Our Leaders are Threatening us. And, that should be illegal. Political shenanigans.

The 2012 election is just over a year away.
Anti-Obama folks are looking forward to it as the end of an error, just one of the catch phrases making the rounds. There are a LOT of the anti-administration slogans out there, many of them pretty good. The cartoons, especially the political cartoons from abroad, are downright hilarious. Or, they would be if they weren't so accurate.
Sure seems like the administration is on the defense, the political hot seat. With not-so-good approval ratings, Obama is looking for a miracle. Of course, he took credit for ordering a hit on Public Enemy Number 1, Osama bin Killed. Took credit for it, but that Kill Order was signed a long time agao. About ten years ago, in fact.
Ok, so the President has to look elsewhere for his accomplishments.
The economy? Oh, puhleeze! How's that change working out for you?
Healthcare? Yeah, right.
Unemployment? Can you read?
The following came across my e-mails this weekend. Might be worth a read. And, feel free to share the link to the blog if you want to pass this along. Might be easier than copying and pasting the entire thread in an e-mail. Seems the author is a little tired of Obama's threats when republicans not go along with his economic recovery plans and debt ceiling increase.

He threatened to not pay: Social Security Retirees, Military Retirees, Social
Security disability and Federal Retirees.
Now.. Let this sink in really good -
He did not threaten to stop payments to illegal aliens
He did not threaten to take frivolous benefits such as Internet access away
from violent inmates
He did not offer to fire some of the thousands of unnecessary federal employees that he hired
He did not offer to cut down on his or his wife's frivolous gallivanting around
He did not threaten to not pay the senators and representatives or any of their staff
He did not threaten to take benefits away from welfare recipients
He did not threaten the food stamp programs
He did not threaten to not pay foreign aid
He did not threaten to cut back on anything that involves his base voters

Like I stated, a lot of the anti-Obama comments are pretty good.
This is one of those.
Certainly makes me stop and think.
As it should you.  

Boaters are just cool people. And, they are, oftentimes, heroes

I've always known it. Boaters, in almost every case, will rush to the aid of anyone needing help. Whether it's a simple tow back to the dock when an engine dies, or rushing to a radio call for help. They drop whatever it was they were doing. Just riding, fishing. It doesn't matter. When the call for assistance goes out, all else becomes secondary.

A video I just watched points this out, perhaps, better than anything else I've ever seen. It happened on 9-11. That "other" day that will live in infamy, forever.

Thousands of New Yorkers were stranded. Trapped, if you will, along the Manhanttan waterfront. No way to reach safety. The first to respond were the ferry operators. Then came private boaters.

Well, take a look at the video. I think you'll understand.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18lsxFcDrjo

Shrimp or skrimps. Marinated, grilled on my Camp Chef stove.

Our daughter gave me a cool two-burner, gas stove for my birthday a year ago. It's one of those designed for camping or tailgating, or whatever. The legs pop off with a thumb screw. Way too easy. I don't camp a lot. Actually, I don't camp at all. And, I don't tailgate. But. I do cook. This little stove is definitely the ticket, handy for lots of things. Like, when we lost power during Hurricane Irene. I had it set up on our porch, and cooked a pot roast. Nice. Great during the winter when I'm cooking soups or chili or fish stew (as I did while deep frying turkeys last Thanksgiving). On the porch, it adds a bit of heat. Good for my wife's plants that winter over on the porch.

Great, too, during the smmer. Outside, with it's little cover. Keeps excess heat out of the kitchen. And, in the case of seafoods, the frangrances stay outside.

My wife gave me a cast iron griddle for this Camp Chef stove earlier this year. Another birthday gift. It has seen a lot of use. Fits perfectly over a burner. Just like it was made for the stove. Oh, yeah. It was. By the Camp Chef folks.

I've used it for veggies, steaks, and seafood. It's got these little ridges on one side (it's a two sided grill/griddle) that keep the food out of the grease. And, it leaves nice little grill marks.

Now, for those shrimp. Or, as they say in Charleston, skrimps. First, I whipped up a marinade. Light olive oil...enough to cover the amount of shrimp you're cooking. About a tablespoon of either lime juice or lemon juice for every 4 ounces of olive oil. Not a scientific thing. And, finely chop a clove or seven of garlic. You can use a garlic press, if you like. Stir it all together. Peel the shrimp, leaving the tails on. Add the shrimp to the marinade. Stick in the fridge while you get the stove ready.

