Along Came A (2nd Generation) Spider

By Taylor Wilson

  And one morning there she was, all black and yellow and wonderfully leggy.

  “What are you doing up there, just hanging around…?” I asked the garden spider, more to my amusement than hers.

  Crazy that I am, I continued my conversation with a spider, “Glad to meet you. I kinda been expecting and hoping you would show up. I knew your mom. And you are welcome to hang around here all you want.”

 

  I believe this spider’s mom had indeed inhabited the same north corner of my front porch last fall. And yes, I talked to her, too, for much of Fall ’09. And like spider’s do, that one too, left the world ’round the time of our first frost.

  I never really got to say goodbye. So I was especially pleased to see a new generation had returned to share my doorstep. And it is a great place to hunt for a spider. At night the porch lights attract plenty of prey. She’s a great hunter and I admire her for it. She had a cicada for breakfast, lunch and supper a week or so ago.

  This “black and yellow garden spider,” is also known as a writing spider, banana spider and a corn spider. But Argiope aurantia is the scientific name. Usually these (the females, anyway) are yellow or black with two rows of three white spots along its back. Argiopes also spins their web with a very unusual zigzag pattern (called a stabilimentum) in the center of it. And that zigzag is obvious outside my front door. The reason is disputed among scientists. “Perhaps it better stabilizes the web; acts as a camouflage for the spider lurking in the center; attracts prey; or warns birds of the presence of an otherwise difficult-to-see web,” they claim. Only spiders that are active during the day build stabilimentums in their webs.

  These spiders also spend most of their lives in one locale.

 

  So, as we are family now, I told some guys that were working on the house to leave my spider, and her doorstep corner of the world, alone. I think it was hard for one of them to do, as he had suffered the bite of a brown recluse. But for the most part they let her be. They did tell me one of the younger crew members threw another spider in her web and she finished it off. Again, I suggested/warned ’em again to leave her be. “She won’t hurt anyone,” I said.

  Obviously, she’s at home here now. She has since laid not one but two eggs up there in the corner. So maybe the legacy will continue? Next fall will tell.

  Maybe, I’ll one day regret the family affiliation and be over-run with ’em, but I kind of doubt it. And for those with arachnophobia, I have never read an obit that cited, “death by garden spider.” But if I am the first, well, we all gotta go sometime, might as well go having a friend or two hanging around.

  When I was a kid, my mom and I watched a similar spider outside our kitchen window. Mom called the spider Charlotte. It was fun and is now a well-filed and cherished memory. And of course, later we read Charlotte’s Web.

  ’Web author E.B. White also studied spiders for quite some time before he wrote the famed book. He even said of it, “Once you begin watching spiders, you haven’t time for much else.”

  I haven’t gone that far, but I do visit our spider daily conveniently at our front door.

  And of the book, well, to this day one of my quotes (and I have a lot of ’em) is:

  “It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.” – Wilbur (the pig).

  I have shared that quote with many of my friends, that, like me (most are better than me honestly), scratch out words for some sort of pay. Admittedly, I share the quote primarily to tell them simply that they are a rare commodity—good writers and true friends.

  Of course, the spider in ’Web was a wonderful writer, saving the pig Wilbur from the smokehouse with such great words as: TERRIFIC, RADIANT and HUMBLE.

  Another quote I like is where Charlotte A. Cavatica says, ““People believe almost anything they see in print.” And well, today, that may have more implications than when the quote appeared in the book. Genetically, we have to have words, maybe for sustenance, why else would so many of us paste newspaper clippings to our refrigerators!

  It is noted that Hollywood came looking for the rights to ’Web soon after it was written. But White held out. Eventually, the film rights were sold (more than once), but the author was a stickler that his book would end as nature plays out. Charlotte lays her eggs—and dies. Her death was central to the story. And one article claims, that White held out at great financial cost to himself, for years and years, because the Hollywood people wanted a “happy ending.” But he stuck to his story like a fly to a web. And in the end even the movie versions had to let Nature run its course.

