Swamp Friends

   For years now, I have said that I have more critter friends than human friends.   People, in general, bother me.  No matter how much you do for them, how nice you try to be or how you try to avoid conflict, invariably, people bring it to you.  I am over it.  I am tired, folks.  I am just pure tired.  That said, I seek out the solace that only the swamps can bring.  There, I find peace as not many dare to traverse the marshes.  There, I am people-free.

  That said, I was pleased to find that an old friend came to visit.  The large, mama gator gently slid into the waters of the Bayou.  She floated just yards away as the darkness of the early morn almost shrouded her from view.  I was not frightened but rather strengthened by her presence.  I poured out my troubles to this unlikely listener.  Her unwavering attention gave me comfort.  While most would have been a mite uneasy with the huge alligator so near, I felt at peace.  My attitude was much better after our one-sided conversation as the visit made me able to face the world outside of the swamp. Sometimes confiding in someone...anyone...really helps.  I will go on.

Wondrous World

   I braved the mosquitoes yesterday morning to venture back behind the canebrake.  Down in this part of the woods, there is always something interesting.  Yesterday morning, it was what was beneath my feet as I padded along the soggy pathway.  With the copious rainfall of late, the ground was literally covered with mushrooms and other fungi.  All were brilliantly colored but so tiny that you could not see them from a distance of about forty feet.  Also, dotted here and there were tiny flowers that I have yet to identify.  Had the biting critters not been so vicious, I would have loved to linger there longer just photographing this "Land of Miniature".  

  Perhaps, after dousing myself with mosquito repellent, I will venture to the back of the property once again and find more treasures on the "forest floor".  The nigh on constant rains have kept me, more or less, housebound and I feel as if I am missing out on so much.  I was not made to be kept inside.  I need to roam the swamps to clear the mind and salve the soul.  A free spirit was never meant to be trapped within four walls.  I have to breathe.

Adventuring!

   This afternoon, it was just too hot to be indoors.  Even with the AC going full blast, it seemed stifling.  So...I turned it off, opened the windows and doors and headed outside.  There, I could breathe freely.  With work being out of the question, I meandered the hillside and down near the creek.  The swamp can always be refreshing.  The canopy of trees overhead keep it relatively cool.  Very little sun dapples the ferns and lilies growing there.  It is the perfect hideaway from the heat.  

  At one point, I came across an empty eggshell.  It appeared to be the egg of a brown thrasher by the size and color.  The eggshell was not near any nest but I knew exactly how it got there.  Whenever the eggs hatch, the parent birds "clean house".  They remove the shells (and later any droppings from the baby birds.)  This keeps their nest tidy and babies healthy.  The empty shells will be dropped a good distance from the nest in hopes that they will not attract predators to the nest.  Finding the shell made me smile as it let me know my bird friends are doing well.

  On my wanderings, I also found the fox den.  It has been some time since I have seen the mama fox so I was happy to find her den even though she was not nearby.  She had been careful to cover her tracks at the opening of the den but left several distinct tracks in the soft mud about ten feet away.  At least, I know she is alive and well.  Since I stumbled upon the den unaware it was there, I simply backed off and left the area.  There was no reason to disturb the fox and make her have to move her kits. 

  After about an hour, I meandered back to the yard all-the-while thinking of my critter friends and my love of the swamp.  What a wonderful way to spend a sweltering afternoon.

Bayou Weather....Foggy with gnats!

   We are back into our winter "cycle" of rain, cold, warm and fog.   The cycle has its good points and a few bad.  Just when you think you are all settled in for a nice bit of cold weather, the winds shift, temperatures rise and heavy fog lays in across the Bay.  The fog lingers for most of the day keeping things damp and muggy.  A good side to all of this fog and warmth, the garden is doing well.  Cabbages, broccoli, cauliflower and mustard greens are filling the rows nicely.  One of the bad sides, is gnats and mosquitoes never leave.  Just about the time you think they should be gone due to the chill, you are attacked!  Those are the days you find yourself wishing for a lovely freeze!

  This morning, a light fog shrouded the Bay and Bayou.  It blocked enough of the view to make things appear a bit spooky.  The "Bayou Creature" would love just such a morning to make an appearance!  But...he did not show.  Our Bayou Creature is just about as elusive as Big Foot!  The name is applied to any unusual wail or moan that can be heard coming from the bowels of the Bayou.  Far back where the Bayou meets a creek and turns into a swamp, any number of critters can let out yells that can run chills up your spine especially if you are roaming about in the predawn fog. 

