The Great Cricket Search!

   In many cultures, crickets are thought to be harbingers of good luck, future prosperity and protection.  It seems that much lore has been attached to the chirpy critters since the beginning of time.  It was considered to be a happy day when a cricket was found in the home but...it would bring much misfortune if the cricket was killed.  This thought led to many folks protecting their crickets against any danger even to the point of having cricket cages in their homes.  Well, living on the Bayou sees many critters wanting to invade the house...crickets included.  I am not squeamish about the critters that call the Bayou their home and can happily live side-by-side with the lot of them.  Then came the invasion.

  Early on Christmas morn, my oldest son and I were in the kitchen.  I had fixed him a cup of coffee when I heard a strange sound.  Uh, oh...that sounded like the batteries were dying in our smoke alarm.  I tried to remember when we last changed them and continued talking with my son.  Then...about 15 minutes later...another series of beeps...errr....chirps.  The alarm was in the laundry room which is just off the kitchen. I peeped in there but the thing was quiet.  Nary a sound came from the confernal thing so I headed back through the doorway to the kitchen to continue the conversation with my son while we waited on the others to rouse from bed or arrive from their homes.  Soon...the goofy thing chimed again!  Alrighty then...out to the back deck it went.  It was driving me crazy!   We would have to depend on the other alarms that were playing nicely until I could find the proper batteries for this one.  After a bit...I heard the same sounds in other rooms.  Geez!  Those batteries must all be dying!  I spent a good bit of Christmas morning on the search for fire alarms and batteries!  I was thankful once everyone was ready to open gifts!  Yay!  Let Christmas fun begin!

  After all the gifts were opened, My son, Mark, handed out three "special" gifts!  One to each sibling and one to me!  Eeek!  I was excited...short lived glee but...excited!  I opened the package to find a puzzle box...you know...one of those nigh on impossible things to open??  Yep...one of those.  I fiddled with the box, all the while, complaining of those dratted "alarms" that were still screaming.  Aha!  Step one was completed!  I was quite proud of myself!  There, scrunched in the tiny compartment, was a packet of herb seeds!  But...there was more to open...so I continued to push, pull, twist and turn portions of the box until....another compartment and another packet of seeds!  Alrighty, then!  Mom is getting good at this!  Beep..beep...shut-up, alarms!!!  Mark informed me that there was one last compartment and reassured me that I was doing well.   Another few twists of parts of the box and a few shoves revealed the last compartment...completed with a tiny portrait of Jiminy Cricket...you know...that "moral guide" from Pinocchio?  Yeah, him...and he had a message..."Find Me!"  Huh?  I did!  I just found you!  Nope...the search had only begun.

  Well...now it came to light that my smoke alarms were not so confernal after all.  Their batteries were fine...the beeps were not coming from them.  Mark had hidden some sort of noisemakers all over my house!  The beeps (chirps) were Jiminy Crickets and I had to find them to make the noise stop. Arghh!  What had my son done???  Beep..beep.  The search was on while he sat at the kitchen table chopping vegetables for our Christmas dinner that I was supposed to help him make...and to top it off, he had a big smirk on his face.  Ugh!  Crickets!  Why did they have to be electronic things that, as he informed me, would keep chirping for approximately 3 years...THREE YEARS!  I searched, he smirked as the morning slipped by.  Soon this became a family effort and everyone who was not involved in his sneaky scheme chipped in to help rid the house of Jiminy!  Oh, was I happy when my son-in-law announced that he found a cricket on top of the huge china cabinet!  Whew!  One down....beep...beep.  Ugh!  About a half hour later, my sweet granddaughter squealed that she found one!  I could do nothing but hug her! Oh, happy day!  Beep..beep.  Not another!  Yep...another.   About this time, both grandkids decided it was time to play with their Christmas gifts and several other of my "team" decided it was time to help their sibling who was now in the midst of preparing the dinner by himself.  (Ha!  Payback for sending his mom on this wild goose chase!)  They cooked...I searched with my only ally...Darling Daughter, Elizabeth.  Beep...beep.  We were back in that laundry room!  Now anyone who has ever been in the Little Bayou House can attest that searching any room would be a difficult task but that laundry room also doubles as a storage area for home canned goods, dehydrated herbs and most of my canning supplies.  It also houses three large freezers so searching there would prove to be challenging but Elizabeth stuck with me and we found the elusive Jiminy!  Wow!  What an unexpected gift!  It was so much fun to have the whole family involved and the search will be talked about for years to come.  Not to mention...I am glad the fire alarms are still in good working order and were not chunked too far out the back door!  Thanks, Mark!...Now, son...no more shirts for you for Christmas...it is payback time!  Beep!

  

That's a Big One!

   Yesterday morning, Mark was on the pier catching mullet in the net.  It was amazing the number of fish he was catching in the short time he had been there.  Then...he spied the huge critter!  After giving me a call, he started taking photographs of one of the largest alligators in the area.  That thing was HUGE!  Just by estimating (next to pier posts), the gator easily seemed to be 11 or 12 feet in length! 

