Payton

Right from the outset, I have to admit this photo was not taken in the wild.  This is Payton – one of Memphis Zoo’s star attractions.  If I’d been this close without the protective perspex before me, chances are I wouldn’t “be”.  And trust me, I know.  In my kayak, around Svalbard, I’ve been close enough to understand that I was next on the degustation menu of a surly polar bear.

I’ve seen them traverse steep slopes of collapsing snow, and watched them swim from one side of a bay to another, but never really understood why they are considered a sea mammal.  They do all their hunting on land.  They raise their cubs on land.  And really, how graceful can a 500kg quadruped be in the water?

The answer is revealed as I watch.  Payton dives for the frozen blocks of fish thrown to him (from a safe distance). He moves quickly, effortlessly changing direction through the water.  Eyes firmly fixed on his prize, his neck lunges in the direction of the falling food.  With a graceful kick of his front leg, and then the back, he weightlessly shifts his momentum in order to follow it down.

Wow!  There is no boiling water.  There is no sudden exhalation.  There is only the calm and poise I would expect to see of this enormous carnivore...on land.  Almost out loud, I have the “A-ha!” moment that comes with sudden revelation.  Why couldn’t the marine biologists have it explained it this way in the first place?

Longwood

A journey to Natchez is a must for anyone who loves architecture.  The grandeur and excess invested in pre-Civil War town houses and plantations is something to behold.  To their credit, the locals have continued to embrace these historical monuments and work tirelessly at their preservation.

Whilst every house’s construction is testament to the decadence of its owners, none is more impressive than Longwood.  Barely five minutes from town, the five storey, octagonal mansion sits atop a gentle rise.  A slow journey along the winding, gravel drive through manicured lawns and ancient trees dripping heavy with Spanish moss, leads you to its doors.  Its countenance is noble.

The bottom floor is mostly subterranean, cut into the hill for engineering reasons.  It is pleasant but cool here, protected from the extremes of Mississippi weather.  Magnificent, hand-turned furniture is liberally littered throughout.  The portraits that hang from carefully maintained, rendered walls are the legacy of its original inhabitants.

But while this floor is finished, Longwood is not whole.  As you climb the stairs from lowest level to ground, the walls give way to exposed brick.  Polished silver and antique linen cedes to scattered lumber and inches of dust.  It is almost painful to look up and see the skeleton of a home this size. Frigid gusts rip through window cavities facing the river, adding to the sense of abandonment here.

Construction had begun prior to the Civil War, but the conflict and then lack of finances, prevented its completion.  When bequeathed to the Historical Society after decades of further neglect, those descendants of its original owners insisted that it never be finished.  Despite the temptation, these wishes have been honoured, and the house stands the same way it did in 1862.

I find it extraordinary that a house so naked, could still have so much to tell.  I could sit and listen to its wisdom for hours.

Golden Orb

My yard, like so many others in Brisbane, is dominated by two of these magnificent arachnids.  They always pair but do not build their webs next to each other.  It’s as close to romantic attachment as I can imagine two spiders sharing.

Their webs are magnificent.  Strong and clean, they can take up enormous amounts of space.  I have forgotten how many times I have become entangled in their sticky threads whilst walking carelessly around the house.

And the bigger the spider, the stronger is their web.  At their largest, I have watched them brazenly sit in exposed air, fearlessly defying birds to risk getting caught up in it for the sake of a juicy meal.

They appear unflappable.  Just as quickly as I sever the connecting threads from ground to clothesline to rooftop, they are busy repairing the damage I have caused.  Within 20 minutes, they have re-established those securing points if I haven’t completely destroyed their creation.

Most of all, I like watching their gossamer traps shimmer after rain as they patiently wait for the inevitable.  A hapless insect will flutter obliviously into its clutches.