Seeking Shade

   We are sweltering here on the Bayou just like most of the rest of the Deep South.  When the temperatures rise to the triple digits in the morning, it is time to seek out coolness where you can find it.  Most folks say to "Stay indoors!"  I cannot.  There will soon come a time when I can no longer roam the property in search of magical sights so I try to cram every bit of nature into my day while I can.  Doing my indoor chores before the sun rises and then the outdoor chores before the heat slams me, I am pretty much left to my own whims by midday.  Then, I seek out the shade where I find it so as to while away the hours in a wonderland of beauty.

  Earlier, I slipped down behind the canebrake to check on a small turtle that had gotten itself in quite a predicament yesterday. As turtles are known to do, this one had rooted around in a boggy area enough to entrap itself.  The poor thing was stuck without an exit.  So, it was up to me to gently shove the poor critter from the muck with a broken cane.  Once free, the turtle seemed mighty grateful but was a bit slow-moving...even for a turtle.  Today, the critter could not be found so I am assuming it finally came to its senses and headed for the underbrush.  Since I was this far down, I figured I may as well nose around a bit.  At the base of an old live oak tree, I found the perfect "fairyland" of enchantment.  Between a few rogue sprigs of old asparagus ferns and the twists and turns of a trumpet vine was an adorable mushroom.  It was no more than two inches tall and had most velvety red cap.  Obviously, the snails had thought the mushroom was perfect, as well, as something had nibbled on it just a bit.  Still, the sight was enough to bring a smile and cause me to linger for a bit under the umbrella shade of the oak limbs.  

  This, my friends, is what I consider the perfect way to escape the heat and the confines of the Little Bayou House.  While I adore my little home, slipping away into a magical world of nature is the perfect diversion.

Darkness

   "Progress" is beginning to wear thin on my nerves.  Things are a little better today since we had a wee bit of rain overnight but for the past two months, I was constantly on edge.  My nerves were being tested at each turnaround.  A severe drought left our area literally crispy.  Leaves prematurely fell from the trees and became a thick, crackly carpet throughout the woods.  This was just waiting for someone to take a notion of starting a fire whether by ill intention, a tossed out cigarette, fireworks or campfire.  The city took the wise step of issuing a burn ban but, obviously, that does not apply to everyone.  This all goes back to the progress thing.  Clearcutting property has reached a frenzied stage as building new houses is all the rage.  Fine.  Fine and dandy.  BUT...you should follow the rules.  As the people clear the properties all around us, the trees are simply shoved in huge piles and lit afire.  Yep, lit afire while we are under a burn ban due to drought.  It is nerve racking to smell smoke knowing that any spark could set up a wildfire with the brisk north winds.  Progress!  Oh, how I would love to go back to being in solitude around here.

  As I sat on the pier yesterday morning, I had a brief moment where I felt that solitude.  The skies were eerily bright even though the sun had not even risen above the pines but the woods were pitch black.  I say woods...there are dozens of homes just beyond those trees.  For some odd reason, nary a light could be seen (power outage, maybe?).  No streetlights, no house lights...nothing.  As I sat there pondering the darkness, it occurred to me that maybe we are not meant to see everything.  Perhaps, we are better off being in our own little worlds.  I know I am.  Too bad, it appears that my little world is soon to be a thing of the past.

All is Well

   How the Little Bayou House is situated, it is backed by a rather shabbily wooded area.  By shabbily, I am referring to the fact that the trees have been hurricane ravaged so much in the past years that there are mostly low-growing shrubs with very few tall "canopy" trees.  Probably on the whole of the back five acres, there may be a good fifty full sized trees.  The rest are thick bushes that only reach maybe twenty feet in height.  Through the midst of this, the tiny creek flows until it spills into the back part of the Bayou.  I leave the area wild and woolly simply to provide some shelter for the critters.  With everything around us sold and being developed, this is the only place where the critters can live free and happy.  I am good with it. There also is a lovely canebrake between the wooded area and the house.  This canebrake also provides shelter for critters.  You never know what you might find in there!

  With the woods and the canebrake being on the north side of the Little Bayou House, it is a welcome shelter for us, as well.  The dense growth of both shields us from the bitter north wind during winter.  It is there, that I can meander about without being chilled to the bone.  It is, also, there that I find my critter friends doing the same.  A good many will hunker down in the thickets to be protected from the icy winds.  