  Normally, the alligators keep their distance with only a couple of times finding one venturing close to the pier while we were there.  This big, ole gator just kept coming!  Soon it was right where Mark had been throwing the net!  (As you can see in one of the photographs, it was literally right against the pier!)  Wisely, Mark stopped throwing the net and kept HIS distance from the critter.  It was not long before our "friendly" critter had enough of this closeness and started moving on its way to the mouth of the Bayou.  It was then that Mark could breathe a bit easier and continue with his mulleting.

  It is not often that we get the chance to observe the gators of this size.  Most that visit are under 8 feet and...most have the good sense to stay a wee bit further away from the pier.  After talking it over, we decided that either the gator is the one messing with the crab pots or the constant splashing of the net got the best of its curiosity.  Whichever, the best move was just let the massive critter go on its happy way.  Just like with snakebites, more people get injured (or killed) by messing with the gators than if they are allowed to move along on their own.  If you are going to live on a Bayou or near any body of water, you have to respect the critters that are there.  It is their territory.  We are the intruders.  Mark's decision to not harass the alligator was the right way of dealing with it.  (Only twice has this huge gator been seen near our pier.  It usually stays far from here and only visits rarely.  Quite exciting to see it, however!)

Flashback!

   Our weather is all over the place.  Recently, it seemed as if spring had made its appearance and was ready to stay.  All that did was set me into a frenzy of getting gardens ready, planting and...taking down the temporary greenhouse that had done well housing all of the potted plants during our (brief) "ice age".  I pushed a little too hard and it came back to bite me.  Yep, the temperature dropped for a lovely one night but that one night was enough to cause a bit of fretting.  Son and I covered the plants the best we could with some painter's drop cloths and called it a night.  We hoped for the best.  

  The plants did well under their blankets which were gathered back as soon as the sun popped out bright and warm.  Son gathered the huge tarps for me to launder before storing for the next need.  I carefully shook each tarp to make sure no treefrogs or lizards had snuggled in for the night then tossed two at a time in the washing machine.  All went well....until that last load.  Again, I shook the tarp vigorously before loading it into the machine, however, I guess it was not strong enough.  When that tarp was hauled out and thrown in the dryer, I spied a black "stick".  My heart sank.  Surely that was not one of my sweet praying mantids!  It definitely was NOT a frog nor a lizard but some sort of bug.  As I examined the corpse, I realized that it was a what Mom called a Devil's Walking Stick and Dad called a Spit Tobacco Bug.  Those are both names for a Two-striped Walking Stick or Stick Bug.  As much as these are not favorites of mine (they do "spit"), I felt terrible about killing the poor thing.  After all, it was just seeking a bit of warmth from the freezing night temperatures.  

  This all did bring flashbacks of some 40 years ago.  My oldest son was forever taking hikes with my Aunt Marie. He and "Aunt Ri Ri" would often go critter hunting much like my grandson and I do.  The only difference was...my son would pocket most of the critters without Aunt Ri Ri knowing...also...without me knowing.  The critters, along with rocks, leaves, sticks or anything else he found interesting were stashed for good keeping right in those pockets.  Now, I was not in the habit of checking my kiddo's pockets before washing his clothes so you can see where this is going.  Yep, I found many, many waterlogged critters in that washing machine....usually dead.  It was not fun.  The inanimate objects were not a problem but sticking my hand in the machine to grab ahold of a water bloated lizard or earthworm was not the nicest thing.  I literally had to make him start "unloading" his pockets at the front door!

  Finding the dead walking stick in the washer was not fun but it did evoke a giggle about the memories from long ago.  It is probably a good thing that I am not too overly squeamish when it comes to things like this.  Perhaps having a curious little boy who loved to shove things in his pockets for safe keeping got me over a lot of things.  Gotta love him!  He may be grown now but the memories of him being a toddler live on and bring lots of smiles.

Another Near Miss

   I have to admit that early this morning, Mark came in like a knight in shining armor to slay the dragon that was a bit to near.  As much as I hate to kill snakes, if a cottonmouth is too close to the Little Bayou House, it has got to go.  My eyesight is not the best by natural aging so any venomous snake in the Small Gardens is a threat.  This morning, I was pulling grasshoppers off of the petunia plants near the little Frog Pond when I had "that feeling".  Looking down near my feet under the petunias was someone that was definitely not the nicest of friends.  Within seconds, the cottonmouth slid down into the water of the pond and turned to literally glare at me.  I guess I disturbed its morning hunt for frogs.   Thankfully, Mark was nearby and came to my rescue!  He trotted off to get the "snake-grabby-things" from the greenhouse while I kept a watchful eye on the snake that was now a mere three feet from where I was standing.  Moments later, my "Knight in Shining Armor" had the serpent clamped in the jaws of his weapon and I was safe!