  Years ago, the kids and I loved to hike through the swamps during foggy evenings.  Because our footsteps were muffled by the wet leaves, it was not uncommon for us to stumble upon critters out on the hunt.  Bobcats, coyotes, fox, coons and rabbits were often seen before they noticed us.  To my way of thinking, this was one of the best learning situations the kids could have ever experienced.  They grew up knowing how to react or how to "not act" when encountering wild animals.  Never once did we feel threatened and we respected the critters enough to back off and let them continue on their way. 

  No critters were found on this morning's hike.  It was short and sweet but I had work to do.  It was a fine morning to mulch more of the hurricane debris pile!  The weather was warm enough to work in short sleeves...until those pesky gnats found me!  Weather....Southern Weather....Bayou Weather!  When is that next cold snap??

Social Distancing With A Frog Prince!

  The social distancing plan is working rather well here on the Bayou.  I keep my distance...you keep yours...and we are all happy campers.  My idea is to spend as much time outside as I can each day.  With almost nine acres on which to roam, there is always some place that is devoid of other humans.  Plus, not too many folks have a great desire to tromp around in swamps.  I do.  In fact, sometimes, I feel as if the swamp calls to me as much as the water does.  It is then that I slip on the leather moccasins, grab the camera and make my way down the small path.  

  Today's adventure in the creek bed and swamp did not produce any interesting finds.  It was not until I entered the garden gate that I found a little friend.  In fact, I actually stepped on the critter as it was well camouflaged!  A rather large pickerel frog was under the boysenberry vines.  I was checking the new plants when my critter friend decided to wiggle out from under my foot.  Thankfully, the soft mulch kept the frog from being harmed.  One would think that after being underfoot, the frog would have made a hasty retreat to the Frog Pond but that was not the case.  It sat.  It sat and stared at me.  Being as I am in the midst of planning a fairy tale clue hunt for this fall, wild thoughts of an enchanted frog whirled around in the brain!  How could I convince this frog to play the part come October??  Well, it would be best to sit and have a chat with this fine friend and make him an offer.  I talked, the frog listened but we came to no final plan.  

  A pickerel frog is a type of grass frog that spends most of its time in grassy fields, meadows or thick lawns.  (In my case, it loves the garden.)  Here, the frog can catch its fill of insects that flit in and about the grasses.  The frog is camouflaged by its coloring and markings so predators have a hard time finding it.  Occasionally during the day or night, the pickerel frog will make its way to a water source such as the small Frog Pond.  The frog goes to the water to lay eggs, thermo-regulate and to avoid any predators that may happen upon it in the grass.  The pickerel frog is often mistaken for a leopard frog as they are so very similar.  They are both spotted.  The pickerel frog's spots are sort of squarish (not always) and are usually in two rows running down the back.  The leopard frog has rounder spots that are just randomly placed.  There are other definitive differences but the spots are the easiest.

  My froggy friend stayed put for the entire half hour that I sat nearby.  I chatted, it listened and we had a very enjoyable time.  When I rose to go further into the garden, my friend chose to linger a bit in hopes of finding another grasshopper or two for its supper.  I have the best friends...even though we did keep the designated six feet of personal space between us!  

A Better Fisherman

  Early this morning, a lone osprey could be heard screaming above the Bayou.  In a tall tree somewhere, this fine creature was letting it be known that morning was here and it was hungry.  The fish of the Bay had better be careful about swimming too close to the water's surface or they may become breakfast.  This bird would love nothing better than to grab a mullet or small redfish.  My meandering took me to the pier in hopes of spying my friend.  Sure enough, the bird came out of the tree-lined Bayou and headed for the deeper waters of the Bay.  I watched as it circled several times then made a plummeting dive.  Wow! On its first try, the bird had a nice fish!

  Well, there was nothing to do but follow the osprey as far as I could.  As it flew back into the part of the Bayou where it meets the creek, I quickened my step.  I did not want to lose sight of the majestic bird.  Once it entered the swamp, it would be hard to find.   I needn't have fretted, however, as the osprey came to rest in the top of a dead gum tree.  Even though it was on the far side of the Bayou, I had a clear view of my friend and was able to watch as it started to dine upon its prey.  

  It came to mind that I have rarely seen an osprey miss a catch.  In fact, only once did I witness a juvenile osprey flub nabbing a mullet.  That bird was on its maiden solo-hunting flight and missed its target fish terribly.  In fact, the bird floundered in the water for some time before finally being able to gather its strength to take flight again.  The poor youngster was water-logged and exhausted when it finally returned to its roosting spot.  The bird was so tired that it did not seem to mind that I was about twenty feet from it.  We shared a few moments before I left it in peace so it could regain its strength and dignity.

This poor juvenile osprey had a failed attempt at catching a mullet and got soaked in the process.

  As I watched the osprey this morning, I pondered if this could be the same bird that had so miserably failed with its first attempt at fishing.  If so, it is now a far better fisherman and has learned its life skills well.  Job well done.