I also add a couple cloves of garlic to a small pot, like the one in the picture (a Christmas gift, by the way. My people know what I like). Along with a stick of real butter, not that one-molecule-away-from-plastic margarine stuff. Let it melt, slowly, on the stove's second burner. A handy thing to have, by the way.

Skewer the shrimp on bamboo skewers. You can wet them, if you like. But, it's not necessary. The shrimp we got were medium large. It took only 5 or 6 per skewer.

The griddle should be hot, but not too hot. I use a lower setting on the burner. You want to cook the shrimp, not scorch them. Besides, they'll get tough if you overcook 'em, and that's easy to do if the griddle is too hot.

This is where the garlic-butter comes in. Brush it on the top side of the shrimp. Notice the tails are already beginning to turn pink.

Watch them carefully. When the bottom side is approaching pink throughout, it's time to flip 'em over.

Brush this side with the garlic-butter concoction. You may have to rearrange the skewers on the griddle to cook them evenly. It won't be long, now. DO NOT LEAVE THEM ALONE! They can cook quickly, then turn leather-y.

These delicacies make a perfect addition to a tossed salad. You can eat them just like this, or use cocktail or tartar sauce, maybe a little wasabi on the plate, for dipping. They go great with a small steak that you can also cook on this griddle.

This shrimp is right. Pink with the hint of a grill mark. And, abso-lute-ly tasty.
By the way, this is NOT an ad for Camp Chef. I like mine, of course, just thought you might want to know what I'm using.

Gators can be pretty cute. My buddy, Wally the Alligator.

Alligators are interesting creatures. They're survived on this earth for a long, long time. Outlived the dinosaurs and countless other species that faded with time. For whatever reason, they scare the crap out of a lot of people. Maybe it's because we perceive them as ugly, what with all those bumps and craters all over them.

They were hunted, at one time, to near extinction. In some cases, it was for the meat, more often for their hides. Alligator shoes, handbags and belts were considered a good reason to snuff out their lives. What was hideous is that the meat was left to rot.

If you're going to hunt, then you should eat what you kill. Otherwise, take a camera and take pictures. They'll last longer than the shoes, handbags and belts.

One little gator has become camera-friendly. I see him regularly. He's only about two feet long, and he's so ugly that he's cute. Kinda like that Volkswagen "Thing" back in the day. This guy...I've named him "Wally"...loves to pose for my camera. And, with that, I'm posting a few pictures that I've recently grabbed. No doubt, with the onset of colder weather, Wally will find a place to hole up for the winter. And, he may even move on, forgetting all about me. Then, again, he might just find his way back next spring, once he hears me clapping. For some reason, he likes that sound.

That's Wally. He's a little critter. Just over two feet long.

Wally has a big brother/sister, maybe a cousin. This guy is about 5-6 feet long.

He's keeping a wary eye on me. But, that's just his way of making sure I don't get stupid. After all, this area does belong to him. And, his friends. Regardless of what we think.

I think I'll send this image to North Carolina Wildlife. Seems like a pretty cool shot, given the early morning reflections and colors.

That's Wally's bigger buddy. He's hanging out in Southwest Creek, near Jacksonville (NC). A lot of pretty good size alligators are in the backwaters of New River.

Not sure what Wally's up to here. Could be he grabbed some crab bait that got away when I was baiting a trap. Or a wayward fish head. Or maybe, just maybe, he's smiling for the camera.

If you see gators while boating, just keep your distance. They will not chase you down, and they won't flip your boats. But, please, do not feed them. They are wild animals, and there's no reason to make them dependent on us for their food. Keep them off welfare, of they will want more and more so they will have to work less and less.

Blue Water, Brown Water, Fat Albert

Blue water. It was absolutely beautiful offshore. About 20-25 miles from land. Waves were high, five feet, maybe more. But, they were so far apart that we never noticed them.

Apparently, it was too nice. We left Tideline Marine, in Jacksonville, on time. 0635. But, stupid me forgot to load a spare container of oil on board. So, a mile downriver, we came back. Ok, got the extra oil. Glad we weren't 15 miles downriver, or worse, 20 miles at sea, when I remembered what I forgot.

Ok, spare oil on board, and here we go again. 0650. Not too bad, but later than I wanted. Live bait was all over New River. Turned out that not only had I forgotten 'bout everything I recently learned on chunking a cast net, the live bait was mullet minnows, not menhaden. Nothing unusual for us. That's why we're usually pretty good with artificial bait. It's out of necessity. Gotta learn to thrown one of those nets. The right way, every time.

