The Change

  Well, now!  That is a change!  I was recently bemoaning the fact that we had no winter, so to speak, then last night, Mother Nature decided to intervene on my behalf.  I awoke to nigh on freezing temperatures!  This did, indeed, pleased me...for the most part.  Other than the fact that I had to make multiple trips out to the woodpile to stoke the old stove, I thoroughly enjoyed the coziness of the Little Bayou House.  The old wood-burning stoves both chugged along happily and kept the place toasty warm.

  This morning, sitting in the comfy rocking chair while sipping my mug of hot coffee, it occurred to me that I would probably not enjoy having the "luxury" of central heating.  I NEED that comfort of watching the flames in the fireplace regardless of the extra work of gathering, splitting and hauling the firewood.  There is something mighty soothing about watching the flames flicker and hearing the fire crackle.  

  Of the two wood-burning stoves in the Little Bayou House, the parlor stove is my favorite.  This tiny cast iron stove was made in Florence, Alabama way back in 1871 and is still in perfect shape!  This stove allows me to remove the front grate so I can enjoy viewing the flames.  The other is enclosed. It warms but the visual aesthetics are missing.  My uncle gave us the stove before he moved from the Coast to live near his daughter in Missouri.  My oldest son was helping Uncle Alfred move some stuff around before his move when they came across the old stove.   It had been stored under the house for years and when Mark found it, Uncle  Alfred said  "Ooooh!  Get that thing out from under there and take it home!  That thing is still good!"  Piece by piece the iron stove was hauled to our house.   My uncle then came to tell us how to put it all back together again.  As a gift, this was amazing.  I cherish it even more since it came from my uncle!  Each time I light the fire, thoughts of our visits and, later, our phone calls, come to mind.  

  All of these happy thoughts and sweet memories came flooding in all due to a change in the weather.  Yep.  This kind of change is good!

The Clams Are Biting........The Fishing Report

  Every now and again, I used to get a call from my elderly uncle who had moved from Mississippi to Missouri.  He wanted to "check the fishing reports".  Uncle Alfred used to live just one house over from the Little Bayou House and loved to go fishing.  He and my Aunt Marie fished just about their entire lives and the love of the water lived on with him even though he moved away after she died.  Before he passed away, he and I would chat on the phone about fishing and his dream of coming back to the Bayou "just one more time".  While he knew the trip was not reasonable at his age of almost 100 but we "dreamed" and made plans, all the same.  The fishing report was about whatever was in the Bay at the time.  It did not matter if I told him about menhaden, redfish or otters.  He loved every minute of the report.  I loved every minute of sharing with him and I miss his calls terribly now.

  The fishing report of the day sort of goes like this.  I caught a nice sized fishing line complete with sinkers and hook!  I was slow-dragging my bait along bottom thinking I may pick up a flounder but hooked into the old line. It was a good pull!  At this point, Uncle Alfred would have made a joke and asked how long I thought the line had been snagged there before I caught it.  We would banter back and forth for a bit before I moved on with the next bit of the report.  Also, the clams are biting really good now!  Mark caught a nice, heavy one up near the shoreline this morning.  He was hoping to catch a redfish that was running the marsh but the clam bit first.  We decided to let it go, however, since we only had the one.  Again, Uncle Alfred would have had some quip about the clam and probably have related a tale of going clamming during his younger days.  The rest of the fishing report would have been filled with tidbits of news about the number of schools of menhaden, recent catches of shrimp and how many crab pots we have at the end of the pier.  Once the report was complete, he and I would, once again, make those plans for his fishing trip.  That fishing trip was never made, at least, not physically.  He told me that he fished from our pier in his dreams and that made him happy.  Talking with him made me happy.

