In English, El Camino Real means the King’s Highway but refers to the Spanish King, Charles II. It stretches from Mexico City to the little town of Natchitoches in north east Louisiana – 2,500 miles in length. I find it difficult to imagine my Spanish ancestors traversing this route with just horses that had been shipped from Europe. Even more astonishingly it followed an existing trade and travel route used by indigenous Americans. In 1690 Alonso de León followed the trail and consequently it became El Camino Real. (There is another El Camino Real route in California.) The Texas route wavered at various points in time depending on relations with the local Nations and flooded rivers. Missions were established all along the route, mostly notably the Alamo in San Antonio. Austin and Houston were non existent at this time – strange to imagine, eh? El Camino Real was used extensively as a trade route from Mexico to Texas and Louisiana until the 19th century. Louisiana had been settled by France in the late 1600s.
On our first little trip since the pandemic, we traveled from our home traveling north east, eventually joining El Camino Real after Lufkin. It was my first long drive in 2 years (4.5 hours) and I was surprised how well I managed. The road was quiet for most of the length and it went through miles and miles of Piney Wood Forest. Most drivers were considerate – it is a simple two-lane road for most of the section near Louisiana but with a speed limit of 75 mph on long stretches.
Pendleton Bridge over the Louisiana/Texas border
Courtesy of Texas Fish and Game
I have a fear of long low bridges over water and the Pendleton Bridge tested me to my core. I just focused on the road ahead and let Teddy enjoy the spectacular view on 2.5 miles of bridge. You can see the bridge on the map above marked SH 6 aka El Camino Real. The center of the Sabine River is the border between Texas and Louisiana. You have to be careful entering into Louisiana as the speed limits change and a Texas driving plate is just begging to be stopped!
Fishing Pier by Pendleton Bridge
After we crossed into Louisiana, we stopped briefly at this little village, below, named Robeline. It was a little down at heel as are many little towns in the hinterland. I was fascinated by the abandoned Masonic Hall which had a hand written sign. Most halls I have seen in the States are very elaborate structures. Robeline was the area where Louis St Denis, who established Natchitoches, led a party of missionaries and Spanish soldiers to initiate trade with the local Native Americans (Caddo Nation) in 1717. Robeline didn’t become a village until the arrival of the rail road in the 1800s. I wondered if it may have had a heyday but I read this quotation, on Natchitoches.net regarding Robeline, “The village also has a history of rough and rowdy crowds. Once known as “Robbers Lane” the area was full of these types of crowds.” Sounds like some places I have lived before…👀
References: Natchitoches.net, Wikipedia and Texas Fish and Game
One of my most popular posts of late was Floral Spike. After reading all the comments from avid gardeners, I decided to allow my Coleus to spike even if that led to the plant’s death. My reasons were that it would likely die in the winter and that the spikes attract butterflies, hummingbirds and bees. I managed to snap this busy little bee foraging. Texas bees were ravaged by the February Freeze – about 25% died. This particular Coleus does look a little sad but she has fed so many garden visitors.
The Honey Bee, Apis mellifera Linnaeus, is upside down in the spike, trying to avoid my nosy gaze. In the last few weeks my other Lime Green and Maroon Coleus has also started to spike.
It almost looks like a Texas bluebonnet but the Coleus spikes are often blue. Like the other Coleus, I shall allow it to spike and feed our garden friends.
This Coleus grew from a tiny plant pot to this verdant bush in just 6 months and is still popping out little ones at the back. Being part lizard, I feel that winter has arrived and I am sitting with a fleece in front of the gas fire. It is 77 F outside…
Don’t we look adorable? This is my ‘cousin’ Craig and I on the wall of our boarding house (B & B) in Portrush, Northern Ireland. It was my first vacation since we traveled from San Francisco to Europe when I was a toddler. My mum, dad and little Kerry traveled around Europe like hobos before landing in Glasgow at Nana’s house. Dad disappeared back to the USA and that was that. It was hard for my mum, as a separated yet married lady, to get a decent job. She was well qualified but unable to work for a bank (because of her marital status) despite having been a foreign exchange teller in San Francisco.