  Actually, I am more concerned for others that come to the Bayou.  Visitors may not act as calmly as I do which causes a snake to strike.  A snake rarely wastes its venom on someone or something that it does not deem as a threat.  Had I flailed about while screaming, chances are the snake would have reacted to my (unnecessary) actions.  Also, with venomous snakes, I worry about the grandkids.  Kids, being kids, may not notice as snake that is so well camouflaged.

  The snake was disposed and all is well.  I just wish they would learn to stay down in the marsh where they belong.  Then, we could both live in peace.  All non-venomous snakes are quite welcome to live in the Small Gardens.  I have no qualms about sharing that space with them!  Still, I am thankful that Mark was there to come to my rescue!

There is a painting in that sunrise!

   That time just before the sun shows its face above the pines on the opposite side of the Bayou is my favorite time of day.  Usually by then, I have been up for a while and have most of my indoor chores completed.  I can head to the pier to collect the thoughts before starting in on the garden.  Between the pier and garden, I am not sure which would be called my "favorite place" but that pier sure has a strong hold. I go to watch the sunrise and see Mark off as he heads fishing.  He and I fully agree that "There is nothing like fresh fish for lunch."

  Sometimes, that sunrise can stir the brain a bit and cause the imagination to set in motion.  This probably comes from time spent with my grandparents as they both encouraged my creative endeavors even at a young age.  Granddad, especially, would push me with "Can you see a painting in that sunrise?"  I could and I would try.  My painting abilities never reached the quality that I wished but it matters not.  I still "see" that painting.  

  A couple of days ago, Mark and I were remarking about how the fog had settled in on the marsh just enough to make the sun stay dark until it was well over the tops of the pines.  I took photograph after photograph of this mysterious beauty, all the while, hearing Granddad's voice reminding me to look for the painting.  I can see it.  I wish I could paint it.  Perhaps, Darling Daughter will fulfill that wish for me. Granddad is the inspiration, I will provide the photograph and she can work her magic on the canvas!  

Not Really What I Wanted To Catch!

   So...this morning, I was up bright and early, had coffee and, then, the cat and I headed out the front door.  Bat went his way to check what had happened overnight and I made my way to the pier.  Once there, the pitch blackness of 5am surrounded me with an eerie, cloaked feeling.  As I sat listening to the "daytime" birds starting to twitter, a different sound suddenly surrounded me. Ahh, the pipping of menhaden! Yep, within just a few moments, the entire area was filled with schools of the finest "fishin' size" bait!  Well, that meant only one thing to me...it was time to catch bait and fish a while.  After throwing the net just one time, I had several hundred of the tiny fish.  Two buckets of water gave enough room for about 30 baits.  Now to go shake Mark out of bed so he could join me.

  Our fishing started out with a bang!  Even though we caught nary a "good" fish, the baits were steadily being taken.  Gafftopsails and hardhead catfish were the catches of the day.  This was fine because they both make fine bait for the crab pots.  After landing several, I noticed that my line was acting "funny".  The fish was not taking the bait and running with it but, rather, just nibbling.  Hmm?  I taunted the fish for just a second and...wham!...off it went like a shot.  I jerked back to set the hook and that purely must have angered the monster on my hook.  The drag went to singing and, no matter how I tried, I could not turn the fish.  This tug-o-war was real!  I would gain a few feet of line and the fish would take it (and more) back.  Goodness!  

  The first thought was that I had hooked a huge redfish but it did not take long to realize that was a mistake.  Once I saw mud swirling up from the bottom, I knew just what I had but this rascal must be huge.  I battled.  The fish battled.  Then, finally, I was able to pull it to the top and near the pier.  Mark had the good idea of trying to get it in the scoop net but the fish would not fit in the 22 inch rim. "Just let it be," I told him.  He was determined to land the thing and took the pole from my hands.  I knew I was never going to be able to haul that thing up on the pier.  Snap!  The line broke and the fish glided back under the pier.

  Any fisherman could tell you just what I had hooked.  Yep.  A gigantic stingray had decided my bait was delicious so it took the whole bait, hook and sinker.  Personally, while it saddens me to know the fish has a hook lodged in its mouth, I am glad the line broke.  Let that huge thing live another day.  It deserved life after that battle when all it wanted was breakfast.  Besides, it was not particularly what I wanted to catch.  I was sure hoping for that redfish!

When Searching For Beauty, There Is No Reason To Be Ugly!

   Back in early spring, Mark bought two packets of seeds that were advertised as "rare black, pink and purple hibiscus".  He knows that I love plants of any sort and thought these gorgeous blooms would add greatly to the garden.  Each packet contained twenty+ seeds and, true to the description, every last seed sprouted within days.  I was elated to say the least.  Sometimes, it can be a bit tricky to get seeds to sprout especially when the seller is not someone that is personally known.  I was pleased, to say the least.  Below is the advertised bloom.  It is truly amazing!