Down the river we go; inlet, here we come. First trip offshore since Hurricane Irene stopped by for a visit. Knowing that channels change with storms, we were pretty careful approaching New River Inlet. Good thing, too. The channel across the bar had moved even further northeast than it was before. A month ago, the buoys were in the wrong place. By about 50 yards. This day, 100-150 yards northeast of the buoy. Reading the conditions, though, allowed us to find safe passage into he ocean. By reading, I mean...don't go where the waves are breaking. That would be shallow water.

Ok, we're across the bar, in the ocean. Now, where are the birds? May as well try to put some spanish in the cooler first thing. To avoid being skunked. My, oh my. Not a spanish bird to be found. We opted to run northward. Towards Bogue Inlet (near Swansboro). No birds. No where. We put lines in the water, a few miles from a shipwreck that has proven fruitful in the past. We trolled. Five lines. For quite a few miles. Ever on the lookout for some sort of action, in the air, and on the so-called fishfinder. We marked bait. Lots of bait. Bait, for you non-fishing types, is small fish. They show up in blobs of red and yellow on my alleged fishfinder.

Then, HOLD ON! One rod started screaming. And, we were finally off to the races. Adrenalin flowing. I take the rod, Thurman gets the wheel and slows us down a bit, as the fish is peeling off a lot of line. I tighten the drag. Just a bit. Hook is firmly set, and I begin the artful process of, as my wife says, cranking in the fish. Only took a couple minutes to get it to the boat. I knew it wasn't big, not like the 29 pound king mackerel we nailed on the last trip. But, it was fighting pretty good. A big spanish, I thought. I hoped. At the boat, though, it was just good ol' Fat Albert.

Fat Albert is a False Albacore. A toothless wonder with no food value for humans. They fight pretty good. And, at times, they're all over area waters. This was one of those times. Wasn't long until another reel went to screaming. I just love that sound. Another nice Fat Albert, I surmised. A little surprise this time. Not in the fish. In the rod. The ^%%$*#  thing broke! I grabbed for the reel. It was almost new. And, I held onto both sections of the rod. Thurman started reeling in the slack line, laughing the whole time, while I hauled in the fish. Handlining, it's called. I didn't want to lose the lure. Those Yo Zuri Deep Divers have worked well for us.

And, of course, we needed a picture. And, T-Man took care of making sure this adventure was documented.

A small fat albert. Broken butt of the rod in my teeth. You'll note that I saved the reel. In spite of its name, this fish was NOT big enough to break this rod.

That done, we decided to move a little ways. In retrieving the lines, would you believe, a SECOND rod broke. No fish on it, just a lure. And, this was a brand name rod, one we put in service last spring. It's seen only a little action. What the heck?!?! Guess I need to notify Shimano.

Then, it was T's turn.

One reel starts screaming, and he was on it. Almost immediately, a second one went off. I set the hook on that one, and left it in the rod holder. I needed to get a picture of Thurman, in action.

Note the tip of the rod in the background. That's the second rod that broke.

Ok, we had had enough of this quadrant. Let's make the run, we decided, to an area that's been good to us before. Punched in the GPS info, and off we went. At 35 MPH, across the blue water, headed for Christmas Rock.

This was taken at a slow speed. Before we kicked it up a notch. I didn't want to try and hang on to the side of the boat while running and bouncing.

The auto-pilot is great! Picked a course, set it, and, for the most part, it kept us heading in the right direction, correcting for wind and current. And, some of those heavy seas. Best thing is that it allowed me time to hit the cooler and fix a sandwich. Let me tell you about Thurman. He brings all the fixings for some fine sandwiches. Those thin wheat type buns are good for several reasons. They're tasty, they aren't so bread-y, and they don't fall apart like white bread. And, there's roast beef, turkey, ham, onions, mayo, mustard, and several kinds of cheese. The man is a walking deli! I fixed the Dagwood-style of sandwich. Several times. Gotta do something while we go from Point A to Point B.  

We arrived, we trolled, we jigged on the bottom. We tried just about everything this side of dynamite (an old southern way of fishing, as I've been told). Nary a thang. No dang where.  Pulled 'em in, and headed for another spot. An artificial reef. That's a place where NC's Marine Fisheries arranged to have all sorts of junk dumped. Metal debris, like boxcars, old boats, steel structures. Things that were sanitized, of course, to remove all of the oily contamination. Those reefs provide good habitat, hiding spots for small fish. And, things start growing on them. And, the little fish have food. Little fish attract big fish. And, that's what we were after.

