Well, here it is, February 20, and it looks like Spring is just around the corner. OK, yeah, the first Spring Equinox isn’t for another month, but the cold weather seems to have relented for a bit and it warm enough for me to walk around outside. Yes, I fully expect this to be a cock-tease on Mother Nature’s part, saucy little madcap that she is, but for now, because really what do we have besides now, it’s warm.

I’m very fortunate I live in a swampy part of Texas. Most of South East Texas is, but with some bits it’s more obvious than others. When I was a young man, ranging around this area, it was much more obvious. Suburban sprawl has not so much drained as contained the swamps and hidden them as catch basins for our terrible torrential rains, coming up from the Gulf. Because I am lucky enough to live in such an area, I have easy access, walking access to several “Nature Trails” that are extremely well maintained thanks to all the Federal, State and County assistance after the appearance of flood waters.

They’re very good at hiding these areas. They are all in the lowlands and it doesn’t take much moisture to turn them back into full fledged swamps again, which is nice because I get tons of wildlife to look out while out walking. Snakes, all manner of snakes, turtles, waterfowl, rabbits, armadillos, squirrels, can’t get away from those little bastards, lots of deer and even some bobcats.

Snakes amuse me the most. I’m not a fan. I am not rationally afraid of snakes, but when snake like movement is detected out of the corner of my eye, I go full lizard brain. God the humiliation. Which is funny to me. It’s like, “Oh, snake. You got me good that time. Well played. Hope you like my new mongoose. Who’s laughing now, reticulating little shit!”

There’s what we call a gully, essentially a small bayou that runs through the wetland my Nature trial winds through. It’s not usually full for more than a day as it was enlarged dramatically after the flooding of Harvey. If I had to guess, it’s not usually more than two feet deep during the heat of the summer. There are fish in it, though. Perch, bluegill, brim. Frogs too. And the occasional nutria.

I remember one day, years ago, I was taking my walk and there was a young boy fishing from the side of the bank, way up at the top. I passed him just as he pulled out a decent size perch. He removed it from the hook and tossed it back in. Good call, really. There is nothing from that gully I would consider safe to eat. I remember thinking about the fish’s experience from its perspective. Had it just been abducted by aliens, taken to a different world where a medical procedure was performed on it and then released? Further extrapolating to humans who claim alien abduction. Maybe that’s why they are always anally probed. ET’s leaving buttplugs out everywhere in the cornfields; like fishhooks for rural types.

“I got one!”, exclaims Zel-Cram! “Wait a minute… why is the bait in his mouth?”

I digress.

Depending on when I go on my walks, it can be quite peaceful. I do occasionally run into homeless people, but they are harmless. Unless you count that one woman I saw who I thought was an enchanted mushroom. I jumped higher for her than I do when the snakes announce their presence. I only ran into her once, though, so no enormous mongoose for her.

Weekends are terrible unless I go early in the morning. Families, you know. They aren’t too bad. They aren’t malicious. They’re just numerous. Mountain bikers are the worst, all wearing their douchey little matching outfits and over the top protective gear. Very rude. It’s the advantage of wearing matching outfits; they look like uniforms. Humans love looking official. Gives them that pretense of superiority they find so enticing and because they match and have really butch looking bikes, are naturally better at humaning than those of us on foot.

Because they have matching outfits.

I haven’t been out walking on the paths in quite a while. I have a bad hip and tendonitis in the opposite ankle and it has sidelined me. Some stuff on the trail has changed, there’s a paved parking area now where a house, flooded by Harvey and several other aqueous events, once stood. The port-a-cans have been moved to a secure location where they are now tied down. Their predecessors floated away during Harvey. I often wonder where they went, where they are now, and if they are in some other wooded wetland running feral. One can only hope.

I was at first disappointed because something was missing this time. Several years ago, someone set up a tiny village on the side of the path. Little mushroom houses, little figures, going about little chores. It was very charming, like smurves (the rightful plural of “smurf”) but somehow more earnest. I didn’t honestly expect to see it, it has been a while and it was not where I remember. Apparently the moved farther down the path and expanded. I’m very happy for them. Times are very hard for whimsical plastic villages these days.

All joking aside, I really am glad it’s still there. A little slice of “needless” whimsy in a world desperately in need of whimsy is never a bad thing.