  After the plants grew to about three inches tall, I potted them in individual pots and shared some with Darling Daughter and with my sweet sister-in-laws making sure to describe the blooms that were supposed to soon adorn the plants.  They were as excited as I was!  From there, the plants grew rapidly and needed to be put in larger pots so...I repotted.  The hibiscus plants were now in one-gallon pots.  Imagine how much space the nigh on forty remaining plants took.  They grew...larger.  Well...now.  I was running out of pots so twenty-eight hibiscus plants were planted directly in the garden.  Here, in the Deep South, hibiscus shrubs can overwinter with just a healthy mound of mulch covering them...plus, I still had over a dozen in pots.  

  Imagine my surprise when several of the potted plants started setting buds.  A mere three months after planting the seeds, I was to have blooms on my "rare black, pink and purple" hibiscus!  The plants were guarded carefully so the Eastern Lubber Grasshoppers would not munch the buds.  (Those critters will eat anything and everything!)  The plants were carefully watered and moved around to give them optimal lighting.  The plants were watched with great expectations!  Below is the bloom I got!

  Then...this morning...one gorgeous six-inch bloom opened to greet the morning sun!  Oh, happy day!  Except...wait!  I checked the saved seed pouch and it still said "rare black, pink and purple" hibiscus.  Uh..well..umm...no.  No, no, NO!  There was not the combination of colors mentioned.  While the flower was stunning and I love it, it was not black, pink and purple.  Not even close.  It was white.  WHITE!!! Granted it has a deep red throat, the petals are WHITE!  SNOW WHITE!  The bloom is white!  Alrighty, then.  My plans for a midnight-colored garden were abruptly altered.  My only idea is to have these hibiscuses as stars?  Hopefully, some of the other shrubs will have colors as advertised but, for now, I have white.  Lovely...but not what was sold.  Most likely, some of the other plants will produce the lovely, colored bloom as advertised.  If not, I am not disappointed at all since every seed sprouted and turned into healthy plants.  Stray, "throwback" plants are not unheard of and the seller had a great return policy "if not satisfied".  Will I return or complain?  Nope.  I am tickled pink with the hibiscus plants with whatever color they bloom.  Just because something is different than what is expected, when searching for beauty, there is no reason to be ugly.  I will simply look forward to seeing the blooms and continue sharing the plants no matter what color!  Happiness is how you look at things not in what you think they should be.

Box of Nostalgia

   The past month...yes, MONTH...has seen me clearing out, repainting and totally cleaning the upstairs guest bedroom.  It took a month.  It will take another month to get rid of the stuff that I hauled downstairs.  It is amazing that the Little Bayou House has not collapsed from the sheer weight of stuff that has been piled in it.  To be fair, a lot of the clutter upstairs had to be stored there when termites decided to eat the downstairs.  When there is major construction going on, you really do not want to have furniture and knickknacks in the way.  So, I hauled it all upstairs.  This month, I hauled it all back downstairs.  Some has been discarded but it really is important to have chairs at the dining table.  Putting pictures back on the walls was a nice touch, too.  Yep, all of that was upstairs.  All of that and a whole slew of items left behind by my kids when they moved on with their lives.

  I hit a bit of nostalgia with my sorting.  In a box of things that my oldest son had in his room as a kid, I found a bunch of wall plaques.   These things were garage sale finds, flea market purchases or gifts to him when he decided to decorate his room HIS way.  I was all for it.  Nowadays, kids would never be happy doing what he did.  The search for treasures was a huge part of his fun when he was choosing the perfect items.  In this day and age, kids do not want "old things".  It all has to be new and be exactly what everybody else has.  Not my kids.  They loved having the freedom to express themselves.  He did exactly that.  So did the other two.  

  Now, those "treasures" are left for me to dispose, keep or rehome.  As I am going through the boxes, I often wonder if I should have kept the kids' rooms strictly "neat as a pin" instead of letting them have the freedom to decorate as they pleased.  I figure it had a lot to do with letting them develop their own personalities.  I can say that each of them turned out to be pretty great adults.  Maybe that says something...or maybe that says it all.  

The Runaway Barrel

  While cleaning house today, my vacuum cleaner bumped into a small barrel and sent it rolling across the floor.  After retrieving the runaway keg and replacing it on its stand, a thought rang through the brain.  My kids get me the oddest gifts!  Yep, this aging barrel was a gift from my oldest son.  He and his family live on an tiny island way out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean but somehow he managed to come across this little oddity.  After thinking it may come in handy with his occasional "brewing" he tested it for leaks.  Sure enough, it was not watertight nor any other liquid-tight.   It could not be trusted to hold his brews so what else was there to do other than....send it to Mom.  (I actually received this as a Christmas gift!) 

  The little barrel rates right along up there as a favorite gift with the likes of a broken antique typewriter and a zoetrope from my daughter and the clock-repair kit from my youngest son.  Each year, they outdo themselves with the oddities they find to send to Dear Old Mom.  While a lot of mothers would be miffed or, at least, confused at receiving such things, I am as happy as a lark with the gifts.  Why would I want any of the above?  Well, they are things I can use!   My kids know that I am always in a big search for items to use as props or decorations for the Annual Clue Hunt on the Bayou and, when they find something unusual, they nab it for me!  I have the best kids!

