Dispelling the Winter Blues

The weather widget on my computer tells me that it's 60^oF outside as I type late this morning, but I've got a fire going in the woodstove in the study. It's just a dreary, rainy, January day, and a fire's cozy warmth keeps the soggy damp and its accompanying winter blues at bay. January is an awful month here in southeast Louisiana--rain, rain, rain. "With an annual statewide-average rainfall of approximately 60 inches per year," writes John M. "Jay" Grimes in "Precipitation Patterns Over the Bayou State," only Hawaii receives more rain on an average statewide basis." January and June vie for the title of rainiest month of the year. Our yard, inhabited by subterranean warm-blooded creatures that like to burrow, soaks up this rain like a sponge, all those tiny tunnels filling with water and creating a surface that makes one suspicious of its ability to hold one's weight. I tried pulling winter weeds on Saturday, and the first layer of soil just peeled back like a Gaia facial peel, the thin layer of topsoil rising intact with the webby roots of the weeds.

Another antidote to the winter blues is the occasional sunny day, such as the one we experienced yesterday, clear, cool, and balmy by noon, when Tom the federal worker and I decided to pack a simple lunch and go on a hike. Every time I think of retiring to northern Minnesota, where we lived for two years, I remember that such a day is never available in January in the Land of 10,000 Lakes--unless global warming gets a lot worse in my lifetime (which I understand might be possible).

We drove to Boy Scout Road in Lacombe, LA, and parked in the gravel lot near the boardwalk that winds through this portion of the Big Branch Marsh National Wildlife Refuge. Several vehicles were already parked there, and a large family of several adults and young children disembarked a double-cab pickup as we drove up. That group decided to take the boardwalk while Tom and I opted for the gravel surface of Boy Scout Road which follows the edge of the grassy pine savanna that the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service maintains with prescribed burns.

Big Branch Marsh National Wildlife Refuge, pine savanna at Boy Scout Road, Lacombe, LA (12 Jan. 2014)

We took our time, pulling our binoculars out of the backpack to get close-up views of yellow-rumped warblers and red-bellied woodpeckers. Robins also flocked the woods, startling into flight ahead of us, and on our walk back mid-afternoon, we were serenaded by red-winged blackbirds, heard flickers and doves calling, and  got a glimpse of a ruby-crowned kinglet. We took one of the side roads into the timber until the water got too deep for us to venture much further without getting our feet wet and returned to the main road.

wet timber road on Big Branch Marsh National Wildlife Refuge

the high, dry, and recently graded Boy Scout Road

The road continues to a lookout point over the marsh and Lake Pontchartrain toward New Orleans and then winds through pines that eventually give way to hardwoods as the road gets closer to Bayou Lacombe. When we got to the Bayou, I lay flat on the ground, soaking up the afternoon sun while Tom took some photos of the old broken bricks that lay scattered on the banks.

Tom took this photo of the view of New Orleans from the observation deck on Boy Scout Road

On our walk, Tom had pointed out "borrows" filled with water, where road crews had dug up soil to build the road. And he remembered an old professor at Louisiana State University telling a class that he couldn't understand why these holes were called "borrows," as the soil was never returned to its point of origin. When I had stopped to take a photo of a small pond, Tom told me that the depression was not natural, that it was what remained of a clay pit. Someone had told him that local clay had been dug out there to make bricks which were then carted off on boats to build the French Quarter. In a later brief search on the Internet, I couldn't find any support for the claim that the bricks had been used to build the French Quarter, but I did find lots of references to brick-making from clay in the area. And the bricks on the banks of Bayou Lacombe attested to that, as well. I also found a downed tree whose roots were exposed and wrapped around old pieces of brick.

Tom took this photo of bricks on the banks of Bayou Lacombe at the end of Boy Scout Road.

We lingered there at the banks of Bayou Lacombe, lazily waving at a boat full of people that passed on its way up the bayou from Lake Pontchartrain. And now as I remember the clear sky and warm sun, today's gloom seems a little lighter. The fire has been reduced to a few glowing embers in the woodstove, and the temperature has climbed one degree to 61^oF. I think I'll let the fire die and save the wood for a colder, gloomier January day.

First Notes of January

January 2014

The last time I posted an entry on my blog, bees were still visiting my herbs and flowers. Now we're already almost two weeks into the new year, and the polar vortex that covered so much of the northern and eastern parts of the country left its print on southeast Louisiana as well. For two nights, temperatures plummeted into the teens. We covered our citrus and fig trees with blankets, old tablecloths and sheets to keep them from freezing. The banana trees will have to come back from the roots. Last night's rain has created a soggy mess in our yard and gardens. I went out this afternoon for a few minutes to note that the small dill plants that had sprouted earlier in the season are droopy but still living, and much of my flower and herb beds are covered with winter weeds.

This is a dispiriting time of the year in our area. Even when the weather is temperate, such as it was today, soggy ground prevents one from clearing out weeds and debris in the gardens. It's difficult to imagine how beautiful and green the gardens will be in the spring, but this is the time for that kind of dreaming.  Gardening catalogues get me through January. By late February, I should be out in the garden preparing for spring.

Meanwhile, we are excited to have had frogs move into the little pond near our patio. This is a pond that previously had been in a half-whiskey barrel on the patio. We took out the plastic liner and dug a hole for it in the bed near the patio, so now that it's at ground level it's within hopping reach of frogs. The chirping of the frogs brighten these dull January days. Today I managed, after several tries, to get the song of the frogs on video. Just as I would sneak up to turn on the camera, the frogs would be startled and become silent, but I placed the camera on a windowsill in the house, overlooking the patio, and took this video through the glass (and not so clean) window. However, Tom the federal worker is not convinced that these are our pond frogs calling. They might be tree frogs near the house. (Note: The frogs calling are spring peepers, not the ones that are in our patio pond.)


Our cat, Persephone, spends much of the winter days lounging in the house. "Talk to the paw," she says in the photo below.