Not an ounce of truth...

  It was a grey morning here on the Bayou...grey and chilly.  As I grow older, the winter's chill gets to me.  I feel it now whereas cold never bothered me in the past.  Perhaps it is a rite of passage.  When you are young and full of energy, even the weather does not stop you but as you age, lingering a bit longer around the old woodstove is necessary.  You deserve it. I deserve it.  So...I did linger...but not before a quick run down to the pier.  That comes without thinking...just do it.  Every last morning after the first mug of coffee, the stroll down the hillside and to the end of the pier is a necessity.

  This morning, only a young raccoon was found out and about.  The little fellow was putting into practice all of the hunting and fishing skills he was taught last year.  Belly deep in the cold water did not seem to bother him at all as his front paws skillfully swished around in the mud.  This lesson was taught by his mother and, obviously, he learned it well.  Swish!  Swish!  A tiny crab was caught and the coon had a bit of breakfast.

  Oddly enough, most of us were taught that raccoons wash their food by swishing it around in water.  After watching the critters, it is easy to see that there is not an ounce of truth in that lesson.  Raccoons have a very highly established sense of touch.  Water heightens that in the coon's paws.  When you see one "washing" its food, it is actually "feeling" it.  A raccoon knows exactly what it finds underwater or in the mud and has no desire to cleanse it.  This is its hunting technique.  A coon does not "look" for food...it "feels" for it. When you think about it, the method is spectacular.  Since the raccoon "feels" for its food, it can keep its head up and be alert for predators.  

  The little coon worked the shallows for a while before scampering into the marsh.  It was bedtime for the little one.  Either it would hole up under some of the marsh mats or work his way up the hill to burrow down in a hollow tree.  Come nightfall, he will be back on "active duty" hunting for enough food to fill his belly.  Me?  I headed back to the Little Bayou House for another mug of coffee and the warmth of the woodstove.

Mr. Sunbeam In My Garden!

  Being isolated here on the Bayou (due to health reasons), it is important that I do not fall into depression.  Any lapse can lead to boredom.  I am not as fortunate as others who can whisk in and out without a care.  I am under doctor's orders to steer clear of any potential illnesses for the time being.  That is fine.  I can manage.  Early on in the pandemic, it was common to hear "Two weeks of quarantine is an infringement of my rights!".  Try two years, folks.  Two years and counting.  But...it is ok.  I will deal.  I find things to entertain myself.  Thankfully, (as Son has often stated), I am easily entertained.  

 

  This morning's entertainment came in the form of a sunbeam that insisted on playing in the garden.  I was out early trying to replant the broccoli that the armadillos dug out overnight when I noticed an errant sunbeam shooting down through the garden.  I say "errant" as all of the other sunbeams were happily playing down near the marsh edge.  This one came visiting me.  This delighted me to the point where I spent the time watching just where the beam would go next.  (Yes, I am grasping, at this point.)

  When the beam lit upon the last marigolds in the garden, I just had to photograph my "new found friend".  For a good two minutes, the beam dappled the marigold plant with its glorious light.  Then, as quickly as it came, the sunbeam scampered off to join its siblings near the marsh.  My morning visit had ended.  Now there are those who will claim that this is a bit of senility setting in but I beg to differ.  It is purely a matter of keeping entertained enough to ride through this phase.  Once my health improves or people gather enough sense to stop spreading viruses, things will change.  In the meantime, however, I will keep chasing sunbeams or even moonbeams...whichever comes out to play while I am in the Small Gardens.   (Being Queen of the Small Gardens gives me that power!)

The Right Place To Be

   Photography is a lot like life, in general.  You pretty much have to be in the right spot at the right time to make anything work.  Lighting also helps...in both cases.  I figure I must be in the right spot, here on the Bayou.  Things are working out well and I am at peace here so it has to be "right".

  This morning, the photography skills got a workout.  As soon as I stepped out the door, I heard a pileated woodpecker pounding on the oak tree just to my right.  Getting a good shot without scaring the huge bird took some doing!  I managed to ease my way into position but, since the sun was not cooperating, the lighting was all wrong.  Well, let me just ease a bit more.  I did. I got the shot.  All was well. 