We threw some lures towards a school of bait fish on the surface, hoping for those bigger fish to take hold. It was only seconds before we saw them. Big teeth. About a dozen, in all. Barracuda! They often hang around the reefs, looking for easy meals. And, they like shiny lures. Like ours. I lost two shiny ones, and a fake eel (cobia like eels, and I now know barracuda do, too). No match for the cudas, it was time to make our way back to the inlet. GPS said we had about ten miles to run. Sea was still nice, and we made it pretty fast. Saw the birds working, finally. Those little spanish birds. Feeding on small bait at the surface. So, we set up a couple rigs to troll along the brown water-blue/green water line. The brown water was the dirty stuff coming out of the river and ICW. Spanish macks often work along that line, mostly on the clear side, as bait heads offshore from the river.

The birds gave us a sign. A sign of bait. But, if there were any spanish there, they didn't like what we had to offer.

It was, all in all, though a gorgeous day. Great for a boat ride. And, maybe...before next time...I'll brush up on throwing a cast net.

As high school football coaches say after losing on Friday nights, "wait until next time". As I said when I called Robie on our way home, "the blood on my clothes this time is not mine. It's the fish". Too bad we didn't have fresh fish for dinner. Had to settle for some fresh shrimp on the grill, and deep fried softshell crab. My recipe in another blog.

 

Soldiers: they must clean up the troubles that politicians start

Another good e-mail today.
A poem, one that rhymes.
More importantly, a poem that has meaning.
And, it should cause us, one and all, to pause.
Read it.
Reflect on its meaning.
I promise that it will be deeper than most anything else you will read this week.

He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion,
Telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly
For they knew where of he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' Joe has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a Soldier died today.
He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'Tho a Soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great..
Papers tell of their life stories
From the time that they were young
But the passing of a Soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country
And offers up his life?
The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.
While the ordinary Soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.
It is not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand?
Or would you want a Soldier-- His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Soldier,
Who would fight until the end.
He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his likes again.
For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline
In the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."

Many former soldiers will never discuss the horrors of war. Others live it forever, some dwell on it. Maybe too much. Makes no difference. They all did their part.
Our rights, our freedoms, we have because of soldiers, past and present. For us to treat them, current or former, as anything less than heroes, is pitiful. It's total disrespect. Respect them while they are alive, and honor them when their are gone.
You'll never be able to repay them for their sacrifices. And, they do not want your pity, or your money. They just want your respect.  

#@^%$ Litterbugs! Can we shoot them (and get away with it?). Yard Sale signs, too.

So, 'bout once a week, maybe once every ten days...sometimes once every two weeks...I mow our lawn. It's cool. Gives me exercise, and as my wife tells me, it's good for you.
I don't disagree. And, in fact, I kinda enjoy the time pushing the mower 'round the yard.

Truth be known, I've always liked the smell of freshly cut grass. Sometimes, have you noticed, it smells like watermelon. A food group in our house.

Howso-ever freakin' ever more. I don't like the stress that mowing causes me. Every time I crank up the cutting machine, I get ticked off. All along the edge of the yard are cigarette butts. Oftentimes, hundreds of them.

We live at an intsersection. One of the busiest neighborhood intersections in the area, it seems. Judging by the number of wrecks here, and the number of speeders that Jacksonville (NC) police nail up and down the block, that description is pretty accurate.
But, the butts. What gives anyone the right to stop for the traffic light, roll down a window, and throw out a paper-wrapped tobacco product? Those filters hang around for quite a while, too.

Of course, that's not all they toss. Candy wrappers, McDonald wrappers, soft drink cans, beer cans.

And, on more than one occasion, I've found full cans of beer along the street. My guess is that some kids, on their way home, had not finished off their 6-pack, and needed to get rid of the remaining evidence.

Oh, and the guys that got pulled over, in front of our house, because they were speeding? You forgot your crack pipe. A nice one, too. Too bad the patrol officer wasn't paying attention to the passenger while approaching your car. Good thing the passenger was armed with nothing more than a crack pipe. If you want your pipe back, by the way, there's a nice young female officer that picked it up a couple days later. I'm sure she'll be happy to hand it over. Call 910-455-4000 and tell them your story. I'll be a witness for you.

Back to the corner.

