There are times that the Bayou presents me with things. These items come from parts unknown and are washed in on high tides. Let a tropical storm or hurricane whip in here and the trove is quite unbelievable. One never knows what will be found in the yard. These "treasures" are often mostly trash that needs to be discarded but occasionally a true "treasure" is found. After hurricanes, I have found furniture, household items and tools strewn about the property. A lot of it is beyond repair but there are pieces that can be restored to be useful. Trust me when I say, I am not so high and mighty that I will not use the stuff. I have. We were always taught that it is purely wasteful to not at least try to repair and reuse items.
The past week has brought some odd weather to the Bayou. A tropical storm hurried through only to meet up with a cold front coming down. Mother Nature's whims sent things into a bit of a turmoil. Not much was hurt in the wake of this but a few things were tossed around. No biggy. Then, we were bombarded by the system that sits on top of us now. This one is "no biggy" either but it gave a bit of wind and copious amounts of rain...and is still giving us rain. Last night, one squall gave up a "treasure".
Early this morning, I carried the old dog out to do his business. While I was headed to his favorite spot, I noticed something strange. A beach ball had obviously flown in on the wind. While this is not overly unusual, the spot where it landed and became lodged was. Son built a "brig" or jail (of sorts) for the clue hunt. Since the hunt takes place on an uninhabited (almost) spot, the pirates that were shipwrecked supposedly had to use what material was on hand. The brig is created out of reed fencing and canes from our huge canebrake. Somehow, that beach ball was tossed inside of the brig! Now, the only thing that remains locked in our jail is a faded beach ball that came in on a storm.
Strange tides bring strange things. The treasure trove of oddities continues to grow with each storm that surges across the Bay. For now, the ball will remain in the brig. There is one team left to compete in the annual hunt so we shall see their reaction to something so out of place it is hilarious. Will they think this is some odd clue? Or will they realize that Mother Nature played yet another trick on us all?
Yo, ho, ho, A pirating we shall go! Yep, it almost that time of year! The Annual Clue Hunt on the Bayou is just around the corner and barring any interruption by a certain hurricane that is out there brewing, things are coming along right on schedule! There is a 26 foot mast (and crow's nest) lodged haphazardly in a tree in the front yard, there is a piece of a ship's wreckage creating a tunnel near the Swamp Witch's hut and, best of all, there is a full sized cannon waiting to be aimed out over the bay! We shall be pirates!
Some think this is all a bit much for a single month of fun but we find it a lot of fun and what else could we be doing that would be more worth the trouble? Our teams are already booking dates and are expressing excitement as they await their turn to solve our mystery! Me? I am slowly preparing myself to fulfill my role in this whole fantasy saga. Its a pirate's life for me! Ok..so maybe an old lady pirate is not that intimidating but I can dream, right? This transformation is coming along nicely but not without a bit of a struggle. I needed a costume and, well, I do not sew. Or, at least, I did not sew! I am learning and, with the encouragement of a very sweet and talented friend (albeit long distance friend), I have turned out part of my costume. This is a very exciting thing for me! At my age, I never thought I would have the opportunity nor the gumption to tackle such a feat but here I am costuming!
Just the mere mention of living on the Bayou conjures a lot of fantastical ideas in some folks brains...mine included. Visions of ghost ships, lost sailors and mystical creatures seem to be the norm. I suppose that is why I choose this life over any other. Here, I can let my imagination run amok and there is no one to complain. My freedom to dwell in the marvelous land of make-believe is something I cherish. With the world on the brink of a huge social meltdown, I retreat into my own little world where things are much different.
This morning, my predawn hike led me to the pier as usual. There was not much use traipsing about the woods, creek bed or marsh as a heavy fog laden the area making it difficult to see. On the pier, it was much the same. I could not see the far shore nor even my brother's pier which was just a little more than a hundred or so feet from ours. I could hear my surroundings, though. On that far shore, an eagle did its "rusty wheel" call while behind me in the marsh otters squabbled over a catch of mullet. Occasionally, a dog would bark or a mullet would splash. There was also some odd soft clanging out over the water. Other than that, all was still. It was surreal, ghostly, almost mystical. As the sun tried to brighten the eastern sky, things lightened but did not become clear.
Off in the distance, I could make out the dark shape of the ghost ship. It sat silently on the still waters...stranded in the shallows with not a breath of a wind to set it in motion. It hovered like some huge entity waiting for its next victim. Eerily the anchor chain clanked as the ship shifted. That was the source of the noise I had heard earlier. This muted clanking was enough to send shivers up the spine as I knew there was nary a living soul on board. Had the spirits of a lost captain and crew returned to the ghost ship? Had they come to claim lost treasure or take captives for ransom? The sea will never tell nor will the fog.
Well, a least it was a nice sized boat...maybe not a ghost pirate ship but a nice sized boat. This boat has been moored out in the middle of the Bay since Hurricane Nate made his appearance. In the dense fog, the boat may have well been some ghost pirate ship. It is funny how white-out fog can change one's whole perspective of things. Back when I was a youngster fishing with Pop, he would tell me to always "Watch the shore." when there was a pea-soup fog. In our little wooden skiff, had we just ventured out willy-nilly, we took a big chance of being overrun by large boats in the channel. Watching the shoreline kept us safely out of harm's way. The fog this morning got the wheels of imagination turning and brought back a lot of memories of old times. Ghost ships coming to the Bayou! Perhaps, this should be the storyline for the next Clue Hunt on the Bayou! One never knows where inspiration will hit.