  The little runaway barrel would have been a perfect prop for last year's hunt since it was pirate themed but I am quite sure it will find its way into some nook or cranny in the next hunt come October.  I am not sure where...or how it will be used but it will make an appearance.  There are so many possibilities that my head spins!  The runaway barrel had perfect timing, too!  Our plotting of the next hunt has begun and the search is on for props!  October will be here before I know it so I have to get a jump on things!  Well...I have this barrel...now, how can I use it??

Catching Mullet

  During this time of year, it is a common thing to see boats dotting the bay with someone in the front throwing a net.  Mullet school as they are heavy with roe and are heading off shore to spawn.  Each female can lay one to seven million round eggs on the sandy bottom.  Many of the eggs are eaten by other fish but after about thirty-six hours the rest hatch.  The little ones are also fair game for larger fish and even birds.  Many do not make it past their first week of life but those that do, head back to the shallows of the bays and bayous.  There they feed and grow to produce another generation.

  The mullet run occurs in late October and goes on through November. This is the time that local fisherman can catch a literal boatload of the fish.  While a lot of uppity folks claim they would never eat a mullet the fish has pulled a lot of folks through hard times.  Down here in the Deep South, we are grateful for what we have and never pretend we are too highfalutin to eat a mullet.  We know how to clean and fry a mullet so that they are actually delicious!  Its a Southern thing, folks, get over it.

  Mark has been catching his share of the fish, lately.  Since we know that mullet are best eaten the same day they are caught, very few will make it to the freezer.  Most of the fish he catches are cleaned and given to a bunch of our elderly friends.  They appreciate the time and effort that Mark takes to provide them with fresh fish.  Most of them have memories of doing just what he does.  

  The net-throwing takes a bit of skill in itself but when throwing from a boat, you had better have good balance, as well. A small skiff like we use to go "mulleting" (I am not referring to a hairstyle here but a way of catching fish) can shift out from under you in a heartbeat!  Let that boat get full of flippity-floppity fish and it gets a bit slippery so wearing a good pair of non-slip shoes is also a requirement!  Mark has this task down pat and comes home with buckets full of the fish.  An hour later, the fish are cleaned, fried and eaten or delivered to our friends!  Life on the Bayou is good.

Wow! Just Wow!

  This morning, Mark and I headed to the pier.  It was a beautiful day and he just knew the fish would be biting.  He threw out several baits (all we could catch) then picked up the net to catch a mess of mullet.  If you can't catch fish one way, there is always an alternate method!  After catching about twenty mullet, he started to clean the fish.  I headed back to the Little Bayou House to fetch the minnow trap to catch bait. While I was gone, he caught the "Big One"!  

  He knew he had caught a catfish but without looking at what kind it was, he made the comment that it was "the biggest catfish I have ever caught!"  We are accustomed to catching hardhead catfish from the pier.  These are deemed useless for anything except crab bait.  We usually cut the fish and fill the bait boxes of the crab traps but I am sure glad he refrained from cutting this one!  I looked over to see that he caught a huge freshwater catfish!  In fact, the fish was twenty-eight inches long and weighed in just a tad under ten pounds! While this may not be a record-breaking fish by most standards, it is surely the largest freshwater catfish taken from our pier!  What a great catch!

  Mark cleaned the catfish then caught another three dozen or so mullet.  All in all, it was a good day for fishing.  We had a nice lunch of fried fish, gave my brother a full plate of fried fish to take home with him and brought enough fish for two meals to our elderly friends.  We have always felt that sharing the catch assures that our blessings will be repeated in the future and catching fat fish like this one sure makes it easy to have enough to bestow upon others.   

They Are Out There!

  Wasps are some of the most feared of all insects due to the fact that they can attack without warning.  It seems that they can build their nests in the most unexpected places and will protect those nests with a vengeance.  Take one step too close and they've got you!  Running is pointless as the wasps can fly much faster than any of us can move.  In some cases, the entire hive can swarm out and cover you in a matter of seconds.  Hornets and yellow jackets can have a hive of thousands (yes, really) of critters and each of those critters is fierce!  It is best to keep a wary eye out for their nests and not venture too near.  

  Paper wasps nest in much smaller colonies.  Their nests are usually dangling like a little umbrella beneath a sheltered area.  Eaves of houses, branches with thick leaves, benches, conical wind chimes and bird feeders all offer shelter for the wasps.  Even a lumber pile covered with a tarp will suffice.  Yep, that is where the wasps were found today.  Mark found it the hard way and received a couple of stings before he was able to retreat to a safe distance.  Crazy thing is that I work in this area daily and see the wasps in the garden constantly.  Perhaps they are accustomed to my presence.  

  Paper wasps are so named because of their nests.  The nest is made from chewed wood fibers mixed with saliva.  This forms a papery substance which is shaped into the nest with open cells.  Each cell is fitted with a paralyzed insect or caterpillar before a single egg is inserted.  The cell is then capped over for the egg to hatch.  The larvae feasts upon its meal and grows to maturity inside that cell. 

