Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Duck Blind



This is a picture of the Piankatank River from the public landing at Harcum. Although you can't see it from here, just to the left of this scene is a water view of Freeport, which is how many times is she going to tell us this? where my German Ancestor not to be confused with Wayne Newton, another distant relative hopped off the boat and created a new life. This is also where my car would have landed had I not engaged the emergency brake when I was taking the picture I showed the other day.

If you double click or single click or just click however you want on the picture above, you'll get a better view (it's waaaaay out there in the water just about dead center of the arch formed by the tree) of a structure known as a duck blind.

Most of you
probably know what they are, but for Grandma J. the uninitiated, a duck blind is essentially a hiding place for hunters to lie in wait for their prey, in this case, ducks, geese or anything that moves other fowl. It's sort of like a thatched hut that can only be reached by boat, like the ones they have in Bora Bora except small on size and heavy on chewing tobacco and rifles. Not that there's anything wrong with those.

In another lifetime long ago, I dated someone from a suburb of New York City. On a trip here, I pointed to a duck blind and jokingly asked if he knew what it was. He took a gander, furrowed his brow, and reflected on the possibilities. His dead-serious answer was, "It's a water buffalo."

The four posts holding up the blind appeared--to him--to be legs, and the bushy pine branches or whatever they use to camouflage the hut appeared to be buffalo-ish. Buffalo-like. Buffalo-ly. It looked like a buffalo.

Much to his chagrin, I died laughing at his very carefully thought out response. Never mind that water buffalo are not native to the Piankatank River, nor to the Tidewater area of Virginia, nor to Virginia, nor to the United States to the best of my knowledge.

To this day whenever I see a duck blind, I think of a water buffalo. Then I think about a thatched hut over the crystal clear waters of Bora Bora. And then I think of a water buffalo swimming out to the thatched hut over the clear waters of Bora Bora to attack me and there's no way out of the duck blind over-water thatched hut. Then I have a panic attack. The End.

p.s. I (seriously) am not someone who has panic attacks, but I play one on TV the internet.

12 comments:

Mental P Mama said...

Your old boyfriend sounds like my former husband...also from a NYC suburb...I took him out to shoot skeet once. And the ab muscles I used laughing have never been the same. Bora Bora? Let's go there for Blogfest 2010.

tj said...

...So inquiring minds want to know, did Mr. Suburban-Water-Buffalo become Mr. CBHusband, hmmm? ;o)

...Happy Hump Day!

...Blessings CBW... :o)

Grandma J said...

I am so glad you expained what a Duck Blind was because it looked more like a water buffalo to me too. Salt water of fresh water? You have to define the waterways for me....fresh, salt...and where do they merge, and what is that water called?

Grandma J said...

OH yeah, what MPM said about 2010...Bora Bora...or plan a blog cruise.

mmm said...

In reference to the picture, what is it that makes the water look "cold"?

Daryl said...

Frankly I though it was a thatched hut from Bora Bora that had floated across the Pacific and up that river to VA ...

I am not even touching the NYC part of this post ... ;-)

foolery said...

Duck blinds are high tech and big business in Northern California. I have never been in one, I have never seen one in action. That's because they are used in drippy weather in a flooded rice field south of me at hours more conducive to wearing jammies than hip waders. Also? I like ducks.

And water buffalo. I'll bring you one.

Meg @ Soup Is Not A Finger Food said...

That reminds me of the time we were roadtripping from college on the Penna. Turnpike, heading to our friend's home a few hours away. It was February or March and there were vibrant green fields of what is called winter wheat - they plant it early and it's the first thing to green. I commented, "oh, look at the winter wheat!" And my friend from the very suburban Long Island couldn't get over that I knew what that was. Never occurred to me that someone wouldn't know. Had to explain the whole thing to him.

I had a crush on him then, but not so much after all of that. It became clear how very different we were. **snort**

Chesapeake Bay Woman said...

MPM -We'll talk at Blogfest, there's more to the story. Yes, sign me up for Blogabora in 2010.

TJ - If you come to Blog Fest, I'll tell you the rest.....

GJ - Piankatank River is below (south of) the Rappahannock River, both of which sprout (?)/branch off from the bay. The Piankatank, which separates Mathews from Middlesex Counties (and also Gloucester from Middlesex) starts off as salt but eventually, somewhere, somehow becomes fresh the further away from the mouth of the river you go. Most any place else around here will be salt water, including my creek and the water surrounding Gwynn's Island, along with all of our public beaches. And when I say salt, I mean SALT. Lots of it.

MMM - Two things jump out at me: the marsh grass is not green as it should be, implying winter. Second, you can tell the wind is blowin' a clippin' clear gale (as somebody's mother frequently says), and indeed it WAS cold. The colors are blah, and if I took this exact same picture later in the summer it would be bursting with the colors of life and would not look cold at all, even if the wind were blowing. Wait until you see some of the other sheds I photographed down this neck of the woods...talk about cold, stark, dead looking pictures as far as the color goes, but the subject matter is interesting.

Daryl - You can touch on NY at Blog Fest....and we can take it back up again at BlogaBora in 2010.

Foolery, I like ducks too which is probably the only reason I've not been inside one. I do have this strange curiosity though. To me it'd be like a hideaway, a fort on the water. Solitude. Maybe I could even catch a nap without somebody waking me up there too like they do when I try to take one on the weekends here at home. I need to look into this further.

Meg, it is a sort of deal breaker, no? How did you control your laughter which I was completely unable to do?

Chesapeake Bay Woman said...

To further illustrate how windy it was the day I took this picture (and others I've shown/will show), my father in his infinite wisdom declared that it as blowin' so hard that there were white caps in the toilet.

Just thought I'd document that extra commentary for the record.

Meg @ Soup Is Not A Finger Food said...

You know, I don't think I really did control my laughter... I was all, "what do you MEAN you don't know what winter wheat is?" Just never occurred to me. He thought it was quaint that I knew things like that, and that kinda irked me.

Haven't seen him since 1990.

Chesapeake Bay Woman said...

Meg, wise choice. Glad to know you laughed...just like I did when this same individual walked straight into a sliding screen door thinking it was wide open.