"Sittin' On The Dock Of The Bay!"

  Our neighbor across the Bayou has a rather large, luxurious home.  I marvel at the extensive place each time I head to the pier.  Living for so long in the Little Bayou House, it seems to me like I could fit ten houses the size of ours in their living room.  Probably not, but you get the idea and, don't get me wrong here, I would not trade houses with them for anything since I love my little place!  These people built this huge home, landscaped the place beautifully and maintain it impeccably.  I have to admit, they make great neighbors.  With the Bayou between us, I have yet to actually meet them.  You know, "good fences make great neighbors"!  Although I am sure they are delightful people, the Bayou provides just enough of a "fence" between the two places.  In my humble opinion, they have only made one mistake with their place.  On top of this gigantic house, there sits a massive cupola.  This cupola is at least the size of a small room and has open air arches around the entire thing.  As far as I am aware, no one has ever entered the cupola since the house was built several years ago.  That does not mean it is unoccupied but instead of people being up there, a "kettle" or colony of swallows has squatters' rights on the place. Each year an entire flock of barn swallows build their mud nests and brood their young in the cupola.  While this is similar to my chimney swifts laying claim to my fireplace, I think I would much rather have the swifts than the swallows.  The fireplace does not have to be "cleaned" like an entire room.  Brushing down and vacuuming the fireplace after 5 or 6 swifts does not compare to cleaning the poop that fifty to sixty birds leave in that cupola!  Aside from that mentally crushing idea, I rather like the swallows.  Barn swallows feed exclusively on insects and tend to gravitate to larger ones.  Flying over the Bayou, it is easy to watch them snag whatever hovers there.  The birds are quick and agile so catching insects in flight is not a problem.  

  I sat thinking about the swallows as I watched three juveniles sitting on a pier post.  The little ones flew quite a distance to perch and wait for the parent birds to fetch lunch.  Occasionally, Mama or Papa would fly in, hover just out of reach then dart away with the intended morsel still in the beak.  They were trying to entice the little ones to get off their lazy butts and catch their own food.  Now and again, the adult would actually drop in to feed the littles but more oft than not it was the swoop and evade ploy.  The littles have a lot of learning to do before they will be as deft as their folks but with the good teaching methods, they should be agile fliers in a few weeks.  Then the parents can nest again.  For now, the baby birds are just wasting time as they are "Sittin' on the dock of the bay" to quote a very talented singer/songwriter...Otis Redding.

A Sad Situation For All

  With our potential new neighbors clear-cutting the property to our west, we are being inundated with critters.  The poor things have no place to go other than here.  They are confused, agitated and hungry so...they raid the gardens.  I fully understand that this is merely an act to survive and has nothing to do with meanness but I really was in hopes of eating a few peaches or plums from the trees.  The critters do so much damage that it is heartbreaking.

  A week ago, the coons raided the peach trees and took a nip out of about half of the unripe peaches.  They broke limbs and knocked hundreds of peaches to the ground.  If they had taken one or two peaches each, I would not have complained.  I figure there was plenty to share but to ruin almost a hundred pieces of fruit and not eat it was so disheartening.  I was so upset that I headed out with a basket and picked every remaining peach from the trees.  Yep.  These were unripe but I figured that I could let them ripen indoors a few days then make jam and jelly.  During the day, I put the covered trays outside so the sun can hasten the process.  The first batch of jam turned out well so I have high hopes.  Five boxes of peaches have yet to ripen but appear to be on the verge of doing so!  After that episode, the rascals raided the tomato patch and ruined dozens of tomatoes.  Again, I was saddened and have been watching the plot like a hawk since then!  Two nights ago, the raccoons found the plum trees.  Thousands of unripe plums were dangling from the tree limbs and I was so in hopes that I could restock the pantry shelves with plum jam.  After the night of rambunctiousness by the coons, two hundred plums were on the ground again with one bite taken.  I was sickened at the sight.  Needless to say, all of the remaining plums that were starting to ripen were picked and the same process as with the peaches was started.  Hopefully, I will be successful in ripening these, too.  

  I am not sure what can be done with so many "homeless" or misplaced critters.  Somehow, we will have to learn to live harmoniously but I am not seeing it.  It makes me sad since this situation was by no fault of the critters. They are trying to survive the best way they know how.  It is sad.

Meet Virginia!