  So all said, I have this big yellow and black spider above my doorstep. Partly because it’s fun; partly because it reminds me of my mom and our shared love for words; and partly because it reminds me too, that hey, we better create what we can, while we can. A cold season comes to us all.

  Of course, my spindly-legged friend and fellow hunter also reminds that there are always threads of hope in Nature as well, like the silky, sticky ones that hold spider eggs in the corner north of my front door.

  Taylor Wilson is an editor at Bill Dance Publishing, he can be reached by email at taylor65@bellsouth.net.

Merry Christmas And Lots of ‘Woo-Woo-Woo-Woos’ To You, Too!

OK, so we all sing along with the radio in the car, right?
When we know no one can hear us, and somebody out there in not likely to have a camera phone, and we don’t stand a chance of ending up on youtube.com.
By the way, be careful out there. In most places today, you do something stupid and you don’t just end up on America’s Funniest Home Videos; these days, you can end up on the WORLD WIDE WEB!
Still, in a moving car, alone, it’s still safe to sing, be silly and, in my case, WAY off key and have no one know about it (unless you ’fess up in a column).
That said I have a Christmas confession.
Every December, I like to sing along to Elvis Presley’s Christmas songs.
As painful as it is for you, imagine a “Taylor Sings Elvis, Live And Nowhere Near Key!”
Sure, Santa Claus Is Back In Town is my favorite. I mean how much cooler, this side of a polar bear’s behind, can a Christmas song be? It combines Santa and a black Cadillac for goodness sake!
But then, too, who doesn’t like to sing along to Blue Christmas?
In that little ditty, I do it all (while driving safely and adhering to all traffic laws, of course). I cover Elvis’ lead, the Jordanaires and most certainly Millie Kirkham’s vocals.
Who is Millie Kirkham?
Well, I’ll be a lump of coal!
You guys don’t know anything, do ya?
Millie Kirkham is the famed singer of what is best described in print as the “woo-woo-woo-woo-woo” backup vocals in Blue Christmas.
What a claim to fame! To be able to tell your grandkids, “I sang the woo-woo-woo-woo-woos” with Elvis (yes, THE Elvis) on Blue Christmas!”
Now that IS cool!
(Of course, I also dream about playing the cowbell on the Rolling Stone’s song, Honky Tonk Women. Yes, there is one on there (check it out), and what the heck, I figure should I ever run into the Stones eating ribs at The Rendezvous in Memphis, I’ll have a better chance, with, “Hey, blokes, what say you let me play the cowbell on the next tour…?” than I will asking for a backup singer job.)
But back to Kirkham’s Blue Christmas “woo-woo-woo-woo-woos”, of which it’s reported she and the rest of the singers did almost as a joke.
In fact, it has been said by one of the famed Jordanaires that Elvis encouraged the backup vocalists to record it badly because he didn’t really want to release it.
“They said have fun — do something silly,” Kirkham confirmed in a CNN interview. “When we got through, we all laughed.”
But you know what? It went on to be a No. 1 hit!
So…? Singing “badly/silly” worked out pretty well? There IS hope for me and the rest of all the cooped-up car crooners, right?
Well, maybe not, but you gotta dream.
Anyway, the Blue Christmas backup vocal was not Kirkham’s only claim to fame. She has continued to have a long career, also recording with: Roy Orbison, Dolly Parton, Patsy Cline, Jerry Lee Lewis, Burl Ives, Johnny Cash, Brenda Lee, Willie Nelson, Bob Dylan, Perry Como, Carl Perkins, Rosemary Clooney, Little Richard, Reba McEntire, Brook Benton, Tammy Wynette, Vic Damone, Paul Anka, George Jones, Eddy Arnold, Loretta Lynn, Jim Reeves and many others.
You know…? (Warning! I’m thinking here, dangerous as that can be.) Actually, recording people trying to sing Kirkham’s Blue Christmas “woo-woo-woo-woo-woo” part and accompanying Elvis would be a great Christmas radio promotion, now that I think about it.
Sort of like the famed and oft-used “who can best whistle the theme song from The Andy Griffith Show?” promo. Except this time it could be, who can best sing the backup vocals for Elvis on Blue Christmas?
And let’s face it, the fun will be in hearing the ones that sound like me (or worse, as if that’s possible).
I’m betting there’s plenty of folks around town that are indeed nuttier than a fruitcake and ready to give it a try?
Heck, a trip to tour Graceland could be the grand prize!
Ah, but I am dreaming again.
Back to work. Merry Christmas, y’all!
(And meanwhile be sure to practice your “woo-woo-woo-woo-woos…!”)

