Misconceptions?

   It fully befuddles me how the brain works or, at least, how my brain works.  I see things in a totally different way than most folks.  Perhaps, this is due to the time spent in solitude where I can ponder things without the interruptions of the world happenings.  This solitude, even self-inflicted (such as mine), is wondrous once you get accustomed to it.  Pondering is equally wondrous.  Still, there are times when others brains and their thinkings purely bemuse me.

  Others often see me as eccentric or even downright odd and I am quite ok with that.  Still, there is no obvious reason to overthink that I am anything but myself.  I am eccentric but that is not necessarily a reason to jump to conclusions.  All of this leads to the bemusing part simply because of an odd arrangement of items on the old woodburning stove.  The stove (when not in use) is a convenient "catch-all".  The top is sturdy cast-iron so it can withstand even heavy items being placed on it.  This time, however, nothing was heavy just an  melange of knickknacks that reached that handy spot as I was cleaning the shelves.  

 "You really should not be doing this!  You are going to get into things that are evil!"  Well, now!  I am all for not cleaning but I had to wonder how this was going to bring the forces of evil upon me???  Then...a fit of giggles as I realized that my hodgepodge was misconstrued as a perfected arrangement. I suppose I am now an enchantress?  Awesomeness!  The "brains" of the world will never cease to bewilder.  Selective perception totally blocked out any reasonable explanation.

  In all fairness, my living room is kept quite dark with only a few small funky lamps and an oil warmer going at any given time.  Perhaps the lighting lent a mysterious aura to my pile of junk?  By the harsh glare of overhead lights, the old stovetop look just like it actually is...a mess...nothing magical...nothing mysterious...nothing but a pile of junk waiting to be put back the shelf or stowed in a closet until the next clue hunt calls for props.  I do think it looks a little more offbeat without the overhead lights which may be why I hate using them!   

Magical Mornings

  There is magic to be found in just about everything.  Life in itself is magical.  It is my thought that magic is anything that is unexplained or unexpected.  I have learned a long time ago that you cannot go about life fretting what others think as it is up to you to make life magical.  I live that way now.  Each day proves that my idea is correct.

  At daybreak this morning, I ventured out into the gardens.  The air smelled fresh due to the recent rains and the ground was still wet enough to muffle any footsteps.  The pair of cardinals were patiently waiting for breakfast and the frogs were still in the midst of their serenading of the night before.  It seemed to be a perfect morning and that all was right with the world...at least, it is all right in my little paradise.  Just outside the garden gate, the Althea bush had lovely blooms that were opening with the rising sun.  Their bright lavender petals and burgundy centers were absolutely breathtaking.  These blooms have always been special as the bush has "family ties".  It started as a cutting from my grandparent's place.  I eased my way to inspect the blooms and, to my surprise, found a dragonfly wing inside of one blossom.  Well, that was strange!  Of course, there was probably an ordinary explanation but finding the wing placed so perfectly inside the petal made it magical to me.

  Had Aunt Helen been on this stroll with me, she and I would have immediately proclaimed that a faerie had gotten new wings and left the old one as proof of her existence.  Maybe?  When Aunt Helen was alive, she and I could let our imaginations run amok.  Fantastical tales could be woven on a mere find as the one this morning.  

  Folks, sometimes it is important to let go of the worries of the world and find your own magic. It is out there.  Look for it.  Perhaps the "magic" was not in finding a dragonfly wing nor the lovely Althea bloom.  Perhaps it was in being free enough in my own mind to view it as such.  Finding beauty in mundane things is a gift.  Finding magic in everything is, too.

Hunting for Magic!

  I have often said that the Bayou is a magical place full of mystical beings.  While this may fully be due to my wild imagination, one cannot help but believe that there are a lot of unseen entities dwelling among the palmettos, hiding beneath the ferns and playing in the creek bottom.  Back before the old dog became incapacitated, he and I would wander aimlessly in search of the magic.  We often found it.  Somewhere deep in the woods, a feeling would surround us then, invariably, a presence could be felt.  Usually, a critter of some sort would be found hiding among the leaves or staring down from the treetops.  Whether these critters were magical to others remains to be seen but they were (and still are) to me. 