  Over the years, I have written a lot about the turtles and tortoises that roam the marshes, woods and creek bed.  It seems that the area is a favorite place for many different kinds.  Every type from snapping turtles to box turtles make their home here.  All this is good as the critters are some of the better ones to have around the place.  They eat a lot of things that would otherwise make the place not as comfortable.  They are not picky eaters for sure.  I have also written a lot about critter instincts and learned behaviors.  Our friendly turtles have both.  While some folks may make claims that "learned" behavior is pushing the limit when applying to turtles, I beg to differ.  They can and do learn.  It has been proven that turtles have long memories when it comes to feeding spots. They had to learn that spot before it could become a memory.

  Years ago, an elderly neighbor lady, Ms. Virginia, used to feed turtles that were in her yard.  She, too, lived near a bayou and had dozens of fine turtles.  Each morning, she would go to her back door to find many turtles had come to dine so she started buying containers of chicken livers to feed them.  She claimed that the livers were a favorite among the turtles but I never could quite understand how they might obtain those in the wild. Still, her turtle friends had learned to wait at the door until Ms. Virginia brought them breakfast.  After they ate, they would go on about their merry way until the next morning.  I was fortunate enough to "help" Ms. Virginia feed her turtles on several occasions when I was just a child.  It made a huge impression on me and was one of my lessons on respecting all critters.  

 My turtles, on the other hand, eat more fruit and veggies.  These are remnants from the garden and food preparation that are tossed into the compost pile.  Occasionally, there may be an odd piece of meat but, on a whole, the critters are on a vegetarian diet.  Among the several turtles that visit the compost on a daily basis, one is a nice sized box turtle.  This turtle has been around the Bayou for years and seems to appreciate the readily available foodstuffs that can be found in the compost.  Here recently, I have started calling it "Virginia" after the dear old lady from my childhood.  The idea behind this came from the fact that I recall that Ms. Virginia loved strawberries and this turtle seems to think that strawberries are a special treat.  While I am not too sure that Ms. Virginia would appreciate having a turtle named after her, I am quite sure that she would be pleased knowing that her lessons about respecting animals were remembered.

Cloud Watching

  I have an elderly neighbor who was telling me today that he likes to "cloud watch".  He sits in his rocking chair on the front porch and watches the clouds as they pass overhead.  This particular day, he was exceedingly happy because he claims that he saw Ben Franklin and Abraham Lincoln floating around up there in the sky.  Imagine that!  The neighbor went on to say that he sees all sorts of things but mostly people....dead people...??  I guess that is applicable because Old Ben and Old Abe are not with us any longer but the elderly gentleman said he never sees anyone that is still alive.  Alrighty then...

  After a a lengthy chat, our phone call ended with me pondering why I never see dead people in clouds.  Is this some special skill that I am sorely lacking?  So when I took the old dog out for his last run of the day, we headed to the pier.  There, I can see just about any cloud in the sky.  I sat for a good while looking up at the sky.  Nope.  No dead people.  In fact, no people at all.  No cats, dogs, rabbits, elephants, dinosaurs or anything that resembled anything but a cloud.  All I saw was the possibility of a rain shower heading our way. 

  Perhaps I need to venture out when the sky is filled with puffy white clouds to do my cloud watching.  Maybe the dark, threatening clouds only carry rain and not images.  To be honest, only thrice have I ever seen anything that resembled people in the sky and one of those looked a lot like a demon. So...what do I see in the clouds? ....  That likely chance of a rain shower.

Squeaky Clean?

  Early this morning, I stood looking out the French doors at the fog and drear.  It was not quite raining but too drippy to be outside for any length of time.  My time would have to be spent indoors once again and this was not making me overly happy.  There were things to be done and sitting inside staring outside was not accomplishing one thing.  It was that mindless staring that brought me to the realization that the stiff breeze that accompanied the drizzle was hurdling something across the Bayou.  Something white and fluffy (?) was being whipped about just above the marsh.  Hmmm?  Perhaps I had better don a jacket and venture out regardless of the weather.  Surely, this needed investigating!