Hark Y'all: A Christmas Quiz

My wife has long accused me of carrying around an empty cranium, and other than the trivia, well, she is pretty much right.
But in the spirit of this stored trivia and Christmas, I am offering you a Christmas movie trivia quiz this week.
Keep score and let me know how you do.

1.) In the movie A Christmas Story, where the kid, Ralphie, longs for a Red Ryder BB gun, what was the mystery phrase he solved with his Little Orphan Annie de-coder ring?

A.) Buy a Daisy Red Ryder, 200 shot Range Model with a compass in the stock, and this thing that tells time.
B.) Drink more Ovaltine!
C.) You’ll shoot your eye out!
D.) Daddy Warbucks is a Grinch!
E.) Fragile(y)! It’s Italian!






2) Hark, y’all! (I love that word — hark!) In the A Charlie Brown Christmas special who plays the part of the shepherd?

A.) Linus. He puts blanket to good use.
B.) Pigpen. One gets dirty out there in the pasture.
C.) Sally
D.) Snoopy


3.) In the movie It’s A Wonderful Life, two characters named Bert and Ernie were later the inspiration for the names of Jim Henson’s Muppets on Sesame Street. What were their occupations in the holiday movie?


A.) A bartender and a bank teller.
B.) An angel and a mayor.
C.) A druggist and a solider.
D.) A cab driver and a cop.


4.) What Little Rascal had a cameo in It’s A Wonderful Life as a grownup?


A.) Spanky
B.) Buckwheat
C.) Alfalfa
D.) Petey


5. In the Dr. Seuss animated TV special, How the Grinch Stole Christmas the singer of “You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch” also helped make another cartoon character great if not famous with his booming voice. Which cartoon character was it?


A.) Toucan Sam
B.) Yosemite Sam
C.) Count Chocula
D.) Tony The Tiger


6. What famous actor provided the famed voice for the narration and the Grinch in the animated special? And, as part two, what other green character did he portray in another movie?


A.) John Smith, The Jolly Green Giant
B.) Boris Karloff, Frankenstein
C.) Johnny Whitaker, Sigmund the Seamonster.
D.) Jim Henson, Kermit The Frog


7. Complete the following:


“…And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit ______?”

Answers


1. B. “A crumby commercial!?!”
2. A. Linus. Pigpen is the innkeeper. Snoopy plays a host of critters.
3. D. A cabbie and a cop.
4. C. The Barber of Seville, Carl “Alfalfa” Switzer had a few other acting gigs. It all ended later, in a brawl over a bird dog, when the actor was shot. Perhaps some things are worth fighting for (others are not)?
5. D. Actor Thurl Ravenscroft sang the song and was later well-known as the voice of Kellogg’s Tony the Tiger.
6. B. Boris Karloff. Evidently, for him it was not only easy being green, but it was also profitable. Also, a lot of people think Karloff sings the “…Mean One…” song, too, but they are mistaken. (See No. 5.)
7. MORE! Again, try to remember “Christmas means more” this holiday as you celebrate with your family and friends.