  Now that Mr. PJ has fallen too weak to hike, he and I spend more time inside.  His days are spent napping on his bed and I piddle about making clue hunt props.  The old dog's health and happiness have taken precedence over my hikes.  Still, I occasionally get to slip out the back door when he is in a deep sleep.  It is then that I continue my search for magical beings!  

  Down behind the old pump shed, the new path twists and turns beneath some huge magnolia trees.  Their thick canopy pretty much blocks out the sunlight and gives the path an almost ominous flare.  It was here that I found the tiny mushroom that just begged for some elfin creature to dance upon its cap.  I photographed the mushroom but never once laid eyes upon the elf!  Perhaps, later in the week, another hike will prove more productive!  

  Now before you think I have flipped my lid, my magical creatures are merely whatever happens to be found on the short hikes.  It matters not if it is a tiny mouse nibbling the mushroom or the wily bobcat slinking beneath the ferns in hopes of catching a rabbit.  Being in their presence is enthralling so...magical creatures they are.  Right now, I can use all the magic I can find.

Another Magical Morn on the Bayou

  Whenever I mention that I live on a Bayou to anyone who does not know me, they immediately come up with some pretty wild thoughts about life here.  Some folks are frightened of the alligators, snakes and other wild critters that roam the marsh and woods.  Others think I am some sort of swamp witch that can create zombies, read palms and live solely on grub worms that I dig from the mud.  I warn those who fear the critters to watch their step but instead of being fearful, they just need to be respectful.  If you respect a critter's right to be here, then usually there are no problems.  As for the other folks, no....just no.

  I do agree, however, that the Bayou is a pretty magical and mystical place.  Things can happen here that do not anywhere else in the world but, at the same time, that can be said about any place.  What happens in a given spot is special to that spot and to the person observing it.  It is all a matter of how you see things.  Me?  I prefer to find the magic in life, in general.  So many folks depend on things, people or events to exhilirate them but just living is enough if you have insight to see that is all it takes.  

  The Bayou made its magic evident this morning.  A slight cloud cover kept the sun from casting clear, sharp images.  That, combined with a light fog wisping up over the marsh, was enough to coax the wheels of imagination into a soft spin.  All sorts of wild ideas can be conjured when the wind is right!  Tales of swamp critters, will-o-the-wisps and pirate treasure whirl about the brain dusting down the cobwebs that linger from an inactive imagination.  That, my friends, is part of the magic of the Bayou.

Through the Mist

  Years and years ago, I was often allowed to spend the night with my grandmother.  While this was probably more of a way to give Mom a break from an active youngster, I felt it was a special treat.  Being the youngest of five kids, I often felt left out of the "big kids" doings so I found this little outing quite exciting.  My scheduled sleepovers usually coincided with some movie that was being shown on TV.  This, too, was exciting as back on the farm, we had no TV.   It was on one of these sleepovers that I first experienced the musical "Brigadoon".  I was hooked from that moment which led to me being invited each time the movie was shown.  It became a ritual for Grandmother to put on the tea kettle, pull out the "fine" teacups and fix a plate of cookies to be enjoyed during our viewing.  This tradition carried on until I was a teenager and then my heart was broken by the passing of the dear lady.  I could not bring myself to even think of watching the movie for years and years.  Then, at some point, Mom asked me to watch it with her and, once again, the movie entranced me.  Later, my kids and I never missed a showing of the musical but, instead of milk tea and cookies, the kids wanted more "exciting" foodstuffs.  Sometimes we roasted hot dogs in the fireplace while other times, we had an indoor picnic.  The decision was theirs and, more oft than not, their grandmother (Mom) would join us for the fun.  I miss those days.  I cannot say that any current day movie has ever affected me as much as this one did.  Then again, I cannot say that any current day movies can possibly been deemed classics either.  

  This morning, memories of Brigadoon, the mystical city that appears of the mist every one hundred years, came back to me.  The time spent with Grandmother, Mom and my kids nearly brought tears to my eyes.   These memories were all due a heavy fog that had laid in overnight.  The thick mist blocked from view most of the other side of the Bay.  Only one small portion of what laid on the opposite shore could be seen and that vision was short lived.  The fog slowly blocked out the entire city.  The mystical, magical Brigadoon (in this case, Keesler Air Base) slipped from sight for the next one hundred years (or at least an hour).