  Then, the garden blooms caught my eye. Wow!  That rising sun was putting a spotlight right on the Althea bush!  The bird was soon forgotten and I turned to photograph the flowers.  Just imagine, I was not even ten feet from my front door and already had taken over 30 photographs.  It was a picturesque sort of day!  

  The Althea bush is one that my granddad gave to me over 40 years ago.  It has been scorched by a house fire (our first home), ravaged by horrific winds of Hurricane Katrina and, also, completely submerged in Katrina's floods.  After that storm, I potted the little scrap of tattered bush and left it.  Each year, it blooms profusely.  Today, I decided that I really need to take cuttings of the bush and start rooting more.  It brings such happy memories along with those purple blooms! I really must be in the right place...at the right time.  

The Pier And A Visitor

  While it is far from being complete, it is sure nice to be back on the pier again.  Rebuilding the entire thing after Hurricane Zeta decided to crash it, has been an ordeal, to say the least.  Plus, with the limitations set on me, I can do very little to help Son.  It is hard work and I feel terrible not being able to haul the planks to him.  He insists that I do "light" work.  My heart insists I do light work.  My brain still thinks the body should be in high gear.  Too bad.

  This morning, I was able to get about three quarters of the way to the end of the pier.  The large platform where we usually fish is still up the hillside somewhere.  It felt good to be this far!  While I was enjoying the morning, an egret flew in to visit for a spell.  This is "Bianca".  She has been around for quite some time now and is totally confused as to why I am not feeding her.  She would often come after Moe, the Great Blue Heron had left for the day.  Bianca is a small Snowy Egret who surely did not want to compete for handouts with the much larger Moe.

  Bianca and I sat for the longest time just enjoying each other's company.  I am sure she, too, will be grateful when the pier is complete.  For now, she forages on the mudflats.  A bit of unproven lore is that Snowy Egrets have an innate ability to recognize venomous snakes over non-venomous. Like I said...unproven but seems likely. These birds will happily gobble down a small water snake but will avoid the cottonmouths.  Smart birds!  

Every Morning

   Across the Bayou there is a housing development that has huge, expensive homes.  This is in high contrast to the Little Bayou House.  It is neither...but it is home...and it is exactly what I prefer.  Not that I have any misgivings about people who wish to have their fancy homes, it is just not for me.  I do enjoy seeing the homes and I am sure the people who own them are fine folks.  I will stick where I am comfortable, though.  Also across the way, is a gazebo-shaped clubhouse for the people who live in those fine homes.  The gazebo is right in line with my view of the sunrises so I have become very familiar with it.  In fact, it is probably one of the most photographed buildings in this area.  Every morning, I take photographs of the dawn and sunrise.  EVERY MORNING...every last morning that gazebo has its picture taken.  I have thousands of pictures of a place that I have never stepped inside.  

  Several years ago, I showed my daughter some of the photographs and she dubbed the gazebo "The House of the Rising Sun".  Yes, we know that is a song and there is an actual inn with the same name down in New Orleans.  Our "House" is none of the aforementioned.  It is just a gazebo that is in line of the sunrise.  During certain times of the year, the sun illuminates the entire inner portion of the clubhouse and literally makes it glow...thus, "House of the Rising Sun",

  Since the pier is still in the process of being repaired, I have to settle for different positions of photographing the sunrises.  I cannot get my usual "perfect" shots but the time spent is still my favorite.  The peace is still there.  It is all good.

Singing Loud And Clear!

  For the longest time, one bird's song puzzled me.  Deep under the thatched marsh mats, a squeaky, trilling sound could be heard each morning.  The song almost reminded me of a squeaky wheel that was on my son's little red wagon some thirty-five years ago.  That wheel squeaked from the time we got the wagon and I never oiled it even though Pop tried so many times.  I informed Pop that it was my "security system"!  I always knew where my toddler was as long as I could hear that squeaky wheel!  The bird was a different story, however, as I never knew exactly where the song was being sung.  Yes, under the marsh mats was a general area but a huge area.   I figured it had to be some shore bird that kept far beneath the mats as protection.