  The truth behind the above fishing report was that I did, indeed, hook and bring in an old line that had been snagged on a log.  Pulling it off was quite the job but I am glad it is no longer posing a danger to the sea life.  Mark did catch a clam on his line but not on the hook.  His sinker weights became wedged between the hinge of the clam shell allowing him to pull the large clam right up on the pier.  These tales would have delighted Uncle Alfred and made those dreams even more exciting.  Even though it has been several years since he passed, I still think of our phone calls and reports.  I sure miss that man!

 

A Bit of Wisdom

  Not much happening here on the Bayou other than chores.  I do not mind as chores give me plenty of time to think and to reflect on how things truly are.  My uncle used to have a couple of sayings about things like this "We talk (think) about things, take them apart, put them back together again and then turn them around to suit ourselves."  and "No matter how hard you try, you will never satisfy some folks. Don't try."  It makes sense in a weird sort of way.  

  As I was pondering all the complex things that normally stay hidden in the dark recesses of my mind where they collect cobwebs and become obscure, a sudden realization came to me.  Why do I give problems a rat's tail chance of worrying me?  I am happy here on the Bayou. I am happy being who I am.  I am happy doing the things I do. Mark and I are happy together.  So why fret about anything else?  Sometimes it takes a while for good advice to sink into my brain.

  That settled, I set back to work on clearing the flower gardens.  Uncle Alfred was right all along.  Just setting things straight in my mind made all the difference in the world.  Thanks for the good advice Uncle Alfred. I sure miss our talks.

Four Colly Birds! Or Maybe Just One..

  Well, the tree is all decorated, the mantles are ready for the stockings to be hung and garland is strung on the stair rail.  That is about the extent of my decorations this year.  I have called it quits in hopes that now I can rest a bit.  Today, I repacked the unused decorations to be stowed away for the next few weeks until this all starts in reverse.  As I was repacking the boxes, I came across one ornament that just screamed to be let out of the box and on display.  A tiny, plastic blackbird could not be hidden away in the piles of tinsel...it just would not be Christmas without it. 

  The tiny blackbird was gifted to me by my cousins.  It was on their Christmas Tree that I always remember seeing the blackbirds.  In a way, I sort of grew up at my Aunt Marie and Uncle Alfred's place.  I was there about as much as I was at home.  Every year, the blackbirds made an appearance on the tree and yet, I knew nothing about them other than the fact that I really liked them.

  While I do not know the history behind the little bird, I do know that Christmas just would not be the same without it.  How the birds became a family tradition or even where they were purchased remains a mystery with me and is one I should definitely ask one of my cousins.  All of this got me to thinking....why blackbirds at Christmas?  So a bit of detective work began. 

  It seems that this may have started way back around 1780 when the words to the European verse "The Twelve Days of Christmas" were penned.  At first, this was not a song but sort of a rhyme.  The twelve days actually refer to the twelve days AFTER Christmas and not before as we now believe.  The original verse states that there were four colly birds and not calling.  This changed over the year until finally the song has become the (almost irritating after the two billionth time of hearing it) song we all know.  It seems that not too many folks realized what colly birds were even at the beginning so the word evolved to calling birds.  Now to set the record straight, colly birds are actual birds.  Well, sort of actual birds.  Colly is a regional European word for sooty or grimy such as one might describe a chimney sweep (not to be confused with a Chimney Swift bird).  In the song, the word is used in reference to the European Blackbird (which is not a blackbird at all but rather is in the Thrush family).  Such fun! But now you know!

 I sat holding the little plastic blackbird and was transported back in time to the Christmas holidays of days past.  I remember the pine tree that Uncle Alfred would steady up in the living room with nails and string and I remember helping Margaret hang the ornaments on the tree while Aunt Marie was in the kitchen stirring up something delicious.  I do, indeed, have fond memories of times there. 