Eventually she found a strange new career as a Private Investigator for a company that would ultimately be bought out by the Pinkerton Agency. She specialized in corporate retail fraud and was particularly gifted as she could switch accents (from UK to US). She was also as sharp as a whip. At the agency, Mum became life long friends with a lady in a very similar position. She too was separated from her husband, had two young boys and was living with her parents. They bonded immediately with each other and our families. Marie, my mum’s friend, adored my Irish Nana and my mum adored Marie’s mother who was Greek. Ironically both of them found living with their own mothers difficult, which was understandable.
The salary at the agency was below par but they saved up enough money to go to Ireland in 1964. I was 4 and Craig was 5 years old. I think the older brother was 8 years old. We stayed at this lovely three-story house. My mum and I had one room; Marie and the boys had the one next to it. I was at a perfect age; not yet old enough to be intimidated with school and full of exuberant zest. One evening after Marie and my Mum were having a drink in the lounge downstairs, they came up to find me in the middle of the boys’ bed. I am certain they did not invite me…they were well behaved, shy little boys. On another occasion, at the beach, the boys were horrified or amused when I ripped off my swimsuit and rocketed into the waves stark naked. I can remember my mum laughing and chasing me with a towel. This was a regular habit in our house and the phrase my mum used to keep me in line was, “The Moon will catch your bottom!”
Recently I was clearing out boxes and found old birthday cards from my ‘cousins’ when I was 5, 6 and 7 years old. Over the years we went on at least one more joint vacation in Dumfries. My mum and Marie often went on two-week work projects, mostly to Aberdeen and Belfast. They must have loved being alone and yet together. After my mum died, Marie confided in me that Mum had already started drinking too much on their trips. Marie would leave my mum alone with her whisky while she went to bed. There was no alcohol allowed in our house except at New Year.
I don’t think I had come across the photo above until I opened an envelope of my mum’s. It could have been sent after her death. If you look closely at our hands, you can see that I am firmly grasping Craig’s hand in my little paws. We were probably told to hold hands so they could get a cute photo. I laughed out loud, looking at the image, vaguely remembering that I snuck into bed with them. If I was young enough for Tinder, I could have tagged myself…warm, affectionate and dominant! That irrepressible Kerry did not reappear until my late teenage years. Below is a photo of Marie and my mum (right) on an evening out in Glasgow.
OASIS dress, Target belt, Ralph Lauren denim jacket (all bought 10 years ago). New Carlos Santana suede embroidered boots.
Teddy and I went on a short road trip last week when he took this photo – more posts to follow. I have been battling my cholesterol levels successfully and have lost weight. It was fun to wear clothes I haven’t worn in a while and the dress has a story. Ten years ago, I went on dreary winter trip to Scotland to see the old folks. On a free afternoon I went to a local shopping mall to check out the stores. I walked into a dress store and the manager greeted me with an insincere smile and welcome. Her thoughts were, “You are in the wrong store, turn around. Why would an ancient crone/homeless person come into my fabulous shop?” I looked in the mirror and saw a tired, jetlagged woman with so many layers of clothes to fight the cold.
In my head I thought, “Game on, Termagant…” The real word I thought of rhymed with Witch. The Termagant was a very pretty lady in her late 20s with long wavy blonde hair. She had a great little figure – a pocket Venus. Her dress was a gorgeous navy dress with taupe banding (look familiar)? I said, “I love the dress you are wearing.” She stared at me as though I had lost my mind. Did I really think I could look good in HER dress? With a slight sneer, she said, “We only have one left on the mannequin and it is an EXTRA SMALL.” “I would love to try it on if you don’t mind taking it off the mannequin…”
Well, now the Termagant was annoyed. She summoned her minion from the back to help with this hopeless task. The minion was a lovely girl, full of smiles and clearly didn’t like the her boss. The minion and the ancient crone went off the fitting rooms. Underneath the many layers of clothing, I had/have a pretty cute figure and I was particularly slim on this trip. I came from behind the curtain like Cinderella – transformed. The minion’s eyes opened wide with surprise, delight and the inevitable Schadenfreude. She called out to her Termagant boss, “Look how amazing the dress looks on her!!”
