galoshes blog

By Gavin Murphy

Winter

The ducks aren’t fazed 
by a little cold. They’ve 
migrated here for this: 
a swimming hole with 
water that isn’t frozen.

Thus, the hooded mergansers 
appear in winter, in pairs, 
the male duck of the species 
sporting his flamboyant 
trademark bonnet of 
black-and-white. 

They seem to enjoy the 
chill and love cruising around 
the marsh in the cold rain.

With all due respect to 
Audubon, his hooded 
mergansers look, quite 
literally, like ducks out 
of water, though his 
rendering of their 
plumage is spectacular. 

(See Audubon's Hooded Mergansers - Plate 413
of the Royal Octavo, 3rd Edition, 1870.)

Seen in the wild, propelling 
themselves leisurely in the 
marsh water on a misty morning,
hooded mergansers are 
creatures of unparalleled
grace and beauty.

(Not showboats though. 
Well, maybe the males 
with their magnificent 
manes, could be considered 
showboats. But they evolved 
that way because that’s 
what the lady mergansers
wanted, at least according 
to Darwin.)

The spartina is transitioning 
from golden yellow to a 
tawny reddish brown. Some of it 
will expire in the cold,
turning into wrack, a mess of 
decaying stalks that 
compost the mud, 
releasing nutrients. 



Spartina requires fresh water 
for nourishment so it has 
special glands to filter salt
out of the salt water. 
(Like I said, it's a super plant.)

The rest of the wrack 
eventually is flushed 
from the marsh 
with the tides. Some of 
it washes up in heaps 
on nearby beaches. 

Occasionally, in the morning, 
there is ice in the birdbath. 
But the marsh never freezes. 
Sometimes it snows but not often.

Also present at water’s edge 
is yaupon holly, a native species 
that produces bright red berries
in fall and winter. Its Latin name is
Ilex vomitoria - referring to the 
Native American practice of 
drinking strong yaupon tea 
that induced vomiting for 
medical and ceremonial 
practices. The colonials drank 
a weaker version as a cheap 
alternative to the heavily 
taxed imported tea preferred 
by the English. (Yaupon tea
is enjoying a revival today.)

There's also a native bay leaf tree, 
only one, not that close 
to the edge of the marsh. 
It's a slow grower, as it's been 
about the same size for the 
last 20 years. You also can 
make tea from its leaves.

A pair of otters occasionally 
visit in the yard close to
the marsh. One appears to 
be relieving himself but 
he is simply marking his 
territory. They don't linger 
for long, but it seems clear 
they think they own the 
place - not us.

River otters are large otters,
with a lustrous brown fur coat.
Some people complain about the 
otters, saying they trash their docks,
chew their boat cushions and leave 
half eaten fish strewn about.
 
I also see them once in a while 
dashing across the highway, 
running as fast as they can 
on their short legs. 

Sometimes they don’t make it.

Holstein has cancer. 
His nose is literally 
decomposing. His eyes, 
still penetrating, are 
a sickly yellow from 
jaundice. He doesn’t 
cry or whimper. When 
one night he sneezes 
blood, we decide it is 
time to put the old cat 
out of his misery.

The moles and the mice 
will dance to his demise 
but I will miss him.



(old photo: The cat 
was young. I still had
some hair.)

“Cedar fever” can strike 
in midwinter when the 
cedar trees that grow 
along the marsh
(actually junipers) 
sprout tiny yellow cones. 
These, naturally, contain
allergy causing pollen.
The pine tree pollen, 
similar in color, comes 
later, blanketing the car.

A hummingbird zooms 
in and out of the cedar tree.
The same tree where the 
waxwings will arrive soon
in a hungry flock to devour 
the berries growing on its
branches. 



The tree swallows stick around in winter,
careening in the sky over the marsh. 
They have a smaller forked tail than 
the barn swallow and the bird guide 
says they have 'iridescent, dark blue
or green heads' but they fly so fast 
high enough in the sky that such detail 
escapes my observation.

Something moves at the edge
of the marsh, near a tree stump.
A brown furry head pops up.
A baby otter? No, it’s a mink.
More than 20 years living on 
the marsh and it’s my first 
sighting. The mink inspects the 
tree stump, then disappears.
Could the stump house a 
burrow for its family?

I ride my bicycle to the beach 
side of the island. The tide 
is out and the sand is hard packed, 
perfect for peddling on the beach.
The wind is at my back, so peddling 
is optional.

The tides here in Georgia are 
among the most extreme 
on the east coast, with a 
6 to 9 foot difference 
between low and high tide.
‘Spring tides’ - which have nothing
to do with the season - are even 
higher and occur twice a month.

Pelicans usually hunt for fish in 
the ocean, where their dive bombing 
technique is more suitable. They 
rarely hunt for fish in the marsh. 
But if the tide is up and there are 
fish to be had, a couple of pelicans 
will sometimes give it a shot.

The pigeons fly in circles
above my neighbor’s dock.
Hungry on a chilly winter morn.
They know she will come. 
Sure enough, a woman soon
appears. The birds swarm 
above as she walks out 
onto the dock tossing 
small pieces of bread
into the air. 

Breakfast is served.
 
I make a game with the grandkids 
in which we set up traps to try 
and catch the varmint, buckets 
with ropes tied to them and such.
I say we are going to stay up 
all night if we have to. 

A couple of times we use flashlights 
to probe the darkness for any activity 
but we are all asleep long before 
the varmint stirs.

The tide gushes into the marsh, 
a tentacle of which flows right 
beside our house. Sometimes, 
I think our house has perhaps 
violated these wetlands. 

The water level steadily rises, 
almost as if it resents our presence. 
Sometimes the full moon, or a storm, 
pushes the tide above the banks of 
the marsh and well into our yard,
before it almost reluctantly retreats. 

The marsh is patient, but someday
it will reclaim this land.

Later, the tide is again going out, 
but this evening there appears 
to be - resistance. 

The breeze picks up and the spartina 
becomes a rolling sea of green, yellow 
gold and bronze. The wind shifts
direction abruptly and there seems 
to be a school of fish swimming 
against the current. 

The surface of the water glimmers 
and sparkles as a gust paints it, 
Pollock like, with silvery splashes,
the water coursing through the 
twisted labyrinthine channels, 
colors fading, only to erupt again 
as something moves just beneath the 
surface, synchronized and swift.

Meanwhile, the varmint still lives.

   ####

Acknowledgements:

My autographed copy of The Low Country
by Mallory Pearce published by The Saltmarsh Press

Birds of Georgia, Parrish-Beaton-Kennedy,
Lone Pine Publishing International

Runaways and the Last of the Gaule
by Jack Anderson
in which there is much yaupon tea drinking

And thanks to Chuck Powell, all around nature expert
and Eagle Scout.