  Then, one icy morning, I ventured to the pier to sit and observe.  Surely, the bird had to surface at some time and it seemed to greet the morn with its song on a daily basis.  I waited.  And waited. And waited.  From the sheer volume of the song, I figured this had to be a bird of some heft.  No tiny tyke could possibly sing that loud!  I was wrong.  Once the bird finished praising the morning's first light, the sound changed to a wee chipping.  Out popped a tiny head then the entire bird.  This was a Swamp Sparrow!  Goodness!  How in the world can those tiny lungs push out that loud song?  Mystery was solved, however, and I was pleased with the outcome as I love these little birds.  They are so resourceful and smart....and now I know they have a powerful song!

  The Swamp Sparrow blends well with its surroundings which gives it great protection as it flits through the marsh in search of food.  During the cold winter months, the small birds take protection from the elements under the marsh mats that were piled high during the summer.  Rarely does the tide get high enough to soak the mats during the winter months so the birds have a dry, snug home.  

  This afternoon, I ventured out long enough to head to the pier.  It had been raining all day but now only a slight drizzle muffled my footsteps.  As I neared the water's edge, a soft chipping could be heard.  Yep, my little friend, the Swamp Sparrow, was busy hunting any seeds or insects that could be found.  Soon, it would dart back beneath its shelter and spend the night in comfort.  It never ceases to amaze me how some of the tiniest creatures can survive in the harsh world of the marshes.  This little one seems to do well....I am glad.

On High Alert For The Marsh Monster!

  As a rule, the cat and I are the first to awake in the morning and it is our habit to spend a good ten minutes snuggling before either of us rises.  She loves to get her ears scratched before starting her day.  Then, Ms. Nycto decides that it is breakfast time so we venture into the kitchen for her to eat and me to brew the first pot of coffee of the day.  Our morning ritual rarely varies.  After her meal, she goes outside to wander the hillside.  She has to make sure that nothing has changed over the course of the night.  I usually head to the pier at the same time.  After a bit, the cat joins me and we head back to the Little Bayou House.

  This morning, things went as usual but when she trotted herself out the front door, she turned in her tracks and trotted right back up the steps, raced inside and hid under the big rocking chair in the corner of the room.  She was not budging from her hiding spot! Well, now!  I pondered what could have scared my sweet cat to the point that she refused to go outside.  I peered out in the near darkness of the early dawn and could see nothing intimidating.  Well, if the cat was not going out in the dark....I was not either!  This was a case of being led by a cat's intuition.

  About an hour later, she and I both headed out the door.  She was still leery but made her rounds as usual.  I did not go to the pier as I had chores to do in the garden and it was already getting late. She did but was not the happiest of cats.  Once there, she stared down into the marsh as if there was some monster hiding beneath the marsh mats.  Ms. Nycto was on high alert!  It did not take her long to scurry back up the hillside to be near me and, as soon as my chores were complete, she was ready to retreat to her hiding spot beneath the chair.  She made no noise about going out again all day.  

  I am still not sure just what frightened the cat so much that she refused to bask in the sunshine but something strange must have wandered about the yard last night and, perhaps, was still there this morning.  I may just have to set up the night camera to catch our "monster" in the act of traipsing around the hillside.  It would be interesting to find out what is out there!  My poor Ms. Nycto!  

Good for the soul...

  I was up all last night but not because I wanted to be.  Circumstances demanded that sleep was not to be had so it only seemed natural to wander to the pier early in the morn.  That is where I find solace in things out of my control.  That is where I find the peace that settles deep within the soul.  That is where my cares leave with the darkness as the sun brightens the eastern sky.  That is my little piece of paradise. This morning, all of that inner peace was needing replenishing and the Bayou did not fail me.  The bit of sunrise therapy worked wonders on the emotions and allowed me to face the day undaunted.  