Termagant’s face was a picture, ‘How could that ancient crone have a rocking body?’ Her perplexment made my day and I still have the dress, as you can see. Keep your old stuff; fashion comes in cycles.
It’s been a while since I strolled around the containment pond with my pesky eye irritation. As I rounded the curve, I could hear the panicked high pitched peeps of the whistling ducks. The parents ran away from the grass where they were nesting with babies in tow and splashed into the water. The bombproof Muscovy ducks just sat and watched with perplexment. They live here year around and are domesticated – nothing to fear from humans who feed them (and keep them warm when it snows). The whistling ducks are migratory so are pretty feral and very skittish.
This year we have a bumper crop of whistling ducks to go back to Latin America. Dozens and dozens of lovely wee non-ducks, as we call them as they are neither ducks nor geese. The ducklings are just precious little ‘stripes’. I didn’t see any Muscovy ducklings this year but I think this lot are all the same family. It’s doubtful that would stop them getting frisky, though… Red faces not red necks?
On my trek back, I got a better photo of the six Muscovy Ducks. Don’t they look dapper in their evening wear? I like the touch of taupe in the middle duck and the silver one is my favorite. They look ready for the Oscars or whatever the Duck equivalent is.
“Hush, Mam!” gulped Tessa. “Finn is not a changeling.” Long held in tears welled over and Tessa sank into the fireside chair. With concern, Tessa’s mother, turned her attention to her beloved daughter. Her skin had a ghostly pallor and she was exhausted from the long journey from Inverselkie to her home village of Auchnagatt. “Let’s get you to bed,” said Mam “and I will look after the wee cratur.” Silently, Mam thought that she wasn’t ready to call the baby Finn or even accept him.
Tessa’s mother took her out of the damp clothes and gently helped her into the spare bed with a warming pan in it. Tessa sighed with pleasure at the warm bed with the well-remembered eiderdown quilts. The sheets were soft from many years washing and smelled of fresh northern air. Within minutes she had fallen into a deep sleep. Finn had begun fussing on the table and Mam could tell he was about to let out a wail of distress. She rushed to comfort him so as not to wake Tessa.
“Let me give you a bosie,” and snuggled Finn into her ample bosom. As she inhaled the precious smell of the beautiful baby, her heart began to grow tender. Finn raised his big brown eyes to look at this new person and grasped onto her breast with fat little fingers. “Look at those eyes, ma wee bairnie!” she softly gasped, falling under his spell. Finn gently smiled, at peace after such a stressful time. Just then, the latch on the door turned and Tessa’s father walked in, covered in freshly fallen snow.
He cast an eye to his daughter asleep in the bed and then looked quizzically at his wife holding a strange baby. “Sit down Dad, and I will tell you everything,” entreated Mam. Meanwhile she emptied her sewing box and filled it with her softest blankets. Mam gently placed Finn in the box who settled down like a cat. Over supper, Mam filled in the gaps with Dad. His eyes widened when she told him that Finn was left in a basket outside Tessa and Thom’s door. “I think he might be a changeling,” whispered Mam.
“Ach, Mam!” exclaimed Dad with exasperation, “That’s nonsense.” Dad persuaded Mam that it was much more likely that some unmarried woman left him at the door. Perhaps flaxen haired Finn did have ancestor from the Viking lands? “Thom and Tessa came up with a plausible tale and we should support them,” said Dad with a note of finality. Mam knew better to argue with Dad who was a village elder. “How is Tessa?” he asked. Mam confided that she looked terrible and that as soon as she recovered from the arduous carriage journey, they should take her to cousin Elspeth who was a healer in the next valley. As soon as they had received the note from Thom about Tessa contracting the White Plague again, they had sent a messenger to Elspeth to make ready.
