New Year's Eve, with Cow Nose

I'm at my mom's house now. The photo above describes, in a nutshell, the region where I grew up. (Yes, basically in a cow's nose.) Mom and I encountered this gal on our walk yesterday -- she and a companion followed us along a fence line, looking for a handout of grass.

So, this is it -- the last day of the year! We have no special plans. I told Mom we should just buy a bottle of wine and sit down by the lake on the dock and raise a glass or two, and then go to bed early. Doesn't that sound great? My stepbrother and stepsister and their spouses are planning to go clubbing in Ybor City, but that sounds like hell to me, so I bowed out.

I also bowed out of the LSU football game tomorrow, which they are attending. I know you're shocked.

In addition to the cows, we saw some birds and butterflies on yesterday's walk. This is a queen butterfly. Doesn't it seem kind of late in the year for butterflies to be flitting around? Maybe it's another sign of climate change, or maybe they've always been here in the winter and I just forgot.

The home of one of our longtime neighborhood families, just two doors down from ours, was demolished yesterday. The new owners brought in a backhoe and knocked the whole thing down. It was your typical low-slung late '50s ranch house, with an incongruous but very mid-century bomb shelter under a mound of dirt in the yard. (I snuck into the bomb shelter once or twice as a kid. As I remember it was just a rusty metal room -- not a place I would want to spend any time.) Anyway, the property hadn't been well cared for in recent years and most everyone in that family is dead now -- they seemed to exist under a gothic southern family curse, involving unhappiness, iron-fisted control, disinheritance, you name it -- but I know it still bothered Mom to hear the crunch and crash of that backhoe. "That's a terrible sound," she said.

I reached a small blogging milestone this year -- I posted here every single day, with one extra post on the day we named Olga. Not a bad run!

The Killer Apple, Part 2

The balsam apple did not disappoint -- when I went to check it yesterday afternoon it had peeled itself open like a creepy alien pod from a '50s horror movie. This is exactly what I remember Mrs. Evans carrying into our classroom.

I was surprised some of you said in yesterday's comments that you'd never seen this plant before. It's very common in Central Florida, growing on roadsides, fences and in orange groves (particularly untended ones). Supposedly it's wild throughout the Southeast. Keep an eye out for it, but don't let the pod people steal your soul while you sleep.

The family vibe is starting to press in on me a little bit. There are a lot of people around here, and conversations tend to flow rather roughly, like a river eddying around rocks and splashing over rapids rather than maintaining a unified, placid stream. Besides, some people want to watch football. Ugh. Why are televised football games always so freaking LOUD?

I stay sane by getting out of the house and walking around with the camera, stalking suspicious cormorants (above)...

...and nervous blue jays.

Today I'm driving up to my mom's house where I'll spend the next two nights before rejoining my dad on New Year's Day.

The Killer Apple

Yesterday was a whirlwind of relatives! We had a family breakfast at the local greasy spoon, with my brother and his family, my stepsister and her family, and my dad and stepmother -- 11 people all together. We do not travel in small groups, we Reeds. My nephew tried to call ahead for a reservation but of course greasy spoons don't take reservations, so we cobbled together some tables as they became available and eventually drove away all the other customers.

I got to talk briefly with my brother, my sister-in-law, and my two young nieces before they hit the road back to their home in Jacksonville. Remember when you were young and square older relatives would appear and say things like, "My goodness, you've grown!" Well, I am now that older relative. It's so unsettling to see how big kids get, and how fast.

I visited with my stepsister, her new husband and their two sons (one each from previous relationships) yesterday afternoon, and last night my stepbrother and his wife arrived from Louisiana. I almost never get to see them, so that's a plus.

Amid all this excitement I called my mom and wrote to Dave, and took care of most of my gift-giving -- mainly a few copies of my new book and some beautiful glass window decorations from Ellen, which I ordered after she posted them in the top photo of this post. (Ellen, they're a hit!)

This wild balsam apple in my dad's yard looks like it's about to burst open, so that will be interesting to watch over the next few days. When I was in kindergarten, a school office assistant named Mrs. Evans once brought one of these into the class, bright orange and filled with brilliant red seeds. The teachers told us they were poisonous, so I've always been wary of them, even though I'm not sure they'd really kill. Whenever I see one I think of Mrs. Evans, with her fast walk and blue eye shadow and "That Girl" flip hairdo, holding a colorful, menacing curiosity on a white napkin in her hand.

(Top photos: Shrimp plants in my dad's yard.)

Back Among the Florida Ferns

Well, that may have been the most convoluted single day of travel I've ever had. From a rainy, windy train platform in rural England to my father's guest bedroom in suburban Florida, in the span of 22 hours -- by car, train, taxi, another train, airplane, another airplane, and another taxi.

When I write it like that it doesn't sound all that interesting, but it boggles my mind what we can do nowadays, with these newfangled inventions called aeroplanes.

Not that it was exactly easy! We got off to a rough start at 5 a.m. yesterday morning when the foul weather in England delayed our departure from Norfolk. And it was foul -- gusty wind-driven spatters of cold rain that made Olga put her tail between her legs, shiver and whine, which she never does. The first two trains of the day were cancelled, and I was starting to panic inwardly as Dave explored alternative options, like hiring a car to take us back to London. (I wasn't thrilled with that, because if the trains weren't running could you imagine the traffic?) But then a train magically appeared, and once onboard Olga climbed onto our laps, buried her face in a towel and refused to move for the next two hours.

