Visited the creek a little while ago -

We in the Panhandle are waiting for the arrival of tropical storm Fay. The water in the creek has been drawn down at the dam to avoid the flooding we had in early spring. If you scroll far enough, you'll see a slide show of that flood. They boys at the controls were caught with their pants down.

It began to drizzle so I came back, but I wanted to stay. The sky is white, shrouded in overcast.
Had some left over chicken bones for the turtles. The catfish wriggle up to the scraps, the bream, the occasional bass. There are always turtles. Eggs have hatched all over the place. It's been a good year for hatchlings. No little carcasses in the street to be fried on the asphalt, and that's a good sign. They just head for the water a thousand feet or so away. I wonder how many are successful.

When I paddle the creek, I usually see the dime store variety - little red ears about the size of a half dollar, sunning on floating vegetation. They are too little to climb up on floating logs.

I found a butterfly pea - I'll upload and edit it later that was nearly perfect, except that a caterpillar had munched a perfect bite out of a petal.

I saw my first Florida salamander on the side of the house the other night after a rain. I have never seen one. This was soft pink with red spots and eyes. Very cute. Very small. Just a few inches long, if that. I ran up the steps for the camera, but it slipped into a siding vent and disappeared.

The sycamores are starting to turn. They are the first to show the signs of an oncoming autumn, and signal that another season WILL come, no matter what.

I just got my Spirited Woman newsletter and commented back to one of the bloggers (Vicky deCoster) on interesting lunch guests. I chose Carmen Miranda, Shirley McLain, Birute Galdikas-Brindamour who worked with orangutans in Borneo, and my late friend, Mary Cornell-
Bonenberger, who was taken from us much too soon, in her 50s, about 15 years ago.

Mary was a double amputee. She crawled out to a railroad track at the age of 14 months, and the train ran over her. A hobo wrapped those little stumps in rags and saved her life. He was arrested. Mary was uniquely independent and could do anything and more than a "normal" woman. She had artificial limbs that were ugly, and they hurt, yet she kept her sense of humor and when they hurt she'd take them off and get very short. She would sit in the passenger seat up front and prop her legs feet side up so they'd poke out the open back window. Mary loved to garden. She knew when the nursery dumpsters were full and we'd go to the orchid farm where her son would boost her up, and she'd disappear. Shortly, the culls would be flying over the top and I'd gather them and put them in the station wagon. She kept a goat herd, chickens, many registered Welsh ponies, which she broke, road and taught to drive. She put me to shame, and when I get blue, and the world is full of mean spirit, I think of Mary and her positive spirit, and it first shames me and then fills me with positive light.

I miss her. I miss her auburn hair that made ringlets around her face and her blue eyes. I miss her voice and her hearty laughter.

I hate that she died of lung cancer - too early. I hate those cigarettes that were so much a part of her. I speak to her daughter, Alyssa, quite often. She sounds just like her mother. I watched her grow up. I love her, too.