It's not just the obvious litter that ticks me off. Every yard sale entrepeneur within two miles tacks up yard sale signs on the utility pole in our front yard. Some even stick signs in the ground. Now, please. Don't take this the wrong way. I like yard sales. I've been to more than one, got some pretty good deals. We've even had a couple of them. And, those signs are useful. For buyers and sellers.

But! When your freakin' yard sale is OVER, come get your ^%@(* ing signs! I get tired of pulling them down, or picking up the tattered remains scattered all over the yard after they become damp from overnight dew.

As I've said many times, I don't like to present a problem without presenting a solution.
So, in the case of inconsiderate litterbugs, I suggest that we, as homeowners, lie in wait in our yards. Armed to the teeth with a fully automatic paintball gun, and several thousand rounds of paintball ammo. Every time a window comes down, and litter is ejected from the offender motorists, then we should feel free to open fire. Since the window is down, try for shots that will decorate the interior of the car.

Ok, so some lawyer or DA will tell me that this is illegal. And, having glanced, more than once,  at NC General Statues (chapeter 14, to be specific), they're probably right. But, if the DA wants the police to enforce a law that keeps me from handling the problem, then police should be instructed to nail offending litterbugs. Even though we know quotas don't exist for cops (wink-wink), maybe a watch commander could make an exception, and require every patrol officer to write something like 10 tickets per month for littering.

Ok, that's one down. Now, for those signs.

Two ways to handle that. First, we could go to the trouble of taking down the signs, and dumping them on the offenders property. Every Sunday morning. Before the church crowd gets moving. Perhaps with a sign of our own on a stake in the middle of the debris: Didn't Your Mama Teach You To Clean Up Your Mess? 

Second option. Persuade City Council (wherever you live) to adopt an ordinance that requires ALL yard sale signs to be removed no later than one hour after the yard sale has ended. All signs would be required to have a start and stop time on them. Any lawman who finds signs "after hours" would immetiately issue a citation for violation of Ordinace Number____.  Hey, it's even a good way for cities to generate some extra revenue. A $50 fine PER SIGN should do the trick.

Your Congress, HARD-ly ever at work

That's right. Between trips to exotic countries, and trips "back home", and vacations, and recesses, it's a wonder anything ever gets done in Washington.

Oh, yeah. That's right. Seldom is anything done that affects us, those who hired these clowns, in a positive way.

Given there are 2080 work hours in a  year (40 hours per week times 52), you would think that our hired help would work AT LEAST that many hours each year. Right?
Wrong-o! Big time wrong.

Guy calling himself  Uncle Jay has checked it out, and explains congressional employment so even I can follow understand.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsWlkcsI5Ko

Ok, so by a rough count, IF they actually show up for all sessions, every day, they will have worked about 80 days. IF they work 8 hours each day, they will have worked something like 640 hours in any given year. Of course, they're paid for a lot more than that. And, they argue that they must appear in their home districts. Yeah, to hand out checks to volunteer fire departments and such. Hard work. Oh,but  that's not exactly work. That's called campaign strategy.

When we're about six months away from a congressional election, notice how often your congressman shows up to pose for a grip and grin photo as he hands out tax dollars that first went to Washington, got caught up in some sort of money eating machines, and finally returned to the district. Well, maybe a small percentage of it actually comes home. A huge chunk of it is used to fly your congressman all over the world, and back home as often as he likes, while he's maintaining a second home in the nation's capital. Oh, yeah. Don't forget his/her staffs. Those in Washington and those in their districts.

Think about this while you're slaving away for a whole lot less than $174,000 working three times as many hours, and without paid junkets to Paris, Honolulu, the Caribbean, or wherever.

Thaink about it. Polls open at 6:30 am in November 2012.

Time for a change? You'd better believe it. But, this time I want one that will put new faces in Washington. From stem to stern.

O-Bammm-a Nation, Social Security, and Congressional Pay Raises

It's a little difficult to add much to this picture. Just thought I'd throw the image in because it seems to express what oh, soooo many of us are feeling these days.

Were you aware that a pay raise is automatic for congressmen and senators? Yep, every year, they get a raise. And, a pretty good one, too. About four-grand a year.

Those raises are on auto-pilot. UNLESS. They take action to stop the automatic increase. As, thank goodness, they did for 2010 and 2011. It seems that the stop-raise-action was initiated by a couple democrats. Cool. Until you think about their motives. Their raitings in the tank, these 435 elected representatives we hired feel it's cost efficient for their re-election bids to dump the raises. Great PR, gives 'em something they can brag about back home. Cheaper than spending  money on campaign ads that spout out lie after lie after lie. They call them promises, but the realists among us know them as lies.