The next morning, Tessa woke up with a start. It took her a moment to figure out where she was. She looked through the door and saw her father polishing up her old crib for Finn. It had been sitting in the barn for so many years – Tessa’s eyes filled with happy tears. Rather unsteadily, she walked into the living room and fell into her father’s welcoming open arms. Tessa heard a gurgling and turned around to see her mother feeding a bottle of warm goats’ milk to Finn. He was holding onto Mam’s curly hair and gazing up at her as though she was an Earth Mother. A fleeting jab of jealousy touched Tessa but she smiled openly at the love between them.
“Granny’s wee bairnie is so hungry,” laughed Mam, spellbound by an unexpected grandchild. Over the next few days, Tessa’s parents fed her and Finn so much food that they were visibly putting on much needed weight. Mam was a plain but excellent cook. Dad was a hunter so their house was filled with plenty. Tessa eagerly ate the food of her childhood. Jugged hare, fresh strawberry jam, porridge made with thick cream. Finn, too, was eagerly eating everything he could lay his fat little hands on. His new Granny’s knitting fingers flew and in no time, he had a winter layette. Knitted breeches in all the colors of the countryside – moss green, yellow gorse and rowan red. Tessa’s needlework skills were matched by her Mam’s knitting expertise.
Tessa had perked up with the comforts of home but she was still coughing up blood into her handkerchief. Mam and Dad starting packing the horse and wagon and all too soon, they were ready to leave for Cousin Elspeth’s house. Dad would accompany Tessa but Mam would stay at home with baby Finn. As Tessa stood at the door, ready to leave, she hugged Finn a little too tightly. He cried at the ferocity of the hug and the tension in his mother’s body.
“Come awa to Granny,” beseeched Mam, reaching out for Finn. Somewhat reluctantly, Tessa gently handed him over, knowing that she wouldn’t see him for some months. The White Plague treatment required months of convalescence. Finn was oblivious to her as he happily grasped onto his Granny’s bosom. Dad helped her into the wagon and Mam waved Finn’s little hand to say farewell to his mother. Tessa blew kisses to him until she couldn’t see them anymore. Her heart ached with love for Finn but she knew that he could not be in better hands. Dad gently patted her shoulder in comfort and the next stage of Tessa’s journey began.
My husband’s adoptive granny was ambivalent about his arrival because, after they took him home and he was unswaddled, they noticed he had an opening at the bottom of his spine – most commonly seen in spina bifida patients. They immediately took him to the doctor who diagnosed a small abnormality of the coccyx and said it would heal if he was left unswaddled. It completely healed but he had to have some padding on his tailbone during certain sports. Granny had beautiful brown eyes and felt a kinship to her only brown eyed grandson. Their love was enhanced by Granny looking after him while his Mum was in the TB ward.
There is a real village of Auchnagatt in north east Scotland. We lived there in an old house in the late 1980s. The name of the village is derived from Gaelic meaning Field of the Cat/Witch. We had our first three cats – one was definitely a witch…
It had been a few weeks since Tessa and Thom Goodwood found the beautiful baby boy on their doorstep. All of their friends and neighbors eagerly accepted their fictitious tale that Finn was the unwanted child of Tessa’s cousin in the north. The young couple were so warmly endearing that anyone would wish this happiness for them. Every day, Tessa woke up with a smile on her face and ran to the crib to see her baby boy. Finn didn’t sleep very much and both parents were worn out but felt it was a small price to pay for parenthood. Thom spent many wakeful hours crafting wooden toys for Finn and in a flash of tired genius made rockers for the crib. That helped Finn to drift off to sleep along with his new mother singing her favorite lullaby, ‘Green grow the rashes’.
Before long, many moons had passed. Tessa had returned to making bridal gowns. It was autumn so the dresses were embroidered in harvest colors. Gold, amber, crimson and darkest copper. In her few spare minutes, she fashioned delightful new clothes for Finn. This had led to a new demand for children’s clothes for a Saining or other blessed occasions. Tessa was tired to her core with the demands of a new, unexpected, baby and her tailoring tasks. She glanced over at Finn, playing on the floor, in indigo dyed breeches with pale blue stitching to match the softly knitted jumper underneath and her heart melted once more. It was all worth it.
