Morning Mist on Old Summerour...

What a magical trip to work it was, this midsummer morning. Dusk made the sky slightly pink and the mountains a pale blue. There was a light mist lying along the hollows and bottoms. Raindrops, still clinging to the tall grass and wildflowers, caught my high beams, and a little rabbit risked his skin, darting across the road. The old road is familiar to me ~ I've travelled it many and many a time. The curves of it are like an old familiar tune. I come to a stop at Old Summerour Road, where the pretty old cemetery quietly beckons ~ reminding me that we are mortal, in spite of the immortal beauty of the place. Next is the oasis, I call it, where an odd little island of trees looms lush and black against the morning sky. Then, one of my old familiar landmarks, a line of hanging gourds, home to martins and a gardening tradition dating back to the Moravians, or maybe even the Cherokee. I climb the hill, watching for deer, to a secret, lovely lake, still as a mirror, with the mist just discovering the morning sun. It creeps away as I step out of the car, keys jangling, my mind already turning to my morning cuppa...

Yellow Jackets

The other day I stuck my hand into a nest of yellow jackets. Not a smart thing to do, but I didn't know it was there. It was a cold day. I had decided to move an old Christmas tree that was in a box on the back porch. The artificial tree had been sitting there for a month or two, ever since I'd had a wild hare and cleaned up our storage room. Anything sitting outside in North Georgia is likely to house a critter or two. I knew that ~ so I was prepared for beetles or squirrels, or maybe even a little green snake or two. I pulled out the tree top and shook it. It was fine. Then I pulled out a couple of branches. That's when I saw the papery mess in the corner of the box. "Eee-ew-www, termites!" I thought. I reached deep down into the box for the next branch. Underneath there, it looked even worse than I'd thought. And something was moving around. I slapped the branch on the box to get rid of the bits of clinging paper. Now I noticed a bit of movement on the porch, something wiggling. "Kind of big for termites..." I bent to get a closer look. Yellow jackets! Simultaneously, I noticed one yellow jacket curled around the tip of my ring finger! Wow! I dropped that branch and hit the steps flying. The yellow jackets lay sluggish, but wriggling on the porch. They had been stunned by the cold, but startled by the intrusion into their cozy haven. Somehow, I had escaped with only one sting, and I didn't even feel that until later. I ran around the house and bounced into the front door. "Yellow jackets," I said, and told about my close call. We sneaked up the back stairs and looked out the window. Fully awake now, the wasps swarmed angrily around the back porch, seeking the predator that destroyed their nest ~ me! But I was safely inside. Only two days before, we had been on the tail end of a summer like warm spell. Had I moved the box that day... well, I shudder to think of it!