  With all of the bad hype surrounding the paper wasps, they do provide one good service.  These wasps do a fine job of keeping the garden a bit more pest free.  If you can get over the fear of being attacked, the wasps can be viewed as helpful.   I hate killing them but this nest was in a spot that was undesirable.  Mark and Son needed the lumber that was housing the nest. We had no choice but getting rid of the nest and the wasps.   I am sure there are numerous nests around the place so we will have to be a little more careful as we work.  

Enjoying The Bayou Life

  Early this morning, Mark and I headed out to the garden to pick tomatoes.  If we don't gather them, the critters haul them off.  It is frustrating to put so much work into a garden only to have animals ruin it but, as Pop used to say "They have to eat, too."  He would follow that up with a remark of "Next year, we will just have to plant more."  Well, Pop!  That may have been fine and dandy for us back on the farm because the fields could hold a lot more plants than my tiny garden plot.  There is simply no space to "plant more".   The critters need to find another food source.

  After filling our bowls, we decided to walk to the pier.  It was on our way back up the hillside when Mark pointed out a woodpecker in the oak tree.  It turned out that there were actually three birds in that tree!  A mama and two little red-bellied woodpeckers were busy finding breakfast.  While I photographed the birds, Mark was giving me a summary of what was happening.  "She found something and now both babies are fussing over who is getting it."  I continued snapping pictures in hopes of getting that "great" photo.  "They have moved to the pine tree.  Oh, wait.  No, now they are on the other oak."  I had the best guide leading me around the yard while I peered at the camera.  It made life a lot easier to have someone guiding my steps.  

  After a bit, the birds flitted off to a thicket and we continued our walk.  It is the simple things like this that make mornings happy, here on the Bayou.  The birds, fresh tomatoes, hikes or merely time spent together can make the day happier.  It also helped that these birds were not raiding the garden patch!

Moe Is Hungry!

  Late this afternoon, Mark and I slipped out the door to get a bit of fresh air.   It had been drizzling rain most of the day so this was our chance to escape the confines of the Little Bayou House.  Our hike started back by the canebrake and took us the long way around the marsh to the pier.  Ahh...my favorite place to be!  As we walked down the length of the pier, a friend happily awaited our arrival.  Moe, the Great Blue Heron, patiently sat atop one of the pier posts.  As we neared. the bird never moved.  I was within an arm's reach, all the while snapping photos, and he just sat posing for me.  After our photo shoot, I asked Mark to fetch the net so we could reward our sweet friend.

  Mark caught six or eight small mullet and Mr. Moe happily gulped them down.  Then on the last throw, Mark caught several small mullet and one that was rather large.  Well, Moe scooped up one tiny fish then made a leap to grab the big one.  Oh, was he happy!  His belly would be full tonight!

  Mr. Moe struggled to hold onto the large mullet as he flew to the marsh.  He knew better than to try to eat the big fish on the pier.  There was a chance that the fish would flip out of his mouth and back into the water.  In the marsh, there are huge mats of dead reeds that have been tumbled by the tide.  These mats make for a fine place for the birds to dine.  If they drop a fish, it merely falls on the mat and they can readily grab it again.  Moe is smart.  Too smart.  He has figured out that we will feed him and also that the marsh mats make an ideal dining table.  I wonder what he will learn next!  I love this bird.

Should have been a detective!

  In this day and age, there is nothing that a bit of sleuthing won't find.  That interesting place called the Internet is the speediest way to find what you are seeking.  It is there.  Trust me.  It is there.  Everything is there.  In a grand total of about 3 seconds, thousands upon thousands of likely "suspects" are rounded up, sorted and laid out for you to investigate.  It does not take long before a hit has taken place and everything falls into place.  

  Yesterday while I was "purging" the Little Bayou House (this is an ongoing chore!), I came across something that my oldest son had salvaged from his Papa's shed. Pop's shed (and barn) was a wealth of intriguing prizes to a curious pre-teenage boy.  He could scrounge to his heart's content and lay claim to any number of spider-web blanketed, dust encrusted treasures.  And he often did.  At one point (as most boys that age), he was highly interested in anything to do with automobiles.  Boys' dreams seem to always involve cars, boats, knives and guns.  I dealt with it and usually gave in to their whims as long as they promised not to do bodily harm to each other.  But, back to the find of the day.  At one point, my son acquired several old hubcaps from Pop's shed.  He asked and he received.  Pop was eager to share his treasures with his grandson.   The hubcaps came to the Little Bayou House and have been here since.  

  Now came the curiosity.  Just what automobile used to sport this fancy hubcap?  I asked several of my mechanic/classic car aficionados if they recognized the hubcap.  I received several different answers but none seemed "quite" right.  Sooo...I took it upon myself to do a search.  I took the photo, did a reverse photo search and there was my hubcap!  It was easy!  I felt proud of myself and went back to set the record straight with the others.  Yay for me! 