  It has often been said that there is one place and one time that belongs to each person.  Obviously, I am a very old soul that roams the inner parts of the Bayou.  It draws me as does any other swamp.  I belong there.  The mystical, magical air of the Bayou is all it takes.  Tonight, I shall rest easy knowing all is well and I have done my best.  

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.

Out Before Dawn

  It was still dark when I slipped out the back door to head to the pier.  I had to be stealthy as to not wake the entire household.  Had I gone out the front door, the old dog would have wanted to go but he has problems on the pier.  Better let sleeping dogs lie...  Had I gone out the west door, the grandlittles would have heard the squeak and jumped out of bed.  Better let parents get a bit of sleep.  So, I headed out the back door and let everyone enjoy a bit more snoozing time.  It appeared that I was the only one who could not sleep so there was nothing else to do but go to the pier.

  As I eased my way across the frosty boards, a strange squeaking sound greeted me.  I knew in a moment that  some baby raccoons were searching for breakfast on the mudflats.  There have been two little rascals raiding the compost pile for the past few weeks.  Obviously, their hunger had pushed them to search for little crabs instead of eating wilted lettuce leaves and eggshells from the compost.  As I neared the marsh line, I could hear the two squabble a bit.  Perhaps one had found a crab and the other wanted it.  My little friends were so busy fussing that they did not hear my footsteps on the pier boards.  The coons were oblivious to my presence.  

  After a bit, one raccoon meandered down the flats to enter the marsh but one cutie stayed near the per and let me watch his funny antics.  The raccoons are adorable critters when they are tiny.  This morning's duo looked to be about six to eight months old.  They were large enough to be foraging on their own although they may be returning to the den to rest.  The young will snuggle together to ward off the cold during their first winter together then will separate and go their merry ways.  Cute, little rascals!  I am glad I made the trek to the pier before dawn. 

The Mad Dash

  There is nothing like getting out of bed before dawn, dragging oneself to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee only to notice that something incredible is happening outside.  After grabbing the camera and a few extra batteries, a mad dash to the pier takes place.  That hurried pace is all to catch an amazing sunrise.  

  The time of gorgeous sunrises and sunsets has fallen upon us with the change of seasons.  Late fall and all of winter sees the sky in a kaleidoscope of colors but to observe this phenomenon, you have to be quick.  There is no lallygagging about once the show begins.  Within a matter of minutes, the scene can change from spectacular to blah so I keep the camera, shoes and a jacket near the south door of the Little Bayou House. 

  This morning's sunrise did not disappoint.  I had fully expected to do the usual routine of coffee, laundry and the feeding of pets but once I stepped into the laundry room, I was thrown into a frenzy.  The east windows let in enough of the deep red sunbeams to turn everything exciting.  I was out of there even before the old dog had awaken!  Sorry, PJ!  There is no time to wait!  I'll feed you when I get back!  Bam!  The screen door slammed behind me!  Wow!......Look at that!

Another Injury

  It saddens me to find so many critters hurt around the Bayou and, more oft than not, this pain is caused by humans.  It seems as if people have no respect for wild animals.  I admit that most of the time, the injuries are not intentional but are due to gross neglect of the environment.  Critters have every right to live a peaceful life free from our garbage cluttering up their world.  It is not uncommon for people to "clean" their houses but then throw everything in the dump...or in this case, in the water.  Critters have no idea what can cause harm to them and will regularly visit areas where people toss things...yes, even the dump.  They ingest, become ensnared or simply get too close to things that have been discarded.  People! Use commonsense.  Stop tossing your junk in the critters' living spaces!

  This morning as I was out walking the old dog, I noticed a friend in need.  A pelican was resting on the pier.  The bird did not look well.  Something seemed off by just the way the bird was sitting.  Knowing that I could not venture down on the pier with the old dog in tow, I sadly turned away and headed back up the hillside.  Mr. PJ came first.  The bird would have to wait.