A couple of those congressmen even went so far as to propose pay cuts! Wouldn't that be special (a statement, not a question, hence no ?-mark). Their annual salaries are already $174-THOUSAND dollars a year! How does that make you feel? If you're on social security, trying to make ends meet with less than $20-thousand a year, I'll bet it doesn't set too well.

While their action is a token effort, the lawmakers should go further? It's high time to get rid of that salary for life benefit they have; it's past time to cut their fact finding junkets to exotic locations; it's TIME that our elected servants, our hired-help, learn to live on the same benefits that the rest of us get. Social security and medicare.

Oh, yeah...if the ObamaCareless plan isn't revised, medicare premiums will increase. From the $96 per month it was in 2009, in steps up to $117 per month in 2014. Not as huge, as some reports making the rounds of the internet claim. Perhaps, even fair. UNLESS! you're one of us on a fixed social security income. With no cost of living raises. If I could get $174-thousand per year for life, an extra $21 per month would be chicken feed. But, when you add that to the forever rising cost of gasoline, food, electricity, cable, haircuts (mine jumped ten percent this year), insurance...it doesn't take long for $1400 per month to get sucked up.

Maybe I should run for Congress. I could get elected, serve one two-year term, and rack up benefts and a huge salary for the rest of my life. Hey, I wouldn't want to change the racket, either. Maybe, just maybe, we should not leave it up to our elected representatives to decide what they should be getting. Doing so is akin to leaving the fox in charge of the hen house, don't-cha think?

Gators and Fish and Crabs and things

Whew. Some little storm we had a week or so back. Irene came knocking on our door here in southeastern North Carolina, dumped some needed rain, and trimmed our trees. Some old ones went down, a lot of branches and leaves left behind. And, a number of shingles from quite a few houses took leave.

In the middle and southern sections of the coast, we were lucky. Minimal wind. The Outer Banks, though, didn't fair as well.

And, of course, further north, the former hurricane dumped a LOT of rain on some of the Northeast. More rain than they needed, that's for sure.

A rather unfortunate by-product of all the needed rain here in eastern North Carolina was a depletion of the oxygen levels in the creeks and rivers. Heavy runoff carrying all sorts of vegetation reduced the O-2 levels, particularly at depths. It happens somewhat regularly, but it's the first time I've noticed it up close.

At Tideline Marine, on the banks of the New River in Jacksonville, I counted 31 small flunder in about an inch of water. Bill Tarplee, trained as a biologist, explained that there was more oxygen at the surface, and the fish were trying to get as close to the surface as they could.

This guy was about three inches long. He was one of the almost three dozen I could see at the boat ramp.

They were stacked up, almost on top of each other, vying for oxygenated water. Bill said that surface winds add oxygen to the water, and that's what the fish and crabs were looking for.

Unlikely friends, but in a time when air is precious, it's time to put aside differences.

This guy is partially out of the water.

The fish and crabs stayed on the ramp for several days. Unfortunately, several perished, but, with any luck, the majority survived.

One little guy has returned to the area.  He's pretty cool, and only about two feet long. Just as cute as any reptile can be, I guess. I really believe he's developing a personality. Seems to be smiling when he sees me. Of course, he could be sizing me up, thinking of dinner.
A word of advice...don't feed wild animals, especially predators. There's no reason for them to become dependent on us for food. Let them be, as my grandmother would have said.

Do as I do. Take pictures.

He is kinda cute, you must admit.

Been quite busy for the past week. A little chick (I know someone who hates that word) called Irene came knocking. Didn't do much damage 'round the house, but it took two days of raking and mowing to get the yard back in shape. Folks in other parts of North Carolina suffered. A lot. And, those guys up yonder found out that hurricanes produce a LOT of rain. Even when they're no having a parade. 

Internet and electrical service interruptions shut me down for a while. Neither was out for any length of time, but every time both were up and running, and I logged on, one or the other took little nose dive, sending me back to a book to read.

I'll have a few pictures, along with some observations in an upcoming post. And, in yet another post, I'll explore something called a Flounder Jubilee. I had no idea what it was, until I saw one with my very own eyes. And, camera.

But, right now, this little ditty showed up in my e-mail. It's worth a listen. That is, if you're over 50. If not, you might not bother.

http://oldfortyfives.com/DYRT.htm