One evening, Thom and Tessa were eating a simple meal of rabbit and mushrooms at the cozy kitchen table. Tessa had a coughing fit, and Thom ran around to pat her on the back. “Are you alright, my love?” asked Thom solicitously. “I think I just need some water”, gasped Tessa. “Perhaps I swallowed a small bone?” All was well, however, and Thom made her a warm drink of whisky and honey to go to bed with. A few days later, Tessa was on her own with Finn when she had another coughing fit. She covered her mouth with her handkerchief so that she didn’t cough on the baby. Finn started crying, in distress, and she rushed to hold him to her bosom, reassuring him that his Mam was fine.
After the baby settled down, Tessa retrieved her handkerchief from her seat where she had dropped it. She looked at it in horror, as she saw a blood stain. “The White Plague” she whispered under her breath and sat in the chair in darkness until Thom returned from the Mason’s yard. “Why are all the lights off Tessa?” shouted Thom as he arrived home from a long day at work. She passed him the handkerchief which he took to the fire to look at. As soon as he saw the blood, his face became ashen. Wordlessly, he reached out for Tessa who fell crying into his arms.
Tears fell from both of Finn’s parents’ eyes and he looked at them with worry in his big brown eyes. Thom quietly went around the house, lighting gas lamps and putting the remains of last night’s meal on the fire. Then he sat down with Tessa and they worked out a new plan. Tessa had earlier been infected by the White Plague when she was 14 years old, living in their hamlet in the far north east of Alba. Her mother wisely sent her to her cousin, Elspeth, who lived in an even more remote valley who had skills as a healer. Elspeth had helped numerous patients with the White Plague and Tessa appeared to fully recover. There was always a chance that the malady could return.
Tessa and Thom agreed that the best plan would be for Tessa to go and stay with her mother initially, and take Finn with her. He wrote a letter to Tessa’s mam, stamped it with his red wax seal and handed it to a messenger on the next coach headed north. They decided not to tell Mam about Finn because it was just too complicated but did tell her about Tessa’s sickness. Their friends and neighbors were told another white lie; that Tessa’s Mam was poorly and so she was headed home to care for her. Before Tessa left, on the next full moon, neighbors had been delivering little pots of curd or a fresh baked soda bread so she felt assured that Thom would be looked after. She sadly packed a bag with warm winter clothes for her and Finn. Finn didn’t really have enough warm clothes yet but she knew her mother would quickly knit layers for the boy.
Thom and Tessa hugged each other and Finn with such love that could hardly be expressed in words. Tessa and the baby got into the carriage. Thom tucked a wolfskin around both of them and sadly bid them farewell. Tessa cried silently and Finn gently pulled at her hair for comfort. It was such a long, cold and unhappy journey to the hamlet but when she arrived, Mam was waiting with a look of such concern. Tessa stiffly came out of the carriage with Finn fussing in her arms. She put a finger up to her mouth to warn her mother know not to say anything.
Her mother’s eyes widened with shock but wordlessly she took Tessa’s bag and they walked into the cottage. It was so warm inside with the delicious smell of stovies warming on the fry pan. “Let’s get you both out of those cold, damp clothes,” said Mam in a soothing, pragmatic fashion. Tessa handed Finn to her mother who was so well wrapped up that you could only see his brown eyes. “Before you ask, Mam,” stuttered Tessa anxiously, “The bairn was left on our doorstep in a basket. Finn is a gift from the Gods.” Meanwhile, Mam was gently unwrapping Finn from all his layers, in front of the hearty fire. When she saw his fluff of almost silver hair and his beautiful face, she gasped. “He’s a changeling…”
Postscript
Thank you to Pixabay and Wikipedia for images and links.
Shortly after my husband was adopted as a 3 month old swaddled babe, his mum caught Tuberculosis again and had to go to a TB ward. His adoptive Granny from up north had to look after him.