  Later, Mark and I eased our way down the pier to where the pelican was still sitting.  About thirty feet from the bird, Mark stopped and let me try to slip up to the bird.  We figured the pelican would be more at ease with just one human approaching.  I was able to get within about five feet from the bird before it became jittery.  There was definitely something lodged in its throat and from the appearance of it, I would venture a guess that it was fishing gear of some sort.  There was definitely a fishing line dangling from the bird's bill.  Poor baby!  I needed to get to him so I could help!

  Even though I spent a good bit of time talking with the bird and letting it get used to my presence, I could not get near enough to help.  The bird did seem to be almost asking for help as it looked at me with the saddest eyes.  Tomorrow, I will try again.  Perhaps if I can coax it near to me, I can dislodge whatever the poor bird has caught in its throat.  Otherwise, it will surely die a slow and painful death.  I did contact my cousin who has an amazing knack for taming wild animals.  She said that in the morning, she will walk the marsh hunting for our friend.  Hopefully between the two of us, we can save this majestic creature.  Now, if I could only knock some sense into ignorant people who do not properly dispose of their junk!!!

The Pier...A Meeting Place For Friends

  It is not uncommon for folks to want to meander down to the pier when they come to visit the Bayou.  It seems as if the pier is, not only my favorite place, but is that of most people.  The water calls and we answer.  There is just something calming hearing the waves, the shorebirds and the silence....yep, the silence.  Being away from the hustle and bustle of the outside world makes the Bayou intriguing yet peaceful.  The pier is a gathering place for friends.

  Not all friends who use the pier are of the people sort.  In fact, there are more critter friends making use of the place than people.  Pelicans, seagulls, terns...all rest there.  Ospreys use the posts as perches as they scan the waters.  Ducks, geese and cormorants have come to visit.  Turtles, otters, rice rats, possums and fox have wandered down the walk.  Lizards and snakes sun themselves on the planks. Any number of critters visit on a daily (or nightly) basis.

  This morning, Mark and I made a hasty trek to the pier then hurried back to the Little Bayou House.  Ahead of a cold front, rain was threatening so staying was out of the question.  If it had just been us, we would not have been worried but the old dog, Mr. PJ, does not move as quickly as he once did.  As soon as we were back inside, I turned to flip the latch on the door when I saw that we had just missed one of our friends.  A half-grown raccoon was ambling up the pier toward the shoreline.  He would stop to sniff each spot where the old dog's feet had patted up the planks. He was alert but seemed calm as he walked. He was in no hurry even after he saw me coming down the pathway toward him.  This little raccoon is often seen near or on the pier.  He is used to my presence and that of the old dog.  

  After a few moments of searching for a bit of breakfast, the little coon slid off the pier and worried a few fiddler crabs before climbing into the nearby oak tree.  Once there, he nibbled a few acorns before choosing the perfect spot to sleep the day away.  This little night critter was ready for a snooze!

Working the flats

  It is that time of year when the north wind starts to push the tides out a bit further and further.  The pier will soon not have enough water to cover the crab traps and they will have to be stored until spring.  While this low, low tide is not the ideal time for fishing from the pier for us, it is perfect for the critters that scavenge the mudflats left open.  After being covered for so long, the mud houses many small crabs, shrimp and other shellfish.  When the tide goes out and exposes the mud to open air, shore critters  make haste to scavenge for breakfast.

  Early this morning, I eased my way to the pier.  It was the perfect morning to be out since all was quiet.  After I reached the point where the marsh meets the water, I noticed that the tide was out and the all important mudflats were exposed.  Thinking this might be a good critter-watching time, I settled in for a spell.  It did not take long before my first guest arrived.  A half-grown raccoon wobbled his way out of the marsh and immediately started "fishing",  Those little front paws swished the water until it was muddied which confused the tiny shrimp that had collected in the two inches of water.  Overnight, the tiny shrimp moved to the safety of the shallows but now, a predator had found them!  The little coon was smart enough to know that confusing the shrimp would allow him to catch more.  After getting a dozen or so of the tiny morsels, the raccoon moved on to bigger and better things,  He started digging for the small crabs that were buried in the mud.  After just a couple of tries, I could here the crunching of a shell.  The coon had a crab!  Breakfast was served to a hungry raccoon!