  Anyway, just as a matter of record, the aforementioned hubcap once belonged on a 1950 Oldsmobile 98 Sedan.  Makes sense now since Pop owned several Oldsmobiles back in the day along with a Studebaker, a bevy of Jeeps, a 1957 Chevy Truck and, at one point, a Cadillac. Of course, nary a one of these was new but were used ones that were deemed "unfixable" until Pop got them.  He was an amazing mechanic along with being a farmer.  Each vehicle was restored and used until he got something else to repair.  Then, he would sell the previous one.  Growing up with all of these vehicles was a lot like an automotive version of the party game Musical Chairs!

  At least, I know the make and model of the hubcap's vehicle.  I was advised not to toss it in the garbage but rather try to find a buyer for the cap.  The classic car craze has boosted the prices on what used to be junk.  Wait!!  Maybe I should go check my son's old room once again!  There may be millions of dollars worth of junk in there!  I'm rich!!!  Ok, maybe not.

I Was Wrong

 Unlike some folks, when I am wrong, I am wrong and I admit it.  No problem.  Why argue a dead point?  If a mistake is made, own up to it.  Do not try to justify your mistaken ideas.  Do not try to prove the other person wrong.  Just say "I was mistaken." and let it go.  SO...that said...I owe my husband an apology.  I was wrong.  He was right.  I had long disbelieved something about a critter here on the Bayou.  I fully thought it was a myth that male catfish will actually brood the eggs after the female lays them.  I had to see it before I believed it.  Well, I saw it so now I am a believer.  He does, indeed, carry them in his mouth.  During the month or so of brooding the eggs, the male catfish does not eat.  He survives on built up fat in his body.  Sometimes even after the eggs hatch, the little ones will linger in his mouth for protection from predators.  He guards them until it is safe for them to be on their own.  Discovering this, I have a new found appreciation for the lowly hardhead catfish.  

  Late this afternoon, I headed to the pier.  It had been a long day of pushing the lawnmower about the hillside and I needed a break.  As usual, Moe, the heron, visited making net-throwing a necessity.  The bird was hungry so I caught him a few little mullet.  Also in the net, was a medium sized hardhead catfish.  My first thought was to use the catfish as crab bait so I shook him free from the net and picked him up to de-horn him.  There was no use in getting stabbed by one of those prongs!  That hurts!  It was then that I noticed his bulging lower jaw.  Hmmm...interesting.  Just about that time, poor Daddy Catfish gasped for breath and three eggs fell out of his mouth!  Oops!  After a few photographs, Daddy Catfish was gently placed back in the water with his horns intact!  Hopefully, he will find the three errant eggs that were also dropped back into the water.

  So, Mark, I cede to your wisdom on this matter!  I have lived on or near the Bayou all of my life and never knew about the struggles of the male catfish.  I have learned something new and interesting!

Herons Have Feet!

  Earlier today, Mark and I headed to the pier.  I had one of those days where the best thing to do was escape.  The pier and all of its peace beckoned so I heeded the call.  There I can relax and the cares of the world cannot reach me.  While there, I decided to catch a few little mullet to feed the young heron.  A few days ago, the poor, little rascal was attacked by a large male heron.  Obviously, the larger, older male was defending its territory and the youngster was viewed as a threat.  I was happy to see the young bird back begging for handouts.  The bird and I have bonded somewhat.  As I was tossing mullet the young bird, I asked Mark to photograph my attempts at hand feeding the critter.  This did not go well.  Both the bird and Mark had problems with my feeding attempts.  The bird was not overly confident about being so close to me and, well, Mark was new to this "behind the camera" bit.  I am the one usually taking the pictures but he humored me and tried.

  The first dozen or so photographs are great if you ever wanted to study the feet of a Great Blue Heron.  For some reason, that is all that Mark captured with the camera.  Eleven photographs of a bird's feet are comical if nothing else.  After a bit, however, Mark got it right and captured some great photos but none of me hand feeding the heron since the bird did not cooperate.  Obviously, its going to take a some patience to tame the bird enough to give it a mullet "up close and personal". 

  The young heron will most likely be chased from the area soon.  While herons usually nest in colonies of up to 500 birds, they will defend their feeding territories from intruders.  Most of the time, they have no problem with other Great Blues but they are know to chase other birds and even humans away.  My little friend was the recipient of a rather rude bump on the head by the larger bird but he still came back to beg for handouts.  Training one to accept food from the hand is a long, drawn out process but I have the patience.  Plus!  This gives Mark a little more practice with the camera!

Come on, Christmas!

  A bit of Christmas came to the Bayou this afternoon.  Mark made a quick run to the corner store and, along with the things on the list, came home with two "Santa" hats.  These were supposedly for Darling Daughter and me to wear during the holiday season.  I do not wear hats...at least, I do not wear Santa hats.  I am not a cutesy person so that thing is better off used as a decoration.  Still, we had a brilliant idea!  Lets let the dog wear it!  Mr. PJ was thrilled....well, probably not thrilled or even remotely happy about it.  He was more likely just humoring us by tolerating the thing on his head. 