  It was on the hike this morning that I found the male Northern Cardinal in the canebrake.  His lovely wife was tucked in the midst of the brake but he was keeping watch from the edge.  Their soft chirps to each other called my attention to the male.  As I eased my way near the cane, the chirps took on a different tone as he told her to sit tight for possible danger approaches.  He never wavered from his post even though my path went directly below him.  Once he realized that I was not there to do harm, his chirps reverted back to the calming, soft whispers.  "It is all ok.  Stay put.  She will not hurt us.  All is well."  His ladylove stayed snug in her sheltered spot and he continued his watch just as I continued my way down the path. 

  I am glad the birds and other critters have a "safe place" from all of the craziness of this old world.  I am also glad that they realize I am a friend and not a predator.  The Little Bayou Kingdom is safe and sound.  All is well.

Bewitching Aroma!

  While Son and I were out and about this afternoon, a strong southeast wind was cooling the air.  On that breeze, there was one of the sweetest scents.  It slightly smelled of peaches no...maybe bananas.  I thought the tea olives were blooming because those blooms have a slight peachy smell.  They were but Son pointed out that the wind was in the wrong direction.  So, I searched.  Following the scent, I headed down to the marsh edge.  Nothing blooming there.  I headed eastward around the path.  Nope, no blooms.  Still, that sweet scent lingered heavily on the breeze.  

  Since I was this far into a hike, there was no turning back.  The path took me down behind the canebrake, through the old peach orchard and far down into the woods almost to the creek bed.  It is always a happy time to be tromping about the woods and a few blooms did surprise me.  First, what I have tentatively identified as sweetspire could be found draping down along the path.  The long, spires of creamy white were beautiful but did not have the fruity aroma of the mystery plant.  Then, I spied what we have always called mimosa or pink silk tree.  The pink, fluffballs are actually albizia and grow wild throughout the woods.  They do have a lovely scent but it is not the one that bewitched me earlier.  

  The mystery scent still eludes me.  Perhaps tomorrow, I will search again. It bugs me when there is something new on the Bayou and I cannot find it to identify it.  

*The white blooms are NOT sweetspire but Swamp Cyrilla!  

Thankful of the rain!

  Folks, when it is dry, don't burn.  It only takes a wee bit of commonsense to understand that fires have a way of spreading during dry weather.  Let one spark lift up into the wind and devastation can be the result.  Just don't.  If there is a burn ban issued, don't even use that cute little outdoor fireplace.  Your entertainment can leave folks homeless or even cause death.  Just don't.  If the leaves crunch underfoot, don't burn trash (even in a container.)  Your yard cleanup could result in hundreds of acres of forest lost due to wildfires and thousands of animals horribly killed.  Just don't.  One tossed cigarette, one small fireworks (bottle rocket), one careless act...puts firemen in extreme danger.  Just don't.

  This past weekend, a fire raged through the woods not far from us.  Scuttlebutt has it that someone decided to burn leaves even though a burn ban was in effect.  Acre upon acre scorched as the fire went crazy with the high winds.  Flames shot nigh on seventy feet into the air.  Homes, churches and businesses were threatened to be caught up in those flames but, thanks to the brave firefighters, were saved.  It was a careless act that should never have occurred.

  Last night, it rained.  This rain was a blessing, not only for the exhausted firefighters that were still watching "hot spots" but to all of us who have wooded areas.  Watching the videos of the fire just to the west of us, caused an uneasiness to settle in as it could very well have been here.  When I heard the first raindrops pelting the rooftop, I said a prayer of thanks and know full well that prayer was being repeated the Coast over.   I have always been thankful for the rain but, in times like this, it has never been more beautiful. 

The World Beneath the Underbrush

  Earlier today, there came an eerily familiar fracas from deep in the creek bed.  It grew in intensity until I had to quit painting, grab the camera and slip unseen through the underbrush.  The cacophony reminded me of a saddening situation a few years back.  I witnessed a large male raccoon literally slaughtering the young of a small female.  It was breeding season but she already had kits. Since the massacre took place high in the top of a dead pine tree, there was nothing I could do to help the sweet little mama.  I watched and cringed as I saw the male pull the tiny babies from the nest, bite them and fling them to the ground.  Little Mama tried valiantly to protect her litter but it was to no avail.  She finally gave up and flung herself from the treetop.  She would rather plunge some sixty feet to the ground than watch her babies be so brutally killed.  This horrifying massacre lingered in my mind for years to come and, today, it surfaced with each scream.

