SHADED CREEK

THE DIVING AND WADING BIRD ROOKERY

Below are photographs of a large rookery that contains most of the wading birds in East Tennessee as well as Black Crowned Night Heron, Green Heron, Great Blue Heron and the beautiful Great Egret.  They reside together in the same trees and are amazing to study and watch.

 Above.  The excrement from the cormorant is highly acidic and will kill the very trees they roost in.  The ground will be devoid of plant life in short order.  Its the way of nature.

 Cormorants come in shades of gray and/or black.

 Cormorants sharing the rookery with other diving and wading birds.  

 A parent is undergoing the ritual of feeding her youngster who is the bird on the right.

 The baby on the right rubs the neck and beak of the parent to instigate the regurgitation of food.

 Below:  a group of newborn youngsters takes a swim for the first time

 Above, a great egret contrasts with a cormorant in the same tree

 Great Egrets above fly into the rookery to feed their young while a double-crested cormorant heads out to open water to catch dinner for his family.

THE OLD LADY AND THE LITTLE BLACK DOG

The old lady shuffled across the porch to the steps that lead to the backyard and grasp the hand railing as a precaution against a fall.  She had fallen back in November and only now, in March, did she feel a semblance of her old self again.   The grip of winter seemed to lessen and a very warm spring day was at hand and she thought she would take a walk through the area of the yard where she maintained a flower garden throughout the summer months.  Her flower garden was a huge attraction to passers-by for it contained flowers of every color.  She took pride in her green thumb and her ability to produce such perfect blooms.    Her success, as she would explain to folks, was due to the instruction from her mother who herself was dedicated to the growing of flowers and as a matter of fact, her mother taught botany at the local college in town.  Furthermore, the house the old lady resided in was her mother’s house and the birthplace of this wonderful old lady.  The current flower garden is the same one that her mother plied her creative endeavors in.

“My goodness, such a mess,” she said.

The garden area was covered with tall, brown, weed stalks that were dead and dried.  They were tangled together after being blown by the wind and covered with the winter snow.  She would get the neighbor's son to turn the soil and cultivate it so that she could plant the new season's seeds and flowers. 

Her house was about two miles out of town in the country and the township, only two years ago paved the road with black top.  She even had a nice metal mailbox.  There was no address on the box as everyone that worked at the post office knew who she was.  It was 9AM and Charlie Clack, the mailman, would have delivered mail by now.  As she started to turn to walk to the mailbox she caught a movement in her peripheral vision to the right side of her.

“Now what do we have here?”  she thought.

A little black dog trotted alongside the flower garden toward her and immediately stopped when he saw the old lady.  They stared at each other for about 30 seconds and then the old lady called, “Here boy, here boy.”

The dog's ears raised up, though drooping at the ends, and he cocked his head to the side as if expecting something more.  He was coal black with wavy hair that resembled that on a cocker spaniel and he couldn’t have been over twenty pounds.  The old lady slowly stooped down,  moving very slow, and extended her hand toward the dog.  He slowly walked over to her and put his nose in the palm of her upturned hand.  She allowed her fingertips to caress the underside of his chin and he abruptly drew back and ran behind the house.  She thought, “Strange dog,” and retrieved the mail.  She would sit on the porch in her rocker and read about the problems of the world although she had coped with her own problems during the course of her life and managed to retain her sanity and composure through all these years.  In the 91 years of her life, she lost a farm, a son to the war and a husband to some disease that the local doctor couldn’t quite put his finger on.  She broke her hip twice, most recently last year, and the doctors said that one more time would confine her to a wheelchair.  That business about the wheelchair caused her to exercise caution in everything she did from that moment on - even walking and especially going up and down stairs.  The flower garden was her joy and her most precious pastime.  Without it, she would have nothing left to focus her attention.  For now, the sun felt good upon her face.  Spring was the harbinger of summer and the enjoyment of her flowers.

She rose early next morning and dressed in her gardening clothes.   Her old tennis shoes were tied and off she went to the back door and the porch.  There to her surprise was the little black dog.  He sat staring at her, his eyes focused on her face. 

“Hi there little fellow,” she said. “Bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

The black dog uttered three short whimpers.   The old lady went back inside to her refrigerator and pulled a large rectangular pan off a shelf with waxed paper covering it and sat it on the kitchen table.  Pulling back the paper she selected a large pork bone that she was going to use in preparation for her evening meal and quickly shuffled to the porch door and bent down toward the little black dog that now rose to his feet in preparation for flight. 

But, when the old lady’s hand extended toward him, he caught the aroma of the pork bone and he lost all fear.  Slowly he moved toward her and very gently put his mouth around the bone and slowly picked it out of her hand.  He then abruptly jumped back ten feet with the bone and lay down, gnawing on it, all the while watching her intently.  She slowly walked past him and down the steps to the landing and continued toward her garden.  She mumbled to herself the names of flowers and where she would locate them in the garden as she walked along.  The garden hose lay uncoiled and she carefully bent over and picked it up and rolled it into the neatest circular coil she could manage and hung it on the wooden fence gate.  