  Since my son, daughter-in-law and grandlittles are off on some faraway island and since they are the actual family belonging to the dog, it seemed to be a grand idea to take a photograph of the dog and send it to them.  He was having no part of this idea.  First off, he is not a fan of being photographed.  (I think the flash bothers him.)  Second, the hat thing was fast becoming a point of irritation.  So, Santa came to the rescue!  Santa (aka Hubby) donned the other hat, sat in a chair by the Christmas Tree and petted Mr. PJ.  This eased the angst a bit with the dog.  He was patient enough for me to get one picture...one.  There was no getting the "second, just-in-case" photograph. As soon as the camera clicked once, he was out of there!  The hat went flying,  Santa Mark started laughing and I had to be satisfied with what I got.  

  So, Come on, Christmas!  We are ready!  We have our hats, tree and Christmas dog all ready to go.  Christmas on the Bayou is in full swing.  Merry Christmas, folks!

42 Pounds and a Good Friend

  Every year, my husband drives to Alabama to purchase 100 pounds of pecans.  These are in-shell but cracked.  We give a good many of the pecans as gifts to friends and coworkers but the remainder is mine to do with as I see fit.  Since I bake a lot, the nuts come in mighty handy!  This year, "mine" came out to be just about 42 pounds.  That is a lot of pecans to shell by yourself!  Thank goodness, my good friend came to help.  Darlene had gotten ten pounds of pecans so we shelled hers first then set to work on the ones that I was to keep. She has been doing this for the past couple of years and it sure saves me a lot of work.  Shelling 42 pounds of pecans by yourself is a tedious task.  With her here, we did it in a record time of about 3 hours!!  Of course, in that 3 hours we also took a couple of coffee breaks (Well, I did. She had lemonade.), did a lot of talking and an equal amount of laughing.  The time flew by and we were almost sad to see the box get empty.

  After shelling that many pecans, it is only natural for me to bake.  Son put in a request for the Pecan Tassies (recipe included in "Cooking on the Bayou" page on this blog) so...Pecan Tassies it was.  This is the second batch of these tasty treats that I have made this season.  He loves them, as does just about everyone who tastes the treats.  Since Darlene had helped with the pecan shelling and baking, she took a good many tassies home with her.  Her son loves them just about as much as mine does.  The rest of the pecans were air-dried, bagged and stuck in the freezer for future baking.

  Pecans are one of those so-called "super" foods that can lead to a healthier body.  With their high protein and "good" fats, they are a great alternative to meat.  Personally, since I am a pesco-vegetarian, I am always on the lookout for meat substitutes.   Meat seems to not agree with me in so many ways physically, that I have totally given up trying to eat it.  (Seafood is a different story, though!)  Eating tree nuts provides a tasty alternative.  These pecans are my healthy choice! (As long as I do not eat too many tassies!)

  

The Trap!

  Back when he was a small child, my oldest son was obsessed with the TV show "MacGyver".  He so wanted to be the man he was watching create all sorts of nifty things out of everyday stuff.  He even went so far as convincing his Papa that he "needed" a Swiss Army Knife and a roll of Duck Tape.  (Yes, it really is Duck Tape.)  The knife was a story in itself but this is more about the ingenuity behind the man featured in the show.  Mark was so bent on copying this man's every move that he started creating traps...for everything.  He set a net trap to capture his brother and sister. Possum traps, squirrel traps, minnow traps....he made them all.  He found he could bend trees over and make spring traps.  His poor dad caught the brunt of his creativity as each day, a new trap was set to "capture Dad"!   None of us were safe from his contraptions but it was ok by me.  He was being creative but also learning new methods of making things work.  The show was inspiring my kid to learn and invent and that was great by me.  Today as an adult, there is just not a lot of things that can stump my son.  He always figures out how to make things work with just what is on hand.  I guess you can say that his time in front of the TV was put to good use.

  This morning as I headed out the back door, I would have sworn that my son was back in town and setting traps to catch me off guard.  On either side of the back steps there is a nice size pear tree.  Spanning from tree to tree.....right across the steps....was the finest of all traps.  A spider had spent the night spinning the most beautiful web and this web was heavy laden with droplets of water.  Overnight a heavy fog had rolled in off the water and coated everything in its path.  The spiderweb was dripping with the jewel-like droplets!  I am sure glad that I noticed the web before walking smack dab into it!

  Seeing that spiderweb brought back memories of being caught up in some of Mark's string traps.  Balls and balls of kite string were wound through, around, under and over furniture and doorways.  It was his idea that if anyone ever broke into the Little Bayou House, he would capture them before they could rob the place. I think that I was the only one he ever caught.  Just try being a bleary-eyed, sleep-deprived mom stumbling her way to the kitchen pre-coffee only to be ensnared in a webbing of kite string.  The more I would turn, the more I became tangled.  Oh, the memories!  And...oh, how I would give anything to be back in those days!