  One of the best parts of living on the Bayou is that you never know what the new day will bring.  Things change with the drop of a hat and surprises abound.  Each day also brings with it the opportunity to reflect back on things from years ago.  The quietness allows the brain to wander where it may thus making each day, each memory worth a visit.  

Only In A Bog

  Occasionally, a hike can provide some pretty thought-provoking finds.  On our recent tromp through the bog, Darling Daughter and I found one small area that was covered in some pretty unusual looking plants.  We had never seen these before and pondered just what we had discovered.  After photographing the twelve to fifteen inch tall plants, the challenge was on to identify them.  We just knew that the things had to be special...after all, they were really weird.  Anything weird and wonderful captures our curiosity to the point that we cannot rest until we are fully satisfied that we know what we have stumbled upon.  

  The plants in question were quite soft to touch, tall, leaves up the entire stalk and were connected by runners.  They grew in a moist soil under the shade of trees.  The plants were still bright green regardless of the fact that the area had just endured temperatures down into the teens for several days. (So far, winter has been for four days...only.  Hoping for more before spring arrives.)  Their fresh look told us that the plants were relatively cold hardy.  So armed with that information and the photographs, we started our research.  While Elizabeth perused the plant guides, I took the much easier route and asked my cousin.  This guy knows most everything!  Just about the same time Elizabeth announced her find of a possible identity, I got an message with the same information from my cousin!  Lycopdeiella appressa or Southern Bog Clubmoss.  Well now!  That is pretty exciting, right?  I thought so.

  Now that we knew what the plant was, we had to look for possible uses other than it just sitting there being pretty.  (Although, that is a rather neat thing for a plant to do!)  It turns out that this plant has been used for centuries as a medicinal aid, in dyes, during ceremonial rituals and for decorative purposes.  Of all of these, it was those decorative uses that nearly was the bane of the plant.  Many folks were ripping the poor plants from the ground to use as garland greenery.  Tons of the plants were uprooted, used on doorways, stairs, etc. then tossed aside.  Being as the roots were stripped from the ground and that the plants are slow growing, many bogs became devoid of the clubmoss. 

  Well, Elizabeth and I decided that cannot happen to "our" clubmoss!   Between the two of us, it has become a goal to root many of the plants to replenish the bogs of the area.  That comes from being Wildcrafters of a sort.  We believe that you do not take without giving back.  Harvest only what you need, leave some to regrow and replant whenever you can.  It is a shame that folks take until all is gone but that comes from the fact that we all now live in a "throwaway" society where folks have a tendency to not think beyond their own whims.  Whether it be robbing the land of all that is good or wasting things that can be reused, this attitude is shameful.

The Bog Calls to Us

  It was a good day.  Any day outside seems to suit me fine but today was special.  Darling Daughter and I spent the day traipsing about a creek and wooded area.  Down behind their property is a low area that is almost magical.  The trees block out the sky leave you feeling completely secluded from the world.  Once you head down under this canopy, things change.  It is the perfect place to escape reality for a little while.  As she and I slipped quietly down the embankment to where the creek was still overflowing from the recent rains, we both felt a peace around us.  We looked at each other and had the same thought of deja vu.  It was as if we belonged spiritually among the mosses, ferns and critters that inhabit the bog.  Something felt as if it was drawing us deeper and deeper into the depths of the fen.  

  While we were marveling over the intense feeling of belonging, we began discovering life that most overlook.  Our vision adjusted from the bright sunlight of the open field to the dim lit understory of the creek. The mystical, magical place began to open up to us.  We were enthralled.

  Mosses, fungi, lichens, ferns...all could be found among the fallen logs and crawfish mounds. Some, we recognized.  Others were unknown to us.  All were fascinating.  We pushed deeper into the swamp.  The further we went, the more entranced we became.  Then, an idea! Wouldn't it be wonderful to build a tiny house way back in the bog that was only accessible by means of a footpath and a swinging bridge? Just a tiny hut of a place to commune with nature and sort of "nest" while escaping the "real" world.   A place where we could feel at peace.  The bog calls us.  We shall return.