Once back in London, I found that trains to Heathrow were all delayed by a construction project running past schedule. (Railroad official: "Yes, let's do a construction project during the busiest travel period of the year! Brilliant!") But then, once again magically, the Heathrow Express began running and I got to the airport with time to spare. (This is all testament to the wisdom of starting any trip very early.)

The flights themselves were uneventful. I sat with a rugby player from a British university on my transatlantic flight, and though I couldn't talk about rugby at all, he was a nice guy and I certainly enjoyed the view.

I changed planes in Chicago -- where I ate a Red Delicious apple, which tasted heavenly after airplane food -- and then listened to my iPod all the way to Tampa, next to a woman who was reading a book about Murakami (or maybe it was by Murakami). By this time I had entered that weird, foggy state of travel numbness in which hours pass without really registering. I collected my bag, which miraculously arrived with me, and got a $60 taxi ride (!) to my dad's.

And here I am, typing away in the pre-dawn darkness after five hours of sleep, because while here it's 5:30 in the morning, to me it's 10:30 and I never sleep that late.

(Top photo: My dad's backyard. Fern-o-rama!)

Fen, Chaffinch and Tractor

Just a few photos today, because I'm traveling virtually all day and need to get on the road! The wind is howling out there, so let's pray for no train/plane disruptions.

We took our morning walk yesterday in an area known as a fen -- a mossy, uneven bit of ground studded with broom bushes and bare trees. Kind of an interesting landscape, and the hard ground was nice because it made Olga's Kong bounce extra high.

This is a chaffinch, spotted yesterday morning by the bird feeders at our guesthouse. I shot several photos of tits, robins and one unidentified bird. (Stay tuned.)

Finally, this old steam-powered tractor surprised us by driving through the village late yesterday morning. It stopped at the house across the street, where the woman in the green vest seemed to deliver a small parcel. A pretty complex method of package delivery, but very cool! The steam whistle really rattled windows.

Post-Christmas Rural Entertainments

This is the medieval North Lopham church, seen from our window at the guesthouse. It is a pretty amazing view, made more interesting by the slightly off-kilter old windows in the house. (They've been double-glazed so they're actually amazingly well insulated.)

So, yeah, Christmas. Glad that's over. We had a crazy Christmas morning, with shrieking children and wrapping paper flying everywhere -- which I guess is how Christmas should be, if at all possible. Dave and I got some interesting foodie things like a jar of mango and tomato bruschetta and various jams and marmalades, as well as a nice glass window hanging and a Japanese teapot. And various Christmas ornaments to supplement our pathetic collection.

Then we went for a walk in a rural forest right next to a pig farm. I'm not sure Olga even saw the pigs -- there was a hedgerow in the way -- but she surely must have smelled them.

The weather cleared up yesterday (as if by Christmastime divine magic!) with a bright blue sky and sunshine. Unfortunately for photography, the sun is so low on the horizon that it basically shines right into my lens. I had a terrible time photographing the pig farm.

We also saw a free-range egg hatchery where thousands of chickens were wandering in (obviously fenced) open fields, and I must say they looked pretty happy. Dick and Georgia, our hosts, needed some eggs, so they stopped at an open cabinet by the roadside where flats of eggs were stored, and bought a flat, plunking their money into a lockbox inside the cabinet. It's all done by honor system.

I kept an eye out for local birds and did see some beautiful blue tits, but those little things flit around so fast that I just couldn't get a picture. The ones in London practically pose, accustomed to people as they are.

Olga and I went for a separate afternoon walk on a path near the guesthouse. I feel a little bad for her because she is frequently besieged by the children and she's not getting nearly as much sleep as she would at home. So I like to get her outside and off by herself if I can. Still, this particular walk was kind of a mistake -- mud-o-rama.

Christmas dinner went well! Dave made an amazing turkey and he and another guest collaborated on the stuffing, and I helped cut and saute veggies and got things cleaned up. Glad that's over, too.

Glitter-Free Christmas Post, with Pseudo-Celebrity

After a few hours of opening presents with little kids, I feel like I should be posting photos of ribbons and glitter and gold and red foil. But frankly, I've had about all of that I can take, so here are photos of what we did yesterday.

In addition to me, Dave and Olga, another couple is staying at the guesthouse along with their two young daughters. Yesterday we all went for a walk, along with our hosts Dick and Georgia and their dog, Bonnie, in a patch of wooded pasture land not far from the house.

Olga chased her Kong, but she wasn't sure what to do with the resident sheep. She chose not to approach them at all.

Dave said, "They look like Barbara Walters!" Which is completely true.

Yesterday afternoon I went with the other couple, Carolyn and Mark, and their two daughters Zoe and Ella to a church service at the old village church across the road from the guesthouse. (I posted photos of this church the last time we were here.) The service was aimed mainly at children, meant to decorate the "crib," or creche. Zoe and Ella got to participate and we sang carols, many with melodies that varied from what I'm used to in the states. (Apparently this is a common thing in England.) We were identified as visitors during the service, and in the end after everyone formed a circle and enthusiastically sang "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," a village woman turned to me and said, "This is England for you!"

We came back to the guesthouse for authentic eggnog with some neighbors, and finished up with a dinner of beef wellington. And now, after presents this morning, I'm already exhausted.

I hope everyone is having a great Christmas!