Your Score

0-1 - So, as a kid, you bumped your head on the mantle while hanging a stocking, right?
2-3 - You’ve been dipping in the eggnog a bit early this year, eh?
4-6 - OK, so you have seen quite a few Christmases come and go.
7 – Perfect! Call Santa. Apply for job, now! He needs your help!

The Birth Of A Blood Trailer

There’s a burnt-orange dog that sleeps in the monkey grass, near our home’s front doorstep.

Her name is Honey and she, like most golden retrievers, is sweet and loves people to a fault.

“Don’t let her jump up on ya and lick you to death,” I have to constantly warn visitors.

This bad habit follows a year or two of failing (evidently) to explain to my son, “If you let Honey jump up on YOU, she’s going to try to do that with EVERYBODY.”

“But Dad, she just wants to dance,” he said.

So, fair warning, we have a golden at our house that likes to put her paws on you when she greets you. Now, you can dance if you want, but I step on her toes enough that she doesn’t dance with me. (If you do choose to dance, though, let her lead.)

I think she woulda been a top-notch retriever had her trainer not failed her. Her nose keen, no doubt. She can smell carry-out from a great distance and has found dead doves for me in the thickest of the thick.

Honey, has been run over twice (once by a truck AND trailer), that I know of, kicked pretty good by a cow or two, and hates being penned up so much she will chew through mesh-wire fence to get out. So, she is also a pretty tough character when its called for, despite her sweet nature and name.

She is a darn good hunter, too, often bringing neighboring quail, rabbits, moles, voles, etc. to hand, even though I didn’t ask for such.

Her primary job for the family, though, is to let us know if somebody arrives unexpected, be it stranger, polecat or coyote.

She doesn’t care much for deer, and with that in mind I let her blood-trail one my son shot on the youth hunt. The buck fell off into a very deep and log-loaded kudzu ditch, so rather than try to trail a deer in the jungle by myself, I went home to get Honey.

Well, what do you know? She’s a blood-trailer, too. In hind-sight leaving that long lead on her was not a good idea, and she told me as much when it became tangled around the buck’s small rack. And yes, there was a brief moment that I wondered whether the whitetail was going to carry my dog away. But Honey wore on the dying buck. As it turned out, both of the buck’s shoulders were ruined and when it bedded down, Honey bedded down with it.

I wanted to get a photo with my phone, but I didn’t dare get in photog range, or I might risk jumping the buck and sending them off to the races again. So I just watched the strange scene, both of ’em bedded down like cattle in pasture.

And Honey babysat it pretty good, too, well, in her way. She just lay there licking the dying buck on the nose and muttering her favorite recipe of tenderloin sautéed in a skillet with onions, peppers and red wine. (I guess like most of us, she does have a dark side, too…or at the least, a sick sense of humor.)

Well, we got that buck, and of course, I shared some venison with the dog. (She told me I shouldn’t cook with such cheap wine! But I did note Honey said it with a mouth full of venison.)

She has since gone on several other blood trails with dead deer waiting at the end, and a time or two she found only a bloody arrow. And true, on some of the trails, we already knew where the dead deer was. We took her just because we knew Honey likes to go along. (I mean what are friends for?) I suspect it also keeps her dead-deer retrieval/finding skills sharp as well.

One fall day, I told my buddy when we picked Honey up to take her on a fresh trail, that she was talking to us, and asked if he could hear her.

“No, what’s she saying?” he asked, since he obviously did not speak golden retriever.

“Oh, she wants to know what we have messed up and let nearly get away this time,” I laughed.

But really, a good blood trailer is always good to have around, especially if they can also hold down/stunt the monkey grass, fend off polecats and dance with the guests…

Taylor Wilson is an editor at Bill Dance Publishing. He can be reached via email at taylorwilson@billdancefishing.com.

Friendship, Fun Wrapped In A Foliated Box

By Taylor Wilson

“You know I like duck hunting best, right?”

This from my nine-year-old when we were hunting something other than ducks.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Well, because you can talk a whole lot more,” he said.