Somewhere along her walk the little black dog caught up with her and decided to follow along beside her.  He walked just a bit behind allowing her to make the decisions on the direction of travel.

At the end of the afternoon, the little dog followed the old lady back to the house and took his position beside her rocking chair as she sat back with a groan.  She slowly rocked back and forth until her eyes became heavy listening to the gentle creaking of the rockers.  She awakened hours later and the little dog was still there on the porch where he fell asleep.  She went to the kitchen and brought out a pan of water and some scraps of ham and bread with warm gravy over it and set the bowl down beside the black dog and watched as he ate.

Over the weeks and months, the old lady and the little black dog became inseparable.  She could go nowhere without her little dog shadow at her feet and she even allowed the dog inside her house.  At first, he would sleep on the floor at the side of her bed and after a few weeks she moved a chair next to the bed and laid an old comforter on the seat.  The little black dog accepted his new sleeping arrangement by jumping up onto the chair, circling round and round twice and plopping down onto the comforter with a loud sigh.   The old lady closed her eyes and fell asleep with a gentle smile on her lips.

 Every time she would look down at the little black dog she would be looking directly into his eyes because he constantly was looking up at her face.   His head was tilted up toward her face even as they walked here and there throughout the yard and she thought amazing he wouldn’t run into things.   They became a team and it seemed that one depended upon the other and was apparent that the little black dog adored the old lady.   He was now her companion - the companion she had missed since the passing of her husband years ago.  The wedding rings were sold when times got tough and the only thing she had left to remember her husband by was a bright, silver pendant shaped like a heart with the words "My wife, My love" etched in the back of it that he gave to her on their first wedding anniversary many years ago.  The thin braided leather strap that held the pendant around the young girl's neck had broken and the necklace was lost and could not be found even after decades of search.  Well, she still had her memory and that was enough, she thought.

Midsummer found her garden blooming with every flower imaginable.  There were perennials and annuals and even flowers that she had not planted.  They somehow found their way into her space of beauty without her help.  There were flowers from Holland.  The bulbs were given to her by a neighbor after church one Sunday ten years ago.   She was very proud of the roses that were growing vertically along the tall, wooden stakes that were inserted into the soil to lend them support.  Yes, another successful crop of color filled her yard with beauty.  She sat in the folding chair beside her flower garden and absorbed the tranquility of the vision before her.  The colors were magnificent.  A little cold nose nuzzled the palm of her hand as her arm dangled from the side of the chair indicating to her that the little black dog was there.  He was always there, silent and asking for nothing but her kind hand on his head.  She patted her legs and he instantly leapt onto her lap and curled up - his muzzle laying between his front paws and eyes turned up staring at her.  Her eyes met his gaze and she smiled adoringly.

Summer seemed a short season that year and the chilly evenings of fall arrived too soon.  The old lady and the little black dog shortened their excursions into the yard as the chilly hours of the evening appeared.   The black dog would watch from the floor beside her chair as the old lady would unwrap the two yards of silver hair from the bun on top her head and laid it across her lap while she pulled a black comb through it.   She would lay back against the bed’s backboard with a pillow between her shoulders and pat the comforter on the chair, his indication to come to bed, and she would read pages from her bible.  The readings lasted not even half an hour these nights for she could not keep her eyes open long.  Years ago, she could consume chapters of the good book in one sitting but, no longer.  Her hand would reach over to the chair and slowly, in the darkness, search for the little furry head that would miraculously come in contact with her hand from underneath.  The cold nose would brush against her fingertips and they would fall asleep as one.   

One morning the old lady was awakened to the sound of screeching tires out front.   The morning sun was shining through the bedroom window and it appeared that the day would be beautiful. She looked at the chair beside the bed for the little black dog.  But he was not there.  He often went outside through the door to the porch that she would leave open a crack for his passage as he saw fit.

 In an instant, her eyes grew wide with panic.  Her breathing was difficult and an intense pain was located deep within her chest.  She tried to slide out of bed and did so with great difficulty.  The dial phone was on a small table ten feet away.  Her legs would not hold her weight and she fell to her knees and crawled to the table and the phone.  Her hand found the receiver and she pulled the whole telephone to the floor.  She managed to insert her finger into the circle containing the capital letter “O” and spun the dial slowly.  The business-like voice of Harriet Lindsey, the town phone operator, came through the receiver.  “Operator, hello, operator.”  The old lady answered with a weak and feeble voice; “send help.  This is Grace. Send help.”

Harriet Lindsey replied, “Gracie;  are you alright?”

There was no answer.  The old lady looked about the room and her eyes rested on the chair beside the bed.  She sought her little friend.  Where was he?  She needed him now more than ever.  The sirens became louder and louder as the ambulance approached.  Yet, to her ears the noise suddenly became distant until she could hear it no longer.  As her eyes slowly closed her thoughts were of her little friend she could not find.  And then peaceful sleep overtook her.

Cars arrived from down the road to investigate what the commotion was all about.  The ambulance attendants walked out of the house onto the porch and carefully down the steps with a stretcher carrying the old lady.   A white sheet was pulled totally over her body.  The stretcher was carefully lifted into the ambulance and it drove away slowly.  The onlookers quickly disintegrated, going back home and about their daily business.  The last vehicle drove off and the old house and grounds stood in silence.