Heaven's Bay

  I used to get phone calls about every two weeks from Uncle Alfred.  We would chat about everything under the sun from politics to gardening. We did not always see eye to eye on everything but there was never the least bit of animosity between us. I respected his views because he was wise and had a lot more knowledge than I do.  He respected mine merely because he was a gentle, kind man.  During these phone conversations, he always managed to give a bit of sage advice...even when I was not asking.  This advice was appreciated since I knew it was given with a kind heart.  I have to admit that I usually followed his advice even after sometimes grumbling about it!  More oft than not, he was right and I needed his counseling!

 Not all of our conversations were about the worries of the world, though, as he usually wanted to hear about how the fishing was down around the Bayou.  Before he moved to Missouri, he and Aunt Marie used to live just a stone's throw away from the Little Bayou House.  Together, they did a lot of fishing, crabbing and shrimping in these waters.  As matter of fact, their pier was where I caught my very first crab using a handline and a dead catfish!  I spent countless hours on their pier fishing for croakers and crabbing with my cousin.  Thus, it was only natural that the conversations between us always turned to bait, fish and tides.  Not a conversation went by without him stating that he would love to come home to go fishing just one more time.  Even though we both knew that this was not possible, we did, indeed, make plans for him to do just that.  He called our plans "Dreams".  He did this to let me know that he was well aware of the fact that his age did not allow him to just "up and drive down to the Bayou".  I promised that a room in the Little Bayou House was always open to him.  Our dream never came true.

  Just two days before his 100th birthday, Uncle Alfred passed away.  It was far too soon by my thinking.  His life, though lengthy in years was far too fleeting.  I still had much to learn.  He was from a generation when men were trustworthy, honest and generous.  He was from a generation that has passed leaving us with big shoes to fill.  I am afraid that not many today can even come close.  I will miss you, Uncle Alfred. My cousin, Bill, made the statement that he thought that his dad and mom were up fishing in Heaven's Bay.  That struck me as being so perfect.   So Uncle Alfred, here's to hoping you and Aunt Marie can catch the "big one" up in Heaven's Bay!  

Feeling foggy

This morning's visit to the pier was a total fog-out! The "pea-soup" type fog was literally almost a fine, misty rain that had I stayed long enough, would have soaked me to the bone! So I stayed just long enough to snap a couple of pictures of the grayness, a single coot and the spiderweb-garlanded marsh grass. Nothing spectacular could possibly be seen in this drippy cloud so I headed back to the house for a mug of coffee!

Heavy fog enveloped the pier for the past few mornings!

Once inside, I finished up a paint job that I had started yesterday. The trimwork in the dining room and kitchen now sport a new coat of barn-red paint. One thing led to another and the entire stair rail..both upstairs and down..were freshened with the same color! Now this part of the Little Bayou House looks quite festive! Still nothing spectacular occurred. At this point, it seemed as if the day would pass as quite the ordinary, run-of-the-mill type day. Then the phone rang....and my day improved immensely!

A lone American Coot came to visit this foggy morn.

My Uncle Alfred called me all the way from Missouri! With his wise words of advice, he always manages to bring a smile and a bit of comfort to my day. And today was no different! Today's piece of sage advice? ....If I was having all of the family over for Thanksgiving dinner, have them each bring a dish. This would save lots of work!" Now you know..I have to fully agree with what he says! I think this would be the most wonderful way to share a dinner on any day! Not only would it save the hostess a ton of work, but it would bring a sense of satisfaction to all those participating. And as an added plus, we would all get to try new types of foods! This whole idea of a "Potluck Thanksgiving" seems to date back to the original dinner if there was any such meal. It stands to reason that all those folks that got together to share the meal would have brought their "special" dish to put on the table and thus share their bounty. Well, Uncle Alfred...I think you are right! So all you folks coming to the Little Bayou House for Thanksgiving dinner...Bring a dish!

Fog beaded on spiderwebs in the marsh.

To Uncle Alfred, whose fatherly advice has pulled me through many years, and to all of my readers..I hope this Thanksgiving week is filled with many blessings. I know that I am thankful for each of you! And Uncle, thank you for brightening my day!

Little Thanksgiving candle set from Mom's place.