Wild Life

Just about the time I think I know everything, I learn something new. It’s a good thing. Keeps me humble. This time the new thing had to do with hair I saw growing on the old oak tree. Not hair, actually, but a tiny, green fern. Lots of it. I’ve never seen anything like this before, on my tree or anyone else’s, for that matter; so my first reaction was, understandably, concern.

I am the sort of person who becomes rather obsessive about the living things under my care. I feel personally responsible if anything happens to harm them in any way. And since this was something new, I wondered if it might be akin to a fungus, something harmful and debilitating to the wise, old oak. Yes, I should have known better. I never give myself high marks in logic about those things over which I am highly emotional. What I did do was make a note to find out just what this was invading my tree.

As it happened, while in Lafayette a couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to go canoeing with a group led by a noted local naturalist. He had hoped to take a bunch of those less enlightened into the swamps and show us a variety of nesting fowl - wild life, if you will. Unfortunately, those of us in the canoes were wilder than those in the nests. Flocks of fowl flew before us as we canoed our way around that lake, laughing and guffawing and making all manner of inappropriate remarks regarding our inability to guide a canoe and spot critters.

The only creatures we saw were those nested around the area where we put into the water. There were Snowy Egrets and Roseate Spoonbills, feeding nests full of baby birds; a couple of alligators, one of which we got a little too close to, but quickly backed away from when he headed for shore, right in our direction. Yep. We say lots of wild life before we got into those canoes. After that, I’m sorry to say, we were a pretty sorry bunch of bird watchers.

And canoers. One of the group decided all ships should have names. His was “Pinball Wizard,” aptly named for bouncing off every cypress stump in the lake. Ours was “Star Trek” for going “where no man has gone before.” Our leader eventually gave up his attempts to enlighten us. We suspect he may find a new profession altogether.

He did, however, assure me that “Resurrection Fern,” as it is called, is quite normal on the larger trees in our area. It’s an air plant named for its tendency to turn brown and appear to die during dry conditions and then burst forth with full, green fronds again with the first drop of rain. That seems pretty wild to me.