The Race Is On!

   With winter comes the low, low tides.  Often the water is far out beyond the marsh and even the reach of the pier.  This lack of water exposes the soft mud that hides clams, crustaceans and minnows.  The predators that normally have to stalk their prey are now able to feast upon the stranded critters.  A great number of birds, otters, raccoons, fox are out during the low tide.  The mudflats are alive with those seeking breakfast.

   This morning, hooded mergansers, egrets and herons were all making good use of the mudflats.  The ducks were busying themselves in the shallows while most of the birds stayed in the ankle-deep water.  At one point, the rush to get breakfast had me in a fit of giggles.  A tri-colored heron and a great egret seemed to literally be in a race to see who could snatch the most minnows.  If one bird snatched a morsel, the other would dart to see if there was another.  This race continued for nigh on an hour until suddenly something startled the mergansers.  As they skittered across the water, both the egret and heron took flight.  Breakfast had ended.  

  With the warming of the weather, the water will deepen and the mergansers will migrate back northward thus leaving the herons and egrets to fend for themselves.  Then, the stalking returns as each will stealthily patrol the shallows in hopes of finding a meal.  The buffet on the mudflats will be closed for another season.  

The Bird That Named Itself

  Most of the time, people give names to things.  This applies to critters, as well.   Birds' names may obviously be due to color...such as bluebirds...or may be attached to some person who "discovered the bird"...such as the Wilson's snipe that recently visited the Bayou.  Rarely, however, does a critter get to name itself.  One did.  The killdeer screamed its name loudly and long enough until folks realized that it was telling us its name.  When the bird takes off in flight, most folks claim that the bird's call sounds as if it is saying "killdeer".  Since the bird had no malice toward Bambi (or any other deer), it was quite clear that it just wanted us to call it by the correct moniker.

  The winter tides have been inviting to all sorts of shorebirds.  They come to forage the mudflats in hopes of a quick meal.  Tiny crustaceans and minnows are often trapped in the miniature tide pools (tide puddles?) that fill low places in the mud.  Sometimes, these low places are nothing more than a footprint of a bird previously in the area.  This morning, several killdeer were busy working the shoreline.  They ran up and down the mudflat, all the while, bobbing their heads like a working sewing machine.  All was quiet except for their insistence in telling me their names.

  Watching the winter visitors to the Bayou would not be complete without seeing the killdeer.  Although they are here year round, it seems that they are more easily seen during the winter months.  Since the birds prefer wide open spaces, the mudflats give me the opportunity to have them come for a visit.  This also gives me the opportunity to ponder things like their names.  The Bayou critters do keep me thinking!

A Good Day to Cozy Up to the Woodstove!

  Its cold tonight.  Maybe not by other folks' standards but this is one of the chilliest nights that we have had on the Bayou in years.  I am feeling it in my bones.  We are snug in the Little Bayou House with the woodstoves chugging out the heat but when out and about the hillside, it is rattling cold.  Perhaps I am just getting old because I never remember being chilled as I am now.  I, also, never remember being as tired as I am now.   Since having temperatures in the teens is a rare occasion in the Deep South, we have to prepare for the cold just about like we do for a hurricane.  The tractors need tending, the garden covered, heat lamps put in the greenhouse, the water pump insulated, faucets wrapped and covered and "let drip" and firewood cut...lots of firewood.  More or less, until yesterday, these have been my jobs this winter.  Mark is off at work and Son had torn something in his knee.  With the two of them "out of commission", so to speak, the bulk of the chores fell to me.  Cutting, hauling and stacking firewood just about did me in.  Yep, I am getting old.  I am feeling a bit achy-breaky.  Top it off with that bone-chilling wind and I am just about ready to toss in the towel and crawl under the covers for the duration of this frigid weather!

  

  This morning while out with the old dog, I did brave the elements and made the trek to the pier.  The water calls to me...but when I got to the end of the pier...the water was gone!  All gone!  The same north wind that brought our icy air took our water!  Wintertime is notorious for low tides but this was a tad ridiculous!  Just about as far as I could see...mud.  Nothing but mud.  Instead of the twenty or so feet of mudflats, we had a span of several hundred feet of no water.  Boats were sitting high and dry in this blustery wind!  So, no fishing for me...even if I had wanted to cast a line.  Instead, I headed back to the Little Bayou House, made another mug of coffee and propped the feet up next to the old cast iron woodstove.  The old dog, Mr. PJ seemed to agree that this is exactly where we both should be on these cold morns.  Smart dog.