I’ve always been drawn to water … especially muddy water. It holds a strange attraction to me – not being able to see what’s below the surface. Before I could swim, I was afraid of deep water but still intrigued by it – lured as if by some primal need to return to the cradle of life.
Perhaps I wax too philosophical!
I have lived all my life near Bayou Bartholomew. The water’s edge has always been only a few hundred feet from my back doorstep, oddly enough, as I’ve lived in two separate locations.
It was an interesting place to grow up. Far from neighbors with kids my age, I spent hours walking the bayou, most of that time alone. And though I didn’t really like fishing, I knew there were good fish for eating in there – big and healthy. Many times during the year, the water would clear up enough for me to peer into its secrets and I’d see all kinds of life.
But it was during a college botany class that I really began to take notice of the fascinating ecosystem that surrounds Bartholomew. It is virtually teeming with life. From deep within its mossy, muddy banks to atop the highest perch of the massively tall cypress trees, it is alive.
I’ve had countless times when I’ve been left speechless living within the midst of our Southern brand of nature.
As a boy, I remember lying on my back at dusk, in the freshly cut grass of my backyard, watching thousands of bats swarm from the cypress trees and circle above me, feasting on insects. This happened every night, at the same time, and still does.
I’ve heard the deafening drone of the Pharaoh cicadas (magicicada septemdecem) on a number of occasions – when they climbed out of the muddy ground and scaled near by trees. It’s a sound you will never forget as they chant in concert by the millions.
A decade or so ago, my backyard became a rest stop on the migration of hundreds of great white Egrets. The first and only time this ever happened. Every evening at sundown the Egrets would appear to spend the night squawking to each other. Their presence was overwhelming, but I didn’t mind. I enjoyed having them around for a few days.
I have listened through the black of night to the call of countless owls as they went about their nightly routines. I have come upon hundreds of snakes, some poisonous, some harmless. Most of them I let pass without harm, A few I killed.
I have picked up a hundred turtles and tried to redirect them away from the busy highway. I’ve watched most of them head safely back into the wild.
On more than a few blistering hot summer afternoons, I have paddled a small metal fishing boat as far as I could go down the bayou and sat quietly, speechless at the wild diversity. Sometimes I would roll up my blue jeans and dangle my feet into the brown water. It was an elegant way to spend an afternoon.
I have searched the fields around the bayou and have been surprised to find a good amount of Indian arrowheads and cooking stones. I spent hours visualizing in my mind, their wooden canoes as they traveled the bayou.
I’ve heard that Bartholomew, which begins just north of Pine Bluff, is actually the old Arkansas Riverbed. It’s said that the Arkansas River once flowed into the Gulf independently of the Mississippi River. On these occasions the path that the Arkansas chose is what is now known as Bartholomew. It all seems to make good sense, when you look at the rich farmland that follows the bayou’s course. The Arkansas would have pumped tons of rich minerals into this land.
And lastly, I’ve seen the burned-out washing machines, flattened mattresses, torn paperback romance novels and beer cans that have been deposited along the bayou’s banks. I have smelled the powerful chemicals and pesticides. I have seen their empty containers at the water’s edge. I’ve also seen the bayou’s precious life pumped out onto the dry farmland. In the heat of day I’ve watched it evaporate into the sky; like a hot last dying breath, breathed out never to return. And I do understand, believe me. I really do. A livelihood was often at stake. I probably would have done it myself … but that doesn’t make it right.
I am often stunned at its beauty.
I am in awe of the interconnectedness of the species living there. I have lived on Bartholomew for more than half a century and I know it well.
It’s my home.
The Struggle to Be Known 