I am fortunate enough to live in an old lake community in Northwest Mississippi in a town called Olive Branch, just south of Memphis. Maywood, this lake community, is a popular recreation site in these parts for its natural spring that has been manipulated into a lake community. Back in the 1940's, a clever guy that owned the property where an ice cold spring spilled out decided it would be a good idea to truck up white sand from the Florida panhandle (Destin area) and create a "beach within reach", as Maywood is known. The water (at times) is still so cold that in the heat of summer you have to get out to keep your teeth from chattering. As some of you may know, its a welcome relief from the southern summers and you can go home with sand in all your crevasses just like the real thing!
As a 10 year old that had never been to the ocean, I was always thrilled when my parents announced we would brave a family trip to Maywood Beach for a day of swimming and sunning. We didn't go nearly as much as I would have liked, but the times we did go my younger brother, older sister and I would have a ball. This is the place I learned to dive and swim under water, so I have a "spiritual" connection, in a way, to this place.
To me, it is ironic that I should end up here after living in Destin and other parts of Florida during the Eighties, and now finding myself married and living within walking distance of one of my fondest childhood memories. Those of you without children might not understand the emotions that overcome you seeing your son playing in a favorite spot of your childhood.
The lake I live on is directly below the now "pay to play" lake, and it receives the runoff from Maywood Beach. Additionally, is another feeder creek that flows into the lake that in years past carried so much sediment from land developement upstream that it filled in the lake and had to be drained and re-dug. I have been told by the "old timers" living on the lake that the depth was as much as 25 feet in places, but now even after re-building, the lake is only about 2-3 feet deep from my bank to the other side, depending on rainfall. While it makes it a less than ideal fishing lake, it is a waterfowl mecca. I have always wanted to film the flocks of Canadas and other waterfowl that will winter here, and sometimes torture me during duck season. Many times in the past few years I have arisen earlier than a man should in the pursuit of waterfowl, on PUBLIC land mind you, only to be skunked and upon arriving home, muddy, tired and frustrated, watching flock upon flock of mallards, woodies, teal, gadwalls and other assorted waterfowl decend upon my back yard, close enough to hit with a rock.
Every morning as I drink my coffee, I am treated to the sights and sounds of a lake in the back yard. My dog Beau will not take a dump in the yard (no kidding, he will hold it for days if I don't let him out of the gate), so as a daily ritual I let him out, carrying his fetching bumper of course, to mark his territory and sniff around for critters or intruders. Then we have a little training session before I go to work.
When I got home yesterday, Beau was acting unusally lively, and I think I know why. We had this years first hint of autumn come through, and I think he sensed it. He knows in a few weeks when the water and air temps drop, we will be working more together, and he knows why.
This morning the first group of mallards came in and landed behind the house. I had opened the windows last night to take advantage of the cooler temps and this morning as I was watching the news I heard the first suzy give a little five note call. I looked at Beau and he looked at me, cocked his head and started wagging his tail. I keep a pair of binoculars by the kitchen window and observed the drakes still in thier molting colors. Last week a single male had arrived, then another, but this morning is the first mini-flock I have seen.
My two-year old son, who was a God send after two girls, is definitley a chip off the old block. I bought an old Daisy double-barrel cork gun off Ebay for his birthday this summer, he calls it his "POW POW". He has been "practicing" with my duck hunting videos, and it tickles me to death. This morning I showed him the ducks that had landed in the lake not more than rock-throwing distance, and right away he asked where his POW POW was. What a proud paapa I was, grinning like a mule eating briars!
Anyway, I have bought a digital camera, and plan to keep a visual journal as well. I will share the good ones with you when I can, just for those that are interested. After all, isn't that why we are all here?