  A few minutes later brought me face to face with suds.  Yep, suds.  A fluff of suds about the size of a football had come wafting in on the breeze. This was indeed strange!  Even at a distance of a few feet, I recognized that scent.  Someone else uses Gain detergent!  But, my goodness!  Did their washing machine explode?  Whoever was doing the laundry across the Bayou must have used a tad too much detergent in the machine to make enough suds to have it escape the laundry room and make it all the way across the Bayou!  I had to giggle.  I can only imagine what that laundry room looked like right at this moment!  Suds must be everywhere!  Sure enough, a quick glance at the marsh proved that theory. Fluffs of suds were dotting the tops of the marsh and were bouncing along on the wind.  Oops!  That had to be a mess!

  To be honest, I have noticed that Gain detergent has an extreme sudsing power and I have had to cut my use in quarters.  A mere tablespoon will suds up a large load to the point of needing an extra rinse.  Obviously, whoever was washing clothes used the recommended amount and not the meager amount that I use.  Now I guess the Bayou is squeaky clean?  Or polluted with suds.....

What Changes...Stays the Same

  Santa Claus has changed a good bit throughout the years.  Whether you look back on the lore of St. Nicklaus, Kris Kringle or Father Christmas, the story behind the character is all the same.  A kindly old gentleman (who had wealth untold) secretly gave gifts to those deserving.  Later this changed to giving gifts to children.  That part stayed pretty much the same through the centuries but his appearance changed with time.  Depending upon who was describing the jolly old geezer, he was anywhere from tall and thin to short and roly-poly.  His dress went from robes to a nice, red fur trimmed outfit that is most recognizable today.  His mode of travel changed from going on foot, riding a horse or in a sleigh with magical reindeer.  

A picture of Santa Claus that adorns a child's art box from long ago.

  It is not these changes that occurred to me today, however.  It is the changes that have happened in my life. Santa Claus used to be the magical man who slid down our chimney to bring a toy or two.  Later as a new parent, Santa took on a different roll. He (we) was the giver who longed to see the joy in a child's eyes.  As time passed, children grew into adults and Santa became tired.  The excitement had passed and Santa Claus moved on to other neighborhoods.  Christmas just was not the same.  This year, the joy will be seen in grandchildren's eyes.  The jolly old elf will make his rounds again filling the stockings and leaving gifts under our tree. 

   As a child, I believed....truly believed he was real only because of one special neighbor who overnight became the "man in red".  As a small child during lean times, I had been forewarned that Santa Claus may not have made enough toys for every boy and girl and that our toys may be given to less fortunate children.  I went to bed just knowing that somehow Santa would come at least to fill the stockings.  Instead, I awoke to find the jolliest man bearing gifts.  It mattered not that it was our neighbor, Mr. Sidney.  It mattered not that he wore a red flannel shirt and wore a Stetson hat.  It mattered not that the gifts were toted in a sack that once held oats for cattle.  He was Santa that Christmas morning.  I believed...still do.  Things change but somewhere, somehow, someone out there is Santa...even if only for a day.  Those who give without expecting anything in return, those who share no matter how meager their own portion, those who bring happiness even without a gift...those are the folks who are Santa.  That part has not changed.  

Golf on the Gulf!

  While I do not even know how to play golf, I have a lovely collection of the balls.  Those white spheres with the little dimples are just so darn cute that I cannot help myself.  I gather them like Easter Eggs and display them in canisters about the Little Bayou House.  Not really.  I do not collect golf balls any more than I do basketballs but gathering them is something that I do occasionally.  I find them hidden about the yard and do not wish to shoot them out the side of my lawnmower when I am doing yardwork.  So, I gather....I do not collect.  There is a difference.  AND no canisters are involved but the balls are stored in a cardboard box until I find just what to do with them.

  Golf on the Gulf is probably not a real tournament nor should I be calling this Golf on the "Gulf".  Golf on the Bayou just did not have a catchy ring to it.  The golfing part is true...the balls are real but the tournament is part of my imagination.  You see, my neighbor across the Bayou obviously does golf and obviously does have a pretty nice swing. His yard is directly across the Bayou and without a doubt he practices his swing by hitting the balls my way.  This is all fine and dandy for the ones that reach all the way across the marsh but I can only imagine how many thousands of balls are dotting the marshes of the Bayou.  Mr. Neighbor-Across-the-Bayou practices a lot.