No one noticed or even cared but, there at the side of the road by the flower garden lay a small body. A small, black furry body lay in a pool of red as red as the roses in the old lady’s garden.  And in his mouth, he held a brown, braided nylon cord with a tarnished, silver, heart-shaped pendant attached to its end.

THE BLACK CROWNED NIGHT HERON - EAST TENNESSEE, CHEROKEE LAKE

WITH SERGEANT YORK IN THE ARGONNE FOREST 1918

We had crossed the Meuse River and entered the Argonne Forest at sunup on Oct 8, 1918.  Sergeant Bernard Early was in command with Sergeant Harry Parsons second in command.  We were part of an effort to sweep along both sides of the Meuse, to strain any Germans out of the Argonne Forest on the west side of the river and most importantly to capture the Decauville Railroad which was situated behind a hill in the Argonne with the map designation of  "hill 223."

There were seventeen of us when we entered the Argonne.  It was slow going and required a lot of effort to stumble through the dense foliage and underbrush but we finally exited the forest and entered a large field covered with tall grass that was four feet tall on average and five feet tall in many places.  Not one tree could be seen in that meadow.  Hill 223 lay directly in front of us.  We soon would take control of the railroad that lay behind that hill, destroy it and head back toward the Meuse River and join up with our main battalion.

Pushcar Marin and I had been buddies in this man's army for the past two years.  Pushcar was from The Bronx, New York.  He worked as a plumber before the war and had to ride a subway and then take a cab to his job destinations.  He said it was normal to push people back into the subway car really hard in order to find space to stand – hence the nickname Pushcar.  His real name was Ralph Hubbard, and we had each other's back.

We were all just regular fellas trying to do the right thing for America and Mom's Apple Pie but, there was this one fellow who was known for his quiet ways.  Never said much to anyone and had a habit of continually looking all around.  And, when his head was stationary while walking, ya just knew his eyes were continuously moving left and right.  His name was Corporal Alvin York.  Word was that he was a conscientious objector and some said he couldn't be trusted to hold his own if the fat was in the fire.  Fact was though that he had been promoted to Corporal and he did carry a rifle and a pistol so, the higher-ups evidently were satisfied with his behavior.  Still, it was a bit concerning the part about being a conscientious objector.  This Corporal York fella stayed up pretty close to Sergeant Parsons. 

We were spread out far apart in a long line when we entered the big meadow.  The grass was almost as tall as we were.  Then suddenly the staccato sound of a machine gun was heard and the tops of the grass far to the front of us was being mowed down by the bullets.   The Germans were on the hill to our front and they had us dead cold in that field with nothing to get behind.  A second machine gun opened up and the bullets cut the tops off the grass closer to our line and then the sickening sounds of  ka-thunk was repeated over and over as the bullets struck flesh.  Nine of our boys were struck down instantly.  The rest of us fell flat on the ground and stayed there.  Pushcar lay beside me and I said to him that "I guess we're in it now!"  He didn't answer and I looked over at him to see him staring back with stone cold eyes.  Pushcar was gone.  I felt infuriated and helpless at the same time.  I needed to kill something – anything but, the German machine guns would not let up.  And, that sound ka-thunk could still be heard. 

All of a sudden a rifle shot could be heard.  Then another and another.  Soon the German gun to our front was quiet.  The one to the left was the only one that sounded active.  Still our man continued to slowly fire his rifle from somewhere to our left front.  Then he stopped firing and the grass moved before us and "don't shoot, its Corporal York" was heard and the Corporal flopped down beside Me.  He wanted the remaining nine of us to circle to the right and come up behind that machine gun and destroy it.  He said he would go to the left and put that gun out of commission.  Sergeant Early was one of the first killed when the Germans opened up and Sergeant Parsons was in charge.  It was Parsons who ordered York to silence the guns anyway he thought he could.  In fact, Corporal York sent us to silence the machine gun to our right because he knew it was already silenced and that we would find safety there. Imagine that.  He had already shot every German in that machine gun nest from his position in the meadow.  He now went to silence the other gun single-handedly while keeping us safe.  This was a selfless thing to do.  His life was in the hands of God, as he later stated.

York silenced that gun and the Germans surrendered their entire force to him thinking there were many more of us than there was.  We were only 9 men but York was the one who did all the shooting.  The German dead were counted up to be 20.  They all were killed singlehandedly by York himself.   We accepted the surrender of 132 German soldiers from that hill and marched them back to the battalion at the Meuse River.  York maintained his quiet, unexcited demeanor during the entire ordeal and did an amazing job for being an objector.  They promoted him to Sergeant when we got back with the prisoners.  Sergeant Alvin York from Pall Mall, Tennessee.  Bet he'll be remembered for a long time.

THINGS NOTICED TODAY THAT MADE ME SMILE

There are many things that I have learned over the years to appreciate and they usually pertain to fur, fin, and feathers as well as flowering plants.  I also like seasoned wood.  I've posted today's finds here on this blog entry.  Hope you like the postings.