  The mudflats see a lot of action during the winter months.  Besides the raccoons, many shorebirds, fox, otters and even the bobcats will visit and dine upon what they find.  They all know that the flats provide easy pickings if they do not mind getting a bit muddy.  The pier provides me with a front row seat for this never-ending show!

No Rest For The Weary

  The past few days have been particularly tiresome.  Our old refrigerator (the Big Ugly as I named it) decided that it was time to go on the blink Sunday night.  This was a most inopportune time as deliveries from our local Home Depot are only made on Fridays.  What was I to do?   Son tinkered with the gigantic white elephant of a frig and finally got it going enough to keep things cool.  Great!  Except for the fact that the fan was not working on its own, all was good.  Every hour or so, one of us had to go to the kitchen, reach down behind the frig and twirl the fan to get it started.  While I was appreciative of any bit of cooling the old frig could give and I did not mind getting out of bed to twirl a fan, it began to get tiresome after the first night.  No sleep makes for a confused brain and achy body.  Normally, I am an early riser.  Watching the sun rise above the pines gives me great joy and a time to meditate before the hustle and bustle of the day begins.  This morning, however, I really...REALLY...wanted to snooze just a bit more.  That bed felt all too comfortable!  Then the unimaginable occurred and I was forced to tumble out of bed regardless of my thoughts of otherwise.

  Caw!  Caw!  CAW! CAW!  Oh, good grief!  Right outside of the open window a crow decided to welcome the day by yelling its fool head off while in the black gum tree.   Ok, so one bird would probably be met by the bazillion blue jays of the neighborhood watch of the critter world and be chased far down the hill...hopefully.  Then the first calling bird was joined by another, then another and yet another until just about every crow in the county was sitting outside my window!  What was up with that???  Well, me, for one.  With all that racket, I just had to check it out.

  By the time I dressed and slipped on my shoes, several more crows were flapping their way to my front yard.  This was ridiculous!  Camera in hand, I slipped out the door to investigate the invasion.  All I could think was "Why are you not here in October for the clue hunt?"  (How perfect would that be??)  I edged my way closer to the crows who had now moved down the hillside to the tall oak tree.  Dozens of the large birds were still causing a ruckus and were now being joined by the blue jays.  The jays were attacking the crows, the crows were yelling and I was standing in drizzling rain pondering the whole situation.  Then, in spite of all that cacophony, I heard a weaker call.  An almost whispering "caw" came from a nearby pine tree.  My attention turned to that bird.  

  Yep!  There was the cause of all the uproar.  A fledgling crow was learning to fly!  Obviously, that old adage about taking a village to raise a child holds true in the crow world.  One baby leaves the nest and it is a countywide event!  That is fine.  I am all for baby birds taking flight.  I am all for adult birds guarding it during its trial run.  I am not all for it happening right outside my window at 5am when I am suffering from an extreme lack of sleep!!!  GO AWAY, SILLY CROWS!  AND TAKE THOSE LOUD-MOUTHED JAYS WITH YOU!!!  Grrr!

Its Magical!

  It should come as no great surprise that I think the Bayou is a pretty magical place.  Things here have a way of, well, just being a bit different than other places.  What may seem to be perfectly mundane one day can be quite mystical the next.  It all depends on how you look at things or, rather, how you see things,  I have often said that looking at things and seeing them are two different things.  Seeing is far better.  

  This morning's hike felt a bit different from the get go.  The old dog was not up to gallivanting about the hillside at daybreak so I traipsed the path alone.  As I rounded the bend near where the Bayou meets the creek, a sweet, almost intoxicating scent enveloped me.  Ahh, yes, the tree that folks around here call mimosa (actually, albizia) was in full bloom.  As I stood staring up at the pink, powder-puff flowers, it suddenly hit me that this was one of those magical, mystical moments.   