  While this is all sort of humorous when I am out picking up the balls, it could possibly be rather devastating for the critters.  Imagine all of the critters that may think that pretty white ball is an egg and looks a lot like supper.  Just how many golf balls can a gator or turtle eat before something goes amiss in their gut?  Then I ponder if the golf balls are mounding up in some weird mountain or if they are sinking beneath mud and filling in the waterways?  Shouldn't this be considered littering?  Or am I just being the curmudgeon who lives on the other side of the Bayou?  Still, I gather what balls I can retrieve and toss them in the box with the dozens of others.  Perhaps some day, I will venture over and try to sell Mr. Neighbor-Across-the-Bayou a lovely bunch of sparkling white golf balls so he can practice some more!

Watching the Critters

  Sometimes critters are better at being neighborly than people are.  Not that I have any problems whatsoever with my neighbors as I have the best but critters seem to just get along when need be.  It is a rare animal that kills for the sake of killing. Yes, they do have a tendency to see everything as a food source but even that can be overcome at times.

  Now while I realize that shorebirds do not usually go around eating each other, it surprises me how they can work together for the good of all.  Herons and egrets are great at cooperating during feeding time.  I watched two egrets, a Great Egret and a Snowy Egret, while they worked the mudflats to find breakfast.  Tiny bull minnows were darting about in the shallows but it took the two birds working together to catch a fine feast. The Great White Egret would stand casting a shadow on the waters while the Snowy shuffled its feet to stir up the mud.  The minnows would then try to get to clearer water and both birds would snatch them in swift jabs.  Alongside of the two larger birds, a small rail waded snatching her share of fiddler crabs that raced to get away from all of the commotion.  This was not an accidental meeting of the minds. These three birds are on the flats with every low tide.  They work together as a team and all three eat well as a result.

   I am constantly hearing the phrase "that person is no better than an animal" when folks are discussing some recent crime spree. This irks me as I do not feel this is accurate.  Seeing how humans seem to be the most aggravating and unruly of all species, it might be a good idea if we all took lessons from the critters.  Perhaps if more folks took the time to truly sit and watch the critters around them, they would strive to be more "neighborly".

     It is calming to be out in nature, Folks!  It is good for you.   Plus, you might just learn a thing or two if you do watch the critters....any critters.

Home, Home on the Range..with grapefruit!

Yes, I am back on the range again..my kitchen stove that is. I thought that canning and preserving would be coming to a screeching halt somewhere during these winter months, but that just isn't true. Yesterday, it was pecans and today there was a bushel of grapefruit calling my name. This stuff just never ends! My son and I sort of swiped uhhh.. borrowed.. my brother's tall stepladder and started picking the fruit two days ago. (Don't fret over the "borrowed" stepladder.. cranberry/cream cheese bars made everything ok!) Anyway after picking several bushels of fruit, we decided to start canning some. This is not nearly as easy as the pecans and I cannot bribe my son to peel all of these by himself. So we worked all morning, peeling of the thin outer layer of the peel (zest) to dry, then peeling the thick inner lining off, then pulling the grapefruit into sections. Each section has to be skinned and seeded before canning. After peeling and seeding twenty-one of the things, we were beginning to hate grapefruit. Just after twenty-one! And we have probably six more bushels to pick! Oh, my! We will be here forever peeling grapefruit! My son asked.."Shouldn't we be giving some of these grapefruit to someone?" I asked "Who?" Without missing a beat, he responded.."Anyone!" Now to be honest, we have given away probably three bushels of the fruit already..and I am not sure there are that many people around here that will appreciate more. I believe my neighbors are locking their doors when they see me coming. This is sort of like trying to give away masses of zucchini squash..the first few are welcome but after a while no one wants any! So I will continue to peel, seed and can slices of grapefruit. I will continue to dry and grind the peels to use in baking and herbal teas. I will make grapefruit/ginger marmalade. And I will try to sneak some to the neighbors when they are not looking!

I am not complaining about the produce that my little garden keeps providing. Today after we planted out more cabbages, I visited the greenhouse to check on the herbs. This is a funny little greenhouse. My son made it after much encouragement (nagging) from me. To me it looks more like a greenteepee than a greenhouse, but at least it is protecting the plants. I had planted some of my herbs in an old wheelbarrow and this summer Son stuck a branch from a tomato plant in it as a joke. Well, the goofy thing took root and to my surprise, it had ripe tomatoes on it today! Granted they are cherry tomatoes but still fresh, vine-ripened tomatoes in January are a welcome treat! Hopefully, this next year, I will get my large greenhouse. If this does happen, perhaps I shall try growing a few other goodies along side the herbs and tomatoes!