Many moons ago, Thom and Tessa Goodwood lived in a village in the middle of Alba. The village was named Inverselkie, for its famous stone-built bridge across the River Selkie. They were a lovely young couple, similar in many ways. Both were short and bonny. Their eyes were blue, hair dark with the rosiest red cheeks. They resembled generations of their farmer ancestors. When married they moved from their remote forested hamlet to Inverselkie – a place of opportunity.
Thom was gifted in the masonic trade and helped to build the current stone bridge which replaced the old rickety wooden one. This made him one of the most admired young men in the village and Tessa was so proud of him. Tessa had wonderful skill with a needle and made many bridal gowns for her neighbors. They were simple affairs made of ivory flax but Tessa embroidered them, almost magically, in vivid hues of scarlet and indigo. Recently the blacksmith’s daughter, a gentle soul, had asked for a more delicate embroidery and Tessa had fashioned the gown with exquisite pale pink and peach freesias. Now all her customers wanted pastel colors.
Despite their success in their new home, Thom and Tessa longed for something else entirely. A baby was all they wished for. Despite prayers and potions from the village wise woman, nothing worked. Every month, Tessa was so disappointed when nature revealed her infertility once more. She sobbed and Thom held her in his loving arms, wishing for circumstances to be different. They both tried to shake off their sadness but it wasn’t helped when village busybodies patted Tessa’s tummy and asked when they were having a baby. Tessa usually laughed and said, “When the Gods provide…” but a little part of her soul died at each response.
Tessa longed for the comfort of her straight forward mother at times like this but they were many leagues away in the far north eastern corner of Alba. The landscape and the poor roads made travel difficult and they hadn’t seen each other for many moons until Tessa’s Granny died. It was an awful, grief filled journey, made worse by freezing snow and an uncomfortable carriage. Tessa and Thom launched themselves into the loving arms of their families, neighbors and friends. There were awkward questions from family members too, as they had been married for seven years, but Tessa’s Mam helped deflect them. Her advice was, “Just keep praying for a miracle”.
The night they returned to Inverselkie, Tessa and Thom settled themselves into their comfortable down filled bed at around 9 pm. They both prayed silently but were beginning to doubt their worthiness. They gently settled into slumber until they were woken at midnight by a quiet mewling at their door. Tessa woke up first and shook Thom awake. “It sounds like a cat, Tessa! I need my sleep…” Eventually, they both tentatively opened the front door of their thatched cottage and saw a basket. They both leapt back when the thistledown blanket moved but then they saw a little hand emerge. It was a baby!
Tessa immediately picked the basket up and Thom looked around to see who had left it, to no avail. They brought the basket into the warmth of their living room and put it on the kitchen table. Tessa pulled back the delicate blanket and stared into the eyes of the most beautiful baby boy. His hair was a silvery flaxen and his big round eyes were the darkest brown. “It’s a changeling!” gasped Thom. Tessa shushed him and gathered the beautiful child to her chest. “The Gods have provided our miracle baby, Thom. Please may we keep him?” Tessa’s eyes were brimming with tears and yet as happy as they had ever been. Thom’s heart unfroze and he reached out to cuddle the baby. As soon as he held him, he knew this was their answer from to their prayers.
They spent all night feeding and cuddling their strange new child until exhaustion took over. Thom woke with a start thinking, “I am late for work!” Tessa snapped awake too, looking with disbelief at the tiny babe with the big brown eyes. They were full of unanswerable questions for each other. ‘How do we explain the appearance of this beautiful Oddling’. ‘What will we name him and who left him for us?’ They sensibly decided to wait until Thom returned from work and they would make a plan. During the day, Tessa learned how to change a napkin, soothe an unsettled baby and most of all, how to love with all her heart.