  Over night, a slight fog had settled over the marsh and softly wafted through the trees.  The early morning sunbeams were just starting to filter through and had seemingly spotlighted the mimosa tree.  There it stood...glowing in all its glory...a thing of untold beauty in the midst of the woods.  I fully expected some faeries to start flitting about the blossoms at any moment.  

  There is nothing better than hiking about the place at dawn.  It is a time when the newness of the day can not only be seen but heard, smelled, tasted and felt.  It is a sensory overload!  That saying "You snooze, you lose!" is accurate.  Had I laid in bed, I would have never seen the beauty set before me.  

Be Quiet! I Am Trying To Nap!

  Normally, I would say that blue jays are not my favorite birds.  They are raucous, eat my fruit and do not play well with the smaller songbirds.  I prefer those who can get along with other critters and let things stay happy on the Bayou. I will say, however, that occasionally the birds are good to have around the place.  In their defense, they do eat a lot of bugs, chase off the crows that feast on other birds eggs and make lots of noise.  Yep, that same cacophony that is often irritating, can also be a lifesaver of sorts.  The blue jays are the alarm system of the avian world.  Let one snake slither into sight and the alarms can be heard for miles.  Let a hawk, fly overhead and every bird and small critter knows to take cover because of the shrill yells.  Let a sleepy owl be discovered and it has to find a new snoozing spot because the jays scream bloody murder.  They do their part of protecting critters from a possible predator.

  This morning, I was sitting in the rocking chair looking out over the calm waters of the Bay.  The morning air was cool coming through the screen doors and I had a mug of hot coffee in hand.  All was right with the world or at least with my little spot of paradise.  Then, one jay started yelling breaking the silence of the morn.  Within fifteen seconds another blue jay joined the fun.  Then another and another and yet another.  Soon a dozen or more jays were in the top of a nearby pine tree.  They were joined by a bevy of other birds.  Woodpeckers, thrashers, wrens, cardinals...all were there to see what the trouble was and to help scare it from the area.

  Ok, so curiosity got the best of me and I left my comfy spot to go investigate what was causing all of the commotion.  It took me a few moments to find the jays' target but, just as I thought, it was a potential predator.  A beautiful owl was perched on a high limb in the same pine tree.  With my presence, the jays soon decided to depart which encouraged the other songbirds to go about their business as well.  The owl, on the other hand, stared at me groggily as if to say "May I please get some sleep?"  Yep, Mr, Owl! Take a nap!

Tipptity-tip

  Early this morning as I stumbled to the kitchen, I heard a funny sound coming from some unseen entity.  At 5am without coffee, I am not much in the mood to go searching for something making a tippity-tip noise so I left it be...for the time being...or so I thought.  As usual, a pot of coffee needed to be set to brewing if I was to wake at all.  Then, the cat needed to be fed.  She has the loudest meow when she is hungry and she is always hungry which is why I was up before sunrise.  That goofy cat decided to sit on my chest and meow until I forced my eyelids to open.  With her fed and quiet (thank goodness!), Mr. PJ wanted his share of breakfast.  Ms. Nycto's loud meowing woke up the dog so he came running to the kitchen nearly colliding with the cat.  Big ruckus...poor brain...need coffee.  Finally, the coffee..nice, hot coffee to waken the brain was brewed! 

  With that mug of coffee in hand, I pulled out a chair to have a seat.  That is when I came face to face (literally) with the tippity-tip maker.  A rather large crane fly decided that my glasses needed attention so it was flippity-flipping all over my face!  Actually, I had disturbed the critter from its busy work.  The crane fly must have come in last night with the cat and decided that indoor life was not its cup of tea.  The insect was bouncing around on the window curtains trying to escape the confines of the kitchen.  Its attraction to my face is still unknown unless it was seeking my help in its getaway.  I did...the critter was set free and seemed happy to take leave of the place.