  As I edged my way through the underbrush and down past the palmetto clumps, I was thankful for the cool air.  Hopefully, all cottonmouths had crawled back in their warm spots for the day and I would not tread on any.  The screaming continued for the full ten minutes it took me to reach the spot where I could see what was happening.  Thankfully, it was too early for kits yet but this was equally brutal.  Sweet and gentle love is not a common thing in the critter world.  Four large males were competing over a small female but she was caught in the middle of the brawl.  No matter how she tried, there was no escape.  She was bleeding and screaming as the males battled over her.  Since no kits were involved (yet), I turned to leave.  There was no reason for me to be there and, in fact, it would have been dangerous (and foolish) for me to intervene with nothing but a camera to use as a weapon to protect myself.

  As I clamored up the hillside out of the creek, I was suddenly sidetracked.  Without realizing it when I was racing down, I had plowed through a virtual fairyland of beauty!  Dropping to my knees, I admired the beauty of mosses, ferns and tiny flowers!  The overhead canopy of trees and bamboo had protected the area from the elements and allowed this natural wonderland to flourish!  Oblivious to the melee going on about fifty feet from me, I started photographing the captivating beauty of the forest floor.  Key word here is "started".  After only two photographs, the camera went dead and, in my rush to be a "savior of baby raccoons", I forgot to pick up extra batteries.  Yep, my wonderland would have to wait until I have another opportunity to weasel my way beneath the thickets.  Since it is to be cold tomorrow, it should be a perfect time if the opportunity presents itself.  Then, I SHALL remember to grab a pocketful of extra batteries! 

Oh, THIS One!!

  Ms. Nycto has not "graduated" to being a Bayou Cat even after all the years of living here.  Although we dutifully call her the Bayou Princess, it is more out of sarcasm than respect.  She is NOT a Ms. Put (RIP).  Ms. Put WAS definitely a Bayou Cat and even earned the right to reign as Bayou Queen.  She can never be replaced.  Ms. Nycto will only be dubbed princess and never queen.  She just is not Bayou Queen material.

  Several times in the past, Ms. Nycto has found herself in the need of rescuing.  The first time is when she came to the Bayou seeking refuge from some pretty hateful people who abused her.  She came...she never left.  Then, after being here a few years, Ms. Put had to defend the Bayou Princess from a marauding tomcat that was quite intent on killing her.  (Yes, actually killing.) I interfered with the attack and the feral tom turned on me!  Ms. Put was aged and not strong but she saw that we were being attacked and she raced across the yard to our aid.  She battled the much larger feral tom until he was in no shape to be attacking anyone.  Ms. Nycto watched from the top of a pine tree where she had to be retrieved by Son after the ordeal was over. 

  This evening, I asked Son to fetch Ms. Nycto for her feeding.  She spends the nights inside the Little Bayou House for her own safety.  This time, Son could not find the cat.  He wandered about the hillside until he heard her pitiful cries.  There she was again.  Up in another tree and did not know how to get back to the ground.  Coyotes were seen in the area so we assume they did the chasing this time.  The cat was high up in the tree and was wedged between branches.  Son came to the rescue once again.  The ladder was hauled to the woods, propped against the tree and Son climbed to get the cat.  Getting a scared cat out of a tall tree is not a fun task.  It took nigh on an hour to get her free from the branches and down to safety.  As we were attempting rescue, the sun was setting and we could hear the coyotes just beyond the underbrush.  To say that was a bit unnerving is an understatement.  A pack of coyotes is not something you want to encounter in the woods especially after dark.  They are sneaky and mean!

  The Bayou Princess is now back inside, fed and hiding on the rocking chair upstairs.  Her ordeal left her a bit shaken but with no physical injuries.  Son and I, on the other hand, are both covered with scrapes, scratches and mosquito bites from being down in the creek bed after dark.  Oh, this silly cat! The Bayou Queen would not have gotten in such a mess.  More than likely, she would have settled the score with the coyotes.  That little seven pound cat was a scrapper!

