Snow

Back yard yesterday morning.

The most exciting part of my otherwise quiet and uneventful weekend was Saturday night's dusting of snow that created these scenes Sunday morning.

Well, actually, there was one other thing that happened, and that involves my mother's goose Gustav.  I'll let her tell that suspenseful tale, but he's found himself a Canadian girlfriend. When a powdering of snow and a goose's personal life become the most exiting thing going on, you can pretty much count on the fact that you're in a bit of a social rut, fyi. Also, when a goose has more of a social life than you do, you best be prepared to admit that your rut is the size of the Grand Canyon.

Luckily I got out early with the camera, because by midday the snow was already starting to disappear.

My dock at low tide. During a good storm, the tide will cover the bottom of the boathouse.

This week I'll share some shots from Sunday morning's trip to Aaron's Beach, where the wind was blowin' a gale and the air was so brutally frigid I actually worried whether my tonsils fingertips would drop off from frost bite.

So far, they haven't.

**************

In unrelated news, Arcadia Publishing is offering a limited-time 20% discount (plus free shipping) on my Mathews County book this week. Click here or on the image of the book in the upper right corner of this page and enter the coupon code MATHEWS at checkout. 

Crescendo

Ah, here we have a peaceful glimpse of the Canada geese taking a quiet, leisurely swim along the shores of Queens