neighborhood, there are the ever-present power lines. Not that any of those are impressive but the hundreds upon hundreds of birds that had roosted on the lines overnight were pretty mind-boggling. Stretched as far as the scene would allow, nigh on a thousand birds were on the lines. The birds had gone completely unnoticed as I looked at the big picture. How could I miss nigh on a thousand birds? Goodness! It took enlarging the photograph on my computer before I could grasp how many were actually there. (Yep, I counted. 922 were in one photo! That is a lot of birds to miss!) The cropped photo below shows almost just a small portion of the birds as the lines stretched much further.
Hopefully, the weather will permit me to take a jaunt to the pier at sunrise again tomorrow. I want to see if the birds are still there or if they were just migrating through the area. Oh, how grand it would be to have a camera lens strong enough to zoom in far enough to determine the type of bird that seek refuge on those power lines! It does make me wonder if anyone in that neighborhood even noticed...or if they were like me and did see the "trees for the forest" or, in this case, did not see the birds for the sunrise. Its all in the details, folks. I need to pay attention!
Every now and again, I literally start to giggle out loud while in the garden or on the pier. Something will trigger a memory which, in turn, tickles me. Most of these memories while in these two places involve Pop. He was equally at home in the field or on the water and often I joined him there. We shared a great many conversations over important world situations or just as important gardening or fishing tips. I tried to remember as many as I could but, these days, it usually takes some trigger to start the brain.
Just this past week, Michael and I set in our fall garden. Mustard greens, collards, cabbage, chard, broccoli, beet and carrot seeds were sowed with hopes of a fine crop later this winter. With our usually mild winters (compared to the rest of the country), these crops will bear all season and well into the spring. As we were working, I told my son to "Plant them deep..but not TOO deep." He looked at me and grinned. "Papa." was all he said. That was enough. I knew that my words were straight from my father's mouth! Yep. Pop always used to tell me that when we were planting. I never figured it out either.
A bit later as we were planting peas, I told Michael that his rows were "as crooked as a dog's hind leg!" While most folks use this term to describe someone who is very dishonest (usually a politician!), Pop used it to describe the rows that I would plant. The rows in the field were several hundred feet long and by the end of my row, the line would be just that...crooked as a dog's hind leg! Once again, Michael made mention of his Papa.
Fast forward until today and while we were out in the garden yet again, I slipped into being Pops. "Michael! You planted those mustard seeds as 'thick as the hair on a dog'." He busted out laughing and told me that I was turning into Papa! Well, I guess I am at that and that, my good friends, is not a bad thing at all!
I get amused by some of the old idioms that Pop used to use at times. There were five kids in the famly so there was always a need for some "parental guidance" in the form a switchin'. We got those often but not without due cause. Pop dealt punishment fairly as the need called. We always knew we were pressing his patience when he would say "Somebody's getting too big for his britches." That was fair warning for us to shape up and behave ourselves! If the behavior continued, more oft than not, a peach switch was wielded on our rear ends! Now before anyone cries "child abuse", no, it was discipline fair and square. I have no "long term" effects by this form of correction nor does any of my siblings. We knew what was expected of us and if we refused to follow the rules, we knew the consequences. It seems to me that this new idea of minimal discipline is not working. Perhaps this is why so many problems have arisen with our youngsters. I kept the "old school" methods with my kids. There were no beatings but a light swat on the rump was all it took to divert behavior problems before they became severe. Same with Pop. He never mistreated us but at the same time we were disciplined.
Still, it is the idiom that amuses me, not the switchin's! I was out by the little Frog Pond the other evening when I noticed a Eastern Lubber Grasshopper "getting to big for his britches." The critter had climbed up on one of the leaves of the water lily and there proceeded to shed its outer layer. The exoskeleton was shed and the soft grasshopper dangled precariously it as the new "body" matured. At this stage, the grasshopper was quite helpless as its body was very soft. The grasshopper had to choose a spot to shed that was protected. Even high winds could damage the body at this point. The Eastern Lubber Grasshopper has few predators as it, itself, is slightly toxic so it was relatively safe on the lily. As far as I know, the Loggerhead Shrike is the only critter out there that will make a meal out of these grasshoppers. This bird decapitates the grasshopper and impales it on a fence wire or twig. There the sun will dry out the toxins and make the grasshopper edible. The Shrike then will devour its prize. The only trouble is the number of grasshoppers is far greater than the number of birds. I have seen one nesting pair of shrikes and a billion grasshoppers. I think the grasshoppers win.
The fact that the grasshopper "got too big for his britches" means that it is now ready to eat more of my plants. With the number of critters still in the garden (I squished a million or so already), I need to start squishing again! If I do not smash these, my garden will meet a dire end. These guys do not care what they eat as long as it is green.
Hehe, I have to ponder where the saying that something has "gone to the dogs" originated. I get the giggles just thinking about it! I mean, imagine, "Fishing has just gone to the dogs!". Does that not conjure up the most unusual image ever? It does for me with my overactive imagination! I can just see old Ms. Ez, the Bayou Dog, sitting on the pier with her fishing pole. It would be a humorous sight but with her, probably not out of the range of reality. She has been fishing with me since she was a few weeks old so can most likely use a pole with the best of them! The saying, however, has nothing to do with fishing dogs. I used to have an uncle who would make the statement quite often. It seems to have been a saying that was common at one point in time around here. (The fishing part anyway.) My uncle would mention that fishing was poor and invariable use the phrase about going to the dogs. It tickled my funny-bone back then and still does.
Yesterday morning, however, the phrase popped into my head for an entirely different reason. I was on the pier bright and early and noticed that something rather large had washed up on the shore toward the west. I sat and stared at the object a bit before realizing just what it was. When I did, I started giggling as, out of the blue, the phrase popped into my mind. I turned to look at Ms. Ez and asked "Did you lose something, Old Girl?" She responded with a tail-thumping wiggle. Across the way, what appeared to be a large doghouse had washed ashore. A DOGHOUSE! Imagine the giggle-inducing sight that was! Why and how had the doghouse come to be in the water? Had someone placed said house on a steep slope and it sort of roll down the hill into the Bay? Had someone intentionally shoved said house overboard? Was a dog still inside the runaway house? Oh, the questions I had! Ms. Ez was no help whatsoever as she offered nary an answer.
Back to the idiom of something "going to the dogs". The statement means that something or someone is in a downward spiral due to some misfortune. I sort of have to disagree with the connotation that the phrase evokes. When you think about a dog's life (at least most dogs nowadays), they have it made! Dogs used to be working animals. They would earn their "keep". These animals would be herders, protectors and would provide rodent extraction services. Pets now have become "part of the family" instead of working members of a team. They are pampered beyond belief. This may or may not be good as most have a need to perform and if not given a chance to do so, cannot be at their full potential. They become lazy and lose their instinctive traits. Take Ms. Ez as example. She should be a hunter. Ha! Yes, she loves to chase squirrels but if you give her the command to "Get the squirrel!", she immediately runs to the same hickory tree in the yard...squirrel or no squirrel! To her, the command means to go sit at that certain tree and then turn to look at me for approval. Her instinct to chase the rodents has gone awry! Today, I caught her staring at four squirrels in the bird feeders which are her sole duty to protect. Not happening! When I gave the command, she ran to "THE" tree and turned to look at me while the squirrels munched the sunflower seeds! Oh, Ms. Ez, your hunting skills have gone to the dogs.