Its Magical!

  It should come as no great surprise that I think the Bayou is a pretty magical place.  Things here have a way of, well, just being a bit different than other places.  What may seem to be perfectly mundane one day can be quite mystical the next.  It all depends on how you look at things or, rather, how you see things,  I have often said that looking at things and seeing them are two different things.  Seeing is far better.  

  This morning's hike felt a bit different from the get go.  The old dog was not up to gallivanting about the hillside at daybreak so I traipsed the path alone.  As I rounded the bend near where the Bayou meets the creek, a sweet, almost intoxicating scent enveloped me.  Ahh, yes, the tree that folks around here call mimosa (actually, albizia) was in full bloom.  As I stood staring up at the pink, powder-puff flowers, it suddenly hit me that this was one of those magical, mystical moments.   

  Over night, a slight fog had settled over the marsh and softly wafted through the trees.  The early morning sunbeams were just starting to filter through and had seemingly spotlighted the mimosa tree.  There it stood...glowing in all its glory...a thing of untold beauty in the midst of the woods.  I fully expected some faeries to start flitting about the blossoms at any moment.  

  There is nothing better than hiking about the place at dawn.  It is a time when the newness of the day can not only be seen but heard, smelled, tasted and felt.  It is a sensory overload!  That saying "You snooze, you lose!" is accurate.  Had I laid in bed, I would have never seen the beauty set before me.  

The Little Glade in the Woods

  Far down below the canebrake, there is one little spot that is my "feel good" space.  This little area is somewhat secluded from the rest of the world as it is surrounded by woods except for the entrance path.  It is here that I can escape from the chaos of every day life.   The solitude gives me a time to collect the thoughts and face the day with renewed energy.

  Recently, I headed to the little glade to check on a rat snake that had been hanging around the area.  I was in hopes that the snake would stay and keep my little secret glade free from any varmints.  While I did not see the snake, there were two rather lovely mushrooms that had sprung up right in the middle of the sun dappled area.  The mushrooms reminded me of something from the story of "Alice in Wonderland" which started the brain to whirl around with a billion thoughts.  All sorts of fantastical tales started weaving together but I had no one to share the tales with.  Oh, how I would have loved to have the Grandlittles here so we could have storytime in the little glade.  I am sure a few gnomes, faeries, pixies and elves would have been happy to join in our little party.  Then, a sudden sadness enveloped me as I realized that would not be happening any time soon.

  The little glade would be such a neat place to have a lazy afternoon picnic with storytime.  I guess I have far too much of my grandmother and my Aunt Helen in me.  Those two ladies always found time to entertain me with their grand tales, a cup of tea and maybe a few special cookies.  I always had hopes that I would be the one to carry on their tradition.  It doesn't seem that is ever to be.  Instead, my tales will go untold and the magic will stay in the Little Glade in the Woods.

Tiny, Red Helicopters!

  Down behind the canebrake, there is a good stand of red maple trees.  Usually, these trees are still dormant during February and do not set their samaras until late March.  Our very short winter (which lasted a whopping four weeks or so) and the sudden onset of warm (almost hot!) weather has made most of the trees start to bloom and even set fruit.  The maples have the woods ablaze with their bright red samaras making the hikes back to that part of the property even more enjoyable.  

  Samaras are actually the seeds of the maple tree.  These are sometimes erroneously identified as flowers which is easily understood when viewed from a distance.  The paper thin, winglike structures have a hard seed at one end and are usually in pairs.  These wings and being paired allow the seeds to act like little helicopters when a good stiff wind knocks them from the tree.  The seeds are airborne for a quite a distance before sinking to the ground.  Their flight takes them far from the parent tree. This spacing lets the trees grow large and strong.

  Red maples are somewhat invasive as they make thousands and thousands of seeds each year.  Not too many critters eat the seeds like they do acorns and pine nuts.  The sheer number of seeds that germinate coupled with the trees' ability to grow in any soil type lets them soon take over a forest.  Here, there are many maples far up on the hill where the soil is dry and just as many down in the watery creek bed.  The trees have no preference where they take root.  Some even survive in the salty marshes.  

  My afternoon hike surprised me with the maple samaras but the threat of stormy weather tonight may see the trees stripped of their glory by morning.  The high winds and torrential rains will most likely have tiny, red helicopters flying all over the hillside!