I laughed and thought of his mom, and realized the gene pool is indeed split 50-50. (When the kid was a baby, he babbled so much that I figured he would probably have no other career choice than auctioneer.)

“I also like it because you get to be in the blind with your friends, and cook stuff and have fun. And if it is really right, we get to shoot a lot, together,” he added.

I agreed, with him, and as a dad, enjoyed his word “together.” Then I added that if forced to choose, my leanings were more toward waterfowl as well. And then it hit me.

Clubhouse?

A duck blind is no more than a clubhouse, really. Not unlike those places we would build out of scrap lumber as kids and go hide from the rest of the world with our best buds and our dogs.

Why had I never seen it that way before?

Maybe I had listened too much to some who believe blinds to be nothing more than a foliated box where they sit and wait?

Or maybe it was because it had been too long since I saw it through the eyes of a child?

This year, according to waterfowl surveys, looks to be a bang-bang, bang-up season; so clubhouse time could be prime.

But I have heard the “Mega Migration” predictions before, and to tell the truth, I have actually experienced better seasons in the reportedly lean years, than in those forecasted to be fantastic. So I am skeptical, in a cup-half-empty, one-hipboot-leaks, one-doesn’t kind of way.

Yep, you see enough seasons, greenhouse theory included (gaseous as that may be), and you’ll witness all the cycles of cold weather, rain/water and crop production/food. You’ll notice they pretty much chart all over the place. And at such times, it doesn’t matter how many ducks are north (or south) of you.

Then too, on the other side of the johnboat, just have all the ’fowl factors line up, and it can become the kind of season where clubhouses/blinds become crowded.

So it comes down to: We can only hope and keep our trigger fingers crossed.

But either way—lots of dead ducks or only a few—at Show Time I am mainly shooting for some time in the clubhouse/blind, with good buds, good food and our dog.

What? Some of us will never grow up?

Probably not, if we had been given a choice. But even all grownup, we can still catch a hint of being able to travel back, now and then, especially when occupying a camouflaged clubhouse.

Savannah's TN River Museum

My son and I were recently on a fishing trip in the Pickwick area, and when we left the water, we traveled north to Savannah, Tenn., for a stop at the Tennessee River Museum, 495 Main St.
This is truly one of those hidden gems, not unlike a freshwater pearls, that the museum tells about and showcases inside.
I had been there before and wrote a story about it, many years ago for a daily newspaper; at the time the museum opened its doors.

But each time I visit I am impressed and learn something new, which is what museums are supposed to do.
The “company” line is the museum includes info and artifacts about: dinosaurs, T.V.A., history the prehistoric Mississippi Mound Builders, the tragic story of the “Trail of Tears,” the Civil War on the River, the Golden Age of Steamboats, and the Tennessee River today and much more.
But this description sells short what there is to learn and appreciate here, especially when you see it through the eyes of a child.
For example, a child might learn:
“Wow! This general had 30 horses shot out from underneath him in the War, and still survived!”
Or, “I never thought a cannon ball this small, would be this heavy.”
And maybe a kid can pick up a dose of reality about the difference between video games, action movies and a real war.
He can learn that bayonets were used not only to kill people, but also to drag countless dead bodies from the field; that the “Bloody Pond” really was just that; and that the “Hornets’ Nest” must have been hell on earth.

Yep, there are a lot of lessons and amazing things to learn here. Check it out, should you ever be in the area. Take your kids.
Museum hours are Monday-Saturday 9 a.m. until 5 p.m.; and Sunday, 1 p.m. to 5 p.m. Admission is $3 for adults and free to those age 18 and under. Orange admission tickets to nearby Shiloh National Military Park allows for free admission to museum, as well.
For more information, call 800-552-FUNN.