  Crane flies are some of the most misunderstood insects there are.  At least down here in the Deep South, they are seen as enormous mosquitoes that can bite.  Nope.  They do not.  Other folks claim that they are "skeeter eaters" (which would be a good thing).  Nope. They do not.  Some even claim that they will "ruin your tomatoes"!  Nope.  They do not cause the ugly marks on the tomatoes in the garden.  Put the blame where it is due...those blotches come from stinkbugs.  So, the crane fly is a pretty innocuous critter that does little more than flit around aimlessly hunting for a mate.  The larvae can sometimes cause dark spots in the lawn but, other than that, they pretty much just live and make tippity-tip noises on your window...at 5am...before you have had your coffee.

Standing Tall!

  Today was a drizzly, almost rainy day that kept me inside.  Other than an occasional quick run with the old dog, I spent the day on the top of a ten foot stepladder as I am painting the living room walls.  For the first time in my entire life, I felt tall!  A few more days of painting and then I promised the dog that we would spend more of our time hiking about the hillside.  He seems to enjoy that about as much as I do.

 Yesterday, however, was gorgeous and I was able to slip down to the pier for a few minutes.  While there, a tri-colored heron allowed me to photograph it!  Actually, the bird was unaware or, at best, oblivious to my presence and did not care if I had a camera or not.  I could not pass up the opportunity, though, because the lighting was perfect enough to create fantastic reflections.  Despite a few ripples in the water, a nigh on exact image of the heron was repeated in the water.  Even the colors were duplicated to perfection!  It is rare in our muddy waters to see such vibrant reflections and, when they do occur, I am enthralled.

 The tri-colored heron waded about hunting for its breakfast.  Occasionally, it would dart toward a minnow and plunge to grab it.  Watching only for a few moments, I counted no less than eight minnows going down that gullet!  That is one sharp bird....and very photogenic!

Help! My Brain Has Gone To Mush!

  Pop always lived by the mantra of "Early to bed and early to rise".  Growing up on the farm, we were all expected to do the same and do it without argument.  We had better be out of that bed and in the kitchen by 5am if we wanted breakfast.  Pop cooked breakfast and we ate it...again without arguing.  There was no "I do not like this!"....you ate it.  Pop's idea of a good breakfast was something that would "Stick to your ribs." so, needless to say, we did not have a choice.  We ate mush.  Yep, cornmeal mush was usually what the pot held and what we ate.  Then, about mid morning, we were treated to a snack!....of fried cornmeal mush.  Yep...leftover mush was allowed to cool in the pot, then sliced and laid on a cast iron griddle loaded with butter.  After frying on one side until crispy, it was flipped then fried on that side.  After the stuff was done, it was served with homemade sugarcane syrup.  I could have easily passed on the first go round of mush and had mine fried.  At least, the syrup helped the taste tremendously.  But, no one complained.  We were thankful for what we had.

  Although, I have not had cornmeal mush since I became an adult, I still stick to that mantra Pop instilled in my brain.  "Early to rise" comes naturally.  I have never used an alarm clock nor needed one.  Come 5am, I pop awake and cannot for the life of me go back to sleep.  This morning was no different.  Even though the sun refused brighten the horizon, the old dog and I headed to the pier.  A heavy cloud cover prevented even the least bit of light to guide us.  It was nigh on 7am before I caught a glimpse of the sun.  This gave me time to sit and think about all the things that rattle around in the brain while sitting in the darkness.  I thought of Pop serving up steaming bowls of cornmeal mush each morning and of the fried mush snacks.  Back in the day, it was looked at as a good, solid breakfast that could be served at minimal cost.  Now, I find that the the fried stuff is on the menu of several "high-end" restaurants.  Three small (3 inch) squares of mush drizzled with syrup cost a whopping $9!  Imagine if you added eggs, sausage and a cup of coffee??   I had no idea I was eating so high back in the day! 

  After a bit of reminiscing, the sun started to rise, the dog alerted me to a band of rain coming across the bay and we headed back to the Little Bayou House.  Since then, thoughts of Pop and his cornmeal mush treats have been sneaking back into the brain.  Perhaps a pot of mush will find its way onto my stove in the next couple of days.  I wonder if it will taste like the "Stick to your ribs" breakfast of long ago or like $9 of fancy food?  Funny the things you ponder when waiting on the sun.