The "Water Garden"

  Stormy days on the Bayou are some of my favorite times.  There is just something about a good storm that revitalizes the body and mind.  I need that often especially here lately.  With the heavy rains came high winds.  Those winds pushed the tides far up into the yard and pushed it even further back into the Bayou, itself.  Far back in bowels of the Bayou where the creek empties, there is one spot that draws me.  The swamp almost calls to me to visit, occasionally.  On those times, I slip on my leather moccasins and make the hike.  I tred gingerly so as to avoid any cottonmouths or snapping turtles that lurk there.  All of that just to view one certain spot.  Here, the ferns grow to great heights and arrowhead plants flourish alongside of the white spider lilies.  One gets the feeling that this spot is almost magical!  I fully expect to find some will-o'-the-wisps with their tiny, flickering lanterns during one visit.  The place is wonderfully mystical!

  Just a couple of days ago, that urge to check the spider lilies overcame me and I crept deep into the creek to the spot.  Nothing was blooming...no lilies, no wild irises, not even the duck potatoes.  Still I was mesmerized by the sheer beauty of the greenness that surrounded me.  Then, fast forward to today.  During a break in the rains with the winds pounding the Little Bayou House, I headed out the back door.  The swamp called....I answered.  

  The place was completely different.  No, the flowers were not blooming but a tranformation had taken place.  Now, my little wild garden spot had been flooded.  The ferns and lilies were all engulfed with the brackish waters that came flooding southward down the creek from the heavy rains and the salty water being pushed northward by the high tide and harsh winds.  What a difference!  Instead of faeries flitting about trying to entice me further into the swamp, I fully expected to find that cottonmouth underfoot!  Then, the rains started once again and I had to scurry back up the hillside from the creek, through the woods and back to the safety of the Little Bayou House!

Solid as an Oak

  Like most other folks, there have been times when I have gotten wanderlust.  Not often...just a few times but still, I pondered what it would be like to roam the world or live elsewhere.  My brain would dream of all sorts of fantastical places that might tickle the fancy but, here lately, the conclusion was reached that my life would probably be right here on the Bayou.  Chances are, I will never leave.  Not that it would be a bad thing to travel but I am comfortable here.  I figure that I am a part of the Bayou just as it is a part of me.  

  Just recently, it struck me that this place has far too many memories bouncing around it.   Perhaps that is what keeps me tied to it.  The bond is as solid as an oak...particularly one oak.  Down by the marsh edge, there stands an old oak tree that my kids had dubbed as "Old Man Oak".  Way back when they were still young enough to climb trees, this was their favorite.  Old Man Oak held them in his arms high above any perils of the world.  The tree guarded them against all of the "ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties" that roamed the Bayou (to borrow a line from the Scottish poem "Things That Go Bump in the Night").  More oft than not, when I would wonder where in the world the kids had traipsed, I could find them in this tree.   There, they were as far away as their imaginations could take them, yet, still safe in the arms of the Old Man.

  Yesterday being my birthday, my son-in-law stopped in with a plate of home-baked cookies. (Not many mothers-in-law can say their sons-in-law bake for them!  I can!)  While here, he and I stood in the yard talking and he made the comment that "You can never sell this place.  It just would not be right for you to be anywhere else."  He is right.  I would be hard-pressed to find anywhere else that would suit me.  My love for the Bayou is as solid as Old Man Oak so unless there is another mystical, magical swamp that can lure me, I will stay right here.

Just Be....

  Sometimes just being can be healing.  I did that today.  I just was.  I was me. I was not perfect.  I did not try to be.  I slouched in old clothes.  I ate blueberry muffins one after the other.  I played.  I was not energetic.  I was not worried what anyone thought.  I just was. It felt great.  The old dog and I watched the sunrise, took more hikes than we should have, played with a stick just because it was there and sat in the sunshine until we were toasty warm. We did not worry about set times for anything.  I indulged in giving him treats simply because it made me happy to see him happy.  I just was.  It felt great.

  Yep, the flu still has the Little Bayou House in its clutches and does not seem ready to relinquish that grip any time soon.  While I feel well enough to escape the confines of the place, the menfolk do little more than sleep, take medicines and drink the water that I keep pushing at them.  I am not sure how I have managed to pull myself together after two days of misery to the point of caring for the others except that maybe that sense of duty kicked in gear.  Another doctor's visit found Mark with four more prescriptions and orders of days more bed rest.  

  Still, that lack of stressing and just being has done me the world of good. I would be bored out of my head if I had to be restricted to one room.  I cannot breathe like that.  Let me roam the swamp and shoreline.  Let me just be...that is healing. The rest will fall into place eventually and things will get back to normal....hopefully.