When Thom came back from work at the stonemason’s yard, Tessa was full of excitement and ideas to explain the appearance of the baby left in a basket on their doorstep. “Perhaps we should check if someone has lost a baby or at least consider that the child might be a changeling?” queried Thom who, after a hard day at work, was now apprehensive. “Hush, Thom!” said Tessa – “Keep your voice down. Finn is our miracle gift from the Gods”. A faint cry from the basket near the fire alerted both new parents to the object of their concern. Thom gently lifted the newly named Finn into his arms and melted as the big brown eyes met his. Tessa smiled indulgently at the two beloved boys in her life. “Has he eaten well?”, asked Thom. Tessa told him with a satisfied smile, “He has had warm Goats Milk, a softly boiled egg and sucked on a rag dipped in honey”.
“Why did you call him Finn?” asked Thom. Tessa explained that Finn was a Celtic name that means white or fair. His halo of silky flaxen hair was certainly fairer than most Alba folks who usually had blue eyes with dark hair. Since they had only just returned from Granny’s funeral, they decided that they would tell their neighbors that Finn was the result of a liaison between an unmarried cousin of Tessa’s and a visiting Norse trader. That would explain the curious light hair and Finn’s sudden appearance. Tessa and Thom would be seen as caring relatives who took in an unwanted baby.
Tessa eagerly showed Thom a small layette of baby clothes that she had stitched when Finn was napping. She had used the finest linen from her store and knitted some items in delicate lambs wool. Even so, nothing was quite as soft and magical as the thistledown blanket in his basket. Silently, Thom and Tessa gave thanks for Finn and wondered how his mother, fairy or otherwise, could give him up.
Post script
This latest fairy story series is based on the true story of my husband’s loving adoptive parents.
Mommy Robin: “Oh this is lovely! There is nothing like a morning bath when it is already 80 degrees.”
Baby Robin “Mom! What are you doing? Can I get in?
Mommy Robin “Could I just get five minutes peace to enjoy my bath?”
Baby Robin “I’m bored…”
Mommy Robin “If I have to get out of this bath, you are in so much trouble!!”
Don’t you just feel for poor Mother Robin? I think she might have been using some bad words… This video was taken one morning after the Raccoons had used the Pyrex bowl as a swimming pool. To the US readers, the American in the title is redundant. The Brits are more familiar with the iconic European Robin which is a much smaller, cheekier bird, part of the flycatcher family. I imagine the early settlers were delighted to find their own red breasted bird in the New World.
The American Robin is really part of the Thrush family and they have the same gentle nature although they are not quite as shy. Our Robins used to migrate but some decided to stay here all year. I am delighted because they are such sweet birds. Like the crazy lady that I am, I love to chat to them in the undergrowth when they are rooting about for worms. One day I stopped my car to allow one to dip a worm in the savory puddle water at her own pace.
Mom and Dad Robin look very similar except the female has slightly lighter coloring. The males have a more vivid red breast and the females a rusty color. They look after their babies equally and have up to three clutches a year. The juveniles have a speckled chest but don’t seem to leave the nest until almost full grown.
Robins are songbirds which is delightful… except they sing at daybreak. Still, they cannot be as bad as the current cicadas which are so loud that Teddy ran through the house looking for a plumbing break. Every night I think, ‘will one of our many night critters eat that bloody cicada?’. In truth, the cicadas were the reason why we bought this house. We were enchanted by their alien song when we moved here 17 years ago. I have been wondering if these particular cicadas are on a 17-year cycle because they sound different from the summer cicadas. If I wasn’t so creeped out by their appearance, I would research it…
I hope my husband does not die under mysterious circumstances because my computer history will lead the cops to me. On Sunday, I noticed a strong skunk smell at the front of the house. I searched but saw nothing. Then I went to the neighbors and asked if they had seen anything. They thought their car had gone over some roadkill and took it to the carwash to no avail. We laughed and I said, prophetically, “At least, I won’t have to go looking for a dead critter…”
To set the scene, we are having a wee heatwave so it is hotter than hell and twice as humid. Yesterday was 97F/36C and the humidity was 68 % – it has been the same for a week with no rain. After my chat with the neighbor, I went out to the back yard and spotted them. Decomposition flies – Gah! They are so pretty with their sparkling iridescence. Curiously there was no strong smell in the yard – the balmy breeze was taking it to the front.