Two Thumbs (Hooked) Up/My Life As A Pin Cushion

The Trials & Tribulations Of A Good Hook-Set
By Taylor Wilson

Ever read the, “this happened to me!” columns in the old outdoor magazines?
You know the stories I’m talking about. It’s the ones where some guy spent hours on a life raft and thwarted sharks, or where another guy climbed a tree, chased by a grizzly bear and survived only because he raked the bear’s snout with a piece of his arrow.
I was once at an outdoor writers’ meeting where the aged and grizzled scribes began telling about their “near-death experiences in the outdoors.”
One by one they told of the horrors they had somehow managed to survive and be present, there that day, to make laps around the free food bar.
When it came my turn, I of course, told ’em the truth of my most dangerous outdoor adventure:
“Well, WAY back in the day, I was hunting duck hunting off somewhere, and the night before we were hanging out in a honky tonk, and I made the BIG mistake of asking an even BIGGER guy’s girlfriend to dance.
“Have you fellas ever heard the Skynyrd song, ‘Gimme Three Steps?’ Well, I lived it! No wait, better make that, I SURVIVED it, way back in a 1980-something duck season!”
Now, my fellow scribes were not impressed. Especially not the one that had been washed down white-water rapids while trout fishing, nor the guy that had battled a Russian boar (in Russia) with a penknife!
Oh well, I survived, nonetheless. And just maybe it was such experience that got me through my latest mishap. But meanwhile in the spirit of the old magazine columns:

So there I was betwixt hook and crook…more so than rock and a hard place.

My tackle box lid was broken and would not stay closed, but I strapped it across my back, anyway.
Took it off my shoulder, put it in the bed of my truck.
Unbeknownst to me two bass plugs with (as it turns out) several very sharp treble hooks decided to hitchhike on my hind quarters, clinging to the backside of my Sunday pants.
I realized this when I sat down in the truck.
Ouch.
Of course, it wasn’t just one hook, but judging from the pain in my butt (literally), there were treble hooks aplenty.
So, I did what most folks would do when sitting on something sharp: I tried to fly.
Not unlike those folks that sat on tacks placed in chairs back when we were kids.
(An argument for what goes around, comes around, I tell ya.)
But, as it turned out, I was also now hooked to the seat covers, and the bass plugs, which were also hooked to my Sunday pants as well as some padding I had accumulated on a diet of high carbs.
Rising upward with my feet, I used a free hand to reach around and flank the problem.
And guess what?
It went from bad to worse.
One of the darn things snagged a thumb. The more I moved it, the deeper the barb went into my thumb.
So, again, there I was—contorted kind of limbo-like.
I remained this way for a few seconds that seemed like hours, realizing I couldn’t drive like this. And if I could, what would I do when I got there?
So I finally lifted upward and ripped free, from the seat covers. I was still wearing treble hooks in/on the hiney as I stood on the side rails and drove the pickup from a storage building to my house.
While driving, I had this image of me, falling out, being run over and found dead with bass baits attached to my butt.
Nope, it wouldn’t exactly be going out in a blaze of glory. But I’d be an obituary writer’s dream: “ANGLER DIES OF PAIN IN THE BASS,” “END OF LINE IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE FOR FISHERMAN,” “THOSE HE LEFT BEHIND,” “ANGLER’S DENIED HIS LAST FISHES,” “ANGLER KICKS (MINNOW) BUCKET;” and “LAST CAST,” etc., etc., etc.
But fortunately, as noted, I survived and made it into the house…though bleeding moderately, and got the pants off. And sure, I said several un-Sunday like things, but then again, these pants were never again be labeled “Sunday pants,” either.
After much pained delay, I finally got to leave for fishing trip.
Of course, it promptly rained it out, basically while en route to the water.
And as I retrieved my fishing rods from a friend’s vehicle to return home, they slipped and I felt the not-so old and familiar pain, again, but this time the hooks was in my other thumb.
My buddy helped cut it out with needle-nosed pliers. And after threatening to sue him for malpractice, I went home—bleeding yet again, and thankful again to BE the one that got away!