Mishap in the Mangroves

I came home to a cold, wet winter in January; typical for Chicago. It was quite dismal this time. I sat sulking, looking out my window too often, and wishing my mangled ankle would heal a bit faster, so I could voyage again.

Forgive me, I am getting ahead of myself. That's how it happened too. I was ahead of myself when I injured my left ankle while sloshing through the Florida wetlands. I was in a shallow wet spot in a thick patch of red mangroves while following a bald eagle in the sky. Bald Eagles are majestic creatures and I hoped to interview one on this trip.



Artwork courtesy of Jochabel Reese - Copyright 2015

Instead, I had an eerie feeling that I was being followed by something and turned just in time to see a water moccasin ready to strike.

Adrenaline shot through my limbs and I jumped backward, catching my foot between the twisted roots of a red mangrove. I fell, splashing into the murky water. Pain instantly surged through my leg. Had I been bitten? I could not tell.

The stocky snake looked sharply into my eyes and lunged again. I instantly hit him on the snout with my binoculars.

He coiled back hissing and said, "You nassty sstranger, why did you attack me?"

I shuddered and yelled, "I will not tolerate being poisoned by your bite! I did not threaten you in the first place."

I hoped my warning was clear enough, because all I could do was try to intimidate him at that moment. I was caught in a natural trap and one caused by my own foolishness.

One of the first rules of exploration is to observe your surroundings and then proceed. Instead, I had been proceeding with my eyes fixed on the sky without observing what was right around me.

Suddenly, the bald eagle I was tracking swooped down from the sky and grabbed that water moccasin with her sharp talons and screeched that I should run. Glancing at my trapped foot, I knew I could not run. I could not move my ankle and my flesh was torn and bleeding against the exposed mangrove roots that were drying in sun above the tide.

Now, in case you didn't know, I like pickles. But I prefer to eat pickles rather than be in a pickle. In this case, I was in a pickle and feeling like a pickle as I sat in the briny waters with my throbbing leg. Luckily, I had not been bitten by that horrid snake, but the sting from my injury felt like a snake bite.

My canoe was only a few meters away, but it seemed so far at the moment. I pulled a sharp knife from my soggy back pack and began sawing through the leathery mangrove stilt roots around my trapped foot.

At last I was free and I held my leg above the water against another exposed root as I pulled a handkerchief from my breast pocket, tying it tightly around the wound. I knew I needed to get out of that spot quickly or I would be bait for another, larger predator; the crocodile.

I already sensed that I was being watched again by some hidden creature and knew I needed to move faster.



Indigo C. Beacon - Copyright 2015

While listening and watching more closely to my surroundings, I carefully made my way back to the canoe and climbed in. The sun beat down on my sandy skin and a light breeze tickled my ears as I caught my breath and headed back to civilization.

I caught a taxi and went to the closest emergency room. Fortunately I did not brake my ankle, but it was badly sprained and cut in several places requiring 30 stitches. I was prescribed a strong antibiotic and instructed to keep my wounds clean.

Thus my wetlands voyage was cut short and I abjectly flew back to Chicago, feeling as dismal as the slushy weather here. In spite of my injury I enjoyed winter in the wetlands. You see, wetland winters are dryer, if you can say dry in Florida. It is simply a time when water levels are lower and there is less rain fall.

I know what you are thinking; another rule of exploration is not to go on adventures alone. You are right. If one of my friends or a more skilled Everglades traveler had been with me, the snake might have attacked him instead and left me alone. Then I still would have whacked the snake on the snout, dragged my companion back to the canoe, and heroically brought us to safety.

Fine, that may not have been the outcome either, but I can still imagine can't I? At least I lived another day and had another story to tell. As my trusted readers, I encourage you to enjoy my adventures but definitely learn from my actions and become wiser explorers yourselves.

Cat Countinuation

Artwork courtesy of Jochabel Reese - Copyright 2015

I once stepped on a sleeping cat.
He twice howled and whaled.
I thrice jumped away startled.
He forice flicked his tail.
I fivonce said I was sorry.
He sice scowled and frowned.
I sevonce gave him some gravy.
He octice licked his claws.
I ninonce plead his forgiveness.
He tenonce pounced on my face.
I finally gave up on that grouchy cat.
I lost count after elevice.

A Little Bird Told Me…

When a person starts talking to me by saying, “A little bird told me…” I can’t help but interrupt and ask which bird told them. Because depending on which bird spoke to them will determine whether their information is worth believing or just an entertaining tale. 

For example, if I had a conversation with a hummingbird, I would know instantly that the hummingbird should not be taken too seriously. She is a beautifully elegant creature, but she would rather have fun and cast judgment instead of standing still long enough to get more information about any situation.

Now, if an emperor penguin told a person something that they felt was important enough to relay to me, I would give my full attention. An emperor penguin is one incredibly loyal bird. Any animal willing to freeze to death while protecting an egg filled with life perched on his feet in dark Antarctica is worth taking seriously.

A penguin doesn’t have time to spin tales or gossip. Life is too uncertain for a penguin. He cannot worry himself over what he said earlier in the day about something or someone that might come back to haunt him in the frozen night, while huddling close to his comrades, hoping not to be pushed out of the protective circle.

Artwork courtesy of Jochabel Reese - Copyright 2015

Much Ado About Fairies

Fairies used to be more mysterious. They were harder to find years ago. Over time they have been pulled out of hiding and placed in the spotlight.

Artwork courtesy of Jochabel Reese - Copyright 2002

Today fairies are found in books, in movies, on album covers, inside socks, behind teacups, and nearly anywhere. In fact, I almost stepped on one the other day while getting off the train. She was rather upset that I almost squashed her. She flew right up and poked me in the nose. She said in her tiny voice that I ought to watch where I am going. I nodded and she flew onto the train where she took a seat atop a light fixture.

The ancestors of today's fairies would be embarrassed to see such attention brought to their kin. Most of today's fairies don't seem to care either way. They just continue going about their lives in gardens, under trees, over ponds, inside socks and behind teacups.

Since so many sightings and stories have been written about fairies, I think I ought to share a few of my own too. I invite you, your friends and your little ones to explore my Once Upon a Fairy page. Please send me your comments to indigocbeacon@gmail.com. I'd love to hear from you.

Secret Summer Spot

It should be no surprise that I love water. I was born on the water. I have spent much of my life on or near great bodies of water. There is something about the Great Lakes near my home, north of Chicago and the open ocean which bring me comfort and solace.

Artwork courtesy of Jochabel Reese - Copyright 2001

It is not just about being able to hear the waves lapping on the shore or the seabirds chattering. I can hear the waters whispering, whispering, whispering to me their stories from their depths. They are beautiful stories. If you wish to know them, I will tell you.


But before I share any stories from the whispering waters, I must say that one of my favorite secret spots is along the banks of Lake Michigan in the fruit belt. I enjoy sailing across the lake from Illinois to the Michigan shore and rest under a lone, gnarled and massive oak tree among the Lakeside Daisies. That white oak tree was just a baby during WWI. She stands strong and tall like a guardian overlooking the lake. She has stories to tell too since she has been around for over a century.

I love to breathe in the fresh air, and feel the wind touch my skin. The wind fights to cool me as the sun tries to keep me warm. I love lying under the branches of my giant friend and reflect on past memories. I also love to imagine new places, creatures, and things I have yet to discover and write about.

You should go with me some time.