This is not my first dead critter rodeo, so I knew that we had to remove some of the deck planks. Teddy went out with his drill to unscrew the deck screws. He got about half out and then had to go to the hardware store to get a special bit to yank them out. Then we borrowed another neighbor’s drill. Nothing was working. Teddy looked like he was about to have a heart attack, soaked in sweat, working in Hades. As we approached nightfall (early in the subtropics), I texted our faithful handyman to ask if he could come out on Monday. Thank goodness he said yes. Then I poured a full bottle of bleach on the deck and between the planks.
We both slept very fitfully and I drifted to the other side of the bed to get away from the smell coming in the closed windows. The next day we tried all over again to remove the planks and I used every scent possible in the house which was now skunky, too. Air fresheners, carpet fragrance, washed floors in eucalyptus, incense – it smelled like a temple or church with a dead body… Carlos came at noon and I have never been so happy to see anyone. This is the second time that Carlos has come to remove deck planks in our necropolis.
He struggled to cope with the scent the last time, so I said I would retrieve the corpse. I was all set up with many bags, bleach, gloves, garden fork and very old clothes – there are silver linings to OCD! There are also benefits of decomp flies as they lead you to the evidence. I got straight in and pulled out the poor wee soul – it was a beautiful little skunk. With the heat and humidity, it wasn’t all in one piece – Carlos and Teddy looked at me in disgusted awe. “Only one of us could work on a farm,” I said. Carlos was delighted to leave after 15 minutes and we arranged for him to come back in a few days to replace the planks.
Eventually I Googled ‘How do you get rid of the smell of decomp?’ I used bleach again, then vinegar with baking soda that makes a very satisfying chemical reaction. Then I took bags of dirt out of the crime scene along with larvae. I was fascinated that the beautiful dragonflies were drawn to the flies and happily ate them. Maybe they like spicy food?? The volatile scent was still wafting to the front so there were little incense sticks were all over the yard – Nirvana.
Then I remembered my time at the airport. Drug smugglers use coffee to hide the smell of drugs to foil the drug sniffing dogs, so the instructors get the dogs to react to coffee too. I watched a customs dogs get excited about some luggage on the flight from Amsterdam to Houston. They took the bag off and thoroughly searched it, only to find some regular coffee. The passenger arrived later, none the wiser. So, with this lightbulb moment, I went into the pantry to find some coffee to put in the grave. It helped somewhat. Then I went back to Google who suggested an enzyme cleaner. We still had some left from our cat days and I liberally poured it in. That might have helped the most.
Skunks have an incredible defense with their notorious spray. It is full of complicated chemicals that last for weeks and months. They are easily predated and I have recently heard the great horned owl hooting in the backyard. They have no sense of smell so their favorite meal is skunk. CSI Kerry concluded that from the corpse that the owl had attempted a kill but the injured skunk sought sanctuary under our deck. May she rest in peace.
The smell is so pervasive that I felt guilty for stinking out the neighbors even though it was not our fault. Our houses back onto a reserve where myriad critters live in peace – usually. My mental health started spiraling downwards. Teddy noted that he hadn’t seen me so anxious since our time in Egypt. On one terrible occasion we went to a fancy hotel at the pyramids to escape the eternal water/power cuts in our house. We arrived in this verdant oasis only to find their water was off, too. It’s laughable in retrospect but at the time I felt broken.
A few days later and my equilibrium is returning to normal. I love my Garden of Earthly Delights and this is nature at its rawest. Everything has to eat. All the incense sticks gave the garden a funerial vibe and I have mourned the little skunk. All in all, I was proud of myself for taking control and not diving into a bottle of wine to relieve the stress. A recent bone scan showed some reduction in my bone density but normal for my age. The doctor suggested all the usual stuff including weight bearing exercise. I have certainly have had plenty of that this week…
Postcards from Kerry 