Possumhaw: Live trapping beaver

Critters were building huts in the dam. Be it nutria or beaver, I thought I could trap it in my live trap.

Possumhaw: Fox by the tail

I watched for the rising and lowering of the fox’s side for some sign of breath. I thought there was none, but you want to be sure before you grab a fox by the tail. I learned my lesson once with a possum.

Possumhaw: A sight for Cec to see

Shirley, my walking partner, invites some online friends to stay with her about once or twice a year. Cec (short for Cecilia) came from Toronto, Canada, and was the first to arrive.

Possumhaw: Living the good life

Campers are an interesting lot. They’ve always been the nicest folks — they share, they help, they send Christmas cards.

Possumhaw: Fall fishing at the creek

“Nose into the wake,” Sam hollered. We were out for a little kayak fishing on Bear Creek when three fancy bass boats sped by. As luck would have it, there was a bass tournament going on.

Possumhaw: Living quietly in the Prairie

“The sole cause of man’s unhappiness is that he does not know how to stay quietly in his room.” Blaise Pascal.

Possumhaw: Predators prowl the Prairie

Leah stuck her bill into the broken egg and hoisted it up high. She shoved off into the water and paddled as fast as her webbed feet would take her. On the bank she carried the egg into the grass where she ate the egg, shell and all.

Possumhaw: Gardening is not for pansies

Just the other day Tjajuan Boswell was working on the flowered medians in downtown Columbus. Heat radiated at 107 degrees, and she was working like a Trojan. With the back of her forearm she wiped sweat from her brow. I complimented her on how wonderful the flowers looked and thanked her for her efforts to beautify the city. It’s no easy job.

Possumhaw: The wayward fawn

Susan sat in the chair facing the woods. “Look!” she said, “There’s a deer, no bigger than a dog looking in the window.”

Possumhaw: An olive jar of zinnias

We wound our way through the woods to Willis Pope’s garden. Willis and Carolyn were out of town, but walking partner Shirley had permission to glean from their garden.

Possumhaw: Misty day in the Prairie

Not many folks would show up in the misting rain for a Gator ride, but Dianne Patterson did. She was dressed in rain jacket and green rubber shoes. I offered an umbrella, but she slid her pale blue hood over her head.

Possumhaw: Sometimes you take your chances

The snake raised its head and looked at me — and that was his second mistake. I’d been noticing the goldfish were disappearing over several days, so I knew he was somewhere in the pond. I stomped back to the house and told Sam my fish were disappearing and I had seen the snake.

Possumhaw: T.C. had a healin’

Sometimes you get a wild hair. I wish I could say it doesn’t happen often, but frankly, it does.

Possumhaw: ‘Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’

Drew and Carter Pack stood on the dock. Each, being boys of 7 and 4 years, had shed their shirts, shoes and socks. Drew, with fishing pole in hand, caught fish while Carter scooped minnows in a cup.

Possumhaw: Fields of sunbeams

Occasionally an easy breeze blows through the tree canopy, and it feels cool. Other times, the wind is as still as death, the air so thick it’s like pushing against a wall.

Possumhaw: Raccoons and skunks, oh my

A raccoon was caught in the cage and the rain was beating hard. I admit I was feeling pretty prideful as it rarely takes more than a night to catch one. Raccoons are destructive; they have to go.

Possumhaw: You can’t make this stuff up

Here I am.” Kathy McCoy hollered and motioned for me to follow.

Cupped in her hand was a fuzzy-headed purple martin. Kathy explained the bird was born with an undeveloped wing. Marty chirped constantly but nestled comfortably next to Kathy.

Possumhaw: All in a day

You can make your plans, and then count on it — the day goes every which-a-way.

Possumhaw: Up the road to West Point

The invitation came in the mail. West Point’s Bryan Public Library was having their luncheon with books. I took the back way, up Old West Point road to Highway 45 Alternate and over to the library.

Possumhaw: A good place to be

After half-a century I feel I’ve finally gotten to the place I’m meant to be. It’s not so much a physical place as it is an-everything-else place. It’s a comfortable place where there’s a lot less striving.