Destructive Little Critters!

  Occasionally, a strange beetle or other creepy-crawly critter will catch my eye as I wander around the woods or creek bed. The fallen logs and leaf mulch are a haven for the critters and, if one has a keen eye or is just interested, one of the insects can be spied.  This afternoon, I, once again, escaped the confines of the sick house and made my way down through the mire to the creek.   Tomorrow, torrential rainstorms will pound the area making this particular hike inaccessible.  Most of the area will be flooded making it unsafe to tread there as footing would be unsure.  Once I found a sunny spot beneath the leaf canopy, my search for any critter life began.  Most of the insects are still dormant but telltale signs of their past activities was rampant.

  On a felled pine limb, the bark was crumbly and easily removed.  Slowly peeling back the outer layer, a network of tunnels was revealed.  A good bit of the sealed tunnels was intact.  Sawdust ladened excrement "roofs" laid neatly above each burrow.  This was the work of the woodborer larvae as they chewed their way through the wood.  These larvae can ruin more of the pine wood forests than any other critter.  

  As I sat inspecting the damage done to this one piece of wood, it made me almost thankful that our woods are not heavy with pine trees.  Hurricanes took their toll on the tall trees plus we have recently had a number of lightning strikes on the remaining few.  Perhaps these particular beetles will find little to infest and die out on their own.  Destructive little creatures!

Fat Knots....

    I do not know whether to be fully astonished at the entrepreneurship of some folks or befuddled at the ignorance of others. (Notice that I used the word ignorance and not stupidity.  There is a vast difference.  Look it up before you get your shorts in a wad.)  Granted, maybe folks do not have access to the things that the Bayou and land provides but it seems to me that there are those who cannot fend for themselves.  Being a bit under the weather with this flu bug, I have plenty of time to browse the Internet for useless items or items that cost a fortune but can be had for free.  The latter is what the aforementioned remark is pointed.  

  What used to be almost a necessity back in our grandparents' and even my parents' days, now has become somewhat of a luxury....obviously.  At least, if I had to dole out the hard cash for something this expensive, I would deem it a luxury!  On several websites "Fat Wood Starter" is going for whopping prices.  Who would ever expect something that can be found with every walk in the woods would demand such an exorbitant bit of cash!  Granted someone has done the splitting and packaging for you but, hey, free beats $20 for 8 lbs of sticks.  I guess city folks just don't want to dirty their hands or maybe do not have the time to wander about hunting the old fat knots.  Maybe there are just no places to go scrounging for these things.  I do not know but I find it dumbfounding that a stick is worth that much.  Maybe I should start a new business!

  Back growing up on the farm, it was almost a ritual to pick up any fat knots when we were out in the woods.  The heart of felled pine trees or downed limbs provided us with a winter's worth of fat wood.  Once home, a hatchet and a bit of elbow grease saw the knots shaved into the tiny slivers that assured a quick light.  I remember Pop telling of how Grandma would start her old wood burning stove with a few slivers then pop in a large knot.  This made a fast and very hot fire to get her pots to boiling.  Once the fire was going real good, some seasoned oak, hickory or pecan chunks provided a steady heat to continue her meal-cooking chores.  Her old stove had a side oven that kept a temperature steady enough to bake the finest of cakes.  The fat pine knots would cause a major soot build up in the chimney.  Pop and his brothers were forever having to clean the chimney to prevent a fire from starting where it was not supposed to be!

  Yesterday, before the rains started, the old dog and made a nice hike into the woods behind the house.  Escaping the confines of the sick house was pleasurable.  I picked up several fat knots to throw on the wood pile to be split once I get to feeling better.  While these are not seen as a necessity they once were, I still prefer to have the split pieces on hand.   The aroma that the sap-soaked heart pieces has evokes a lot of memories of days past.  Just chunking a couple of slivers into the fire bin of the old wood stove makes things right with the world.   Seeing the bright flames shoot up with such enthusiasm gives hope.  But...then I remember the folks who are paying an arm and a leg for a few "special" fat pieces and the bewilderment returns. Ha!  One company even labels their fat wood as organic!  Duh....I stand in awe!  Maybe I will go into business!  There is a wealth on the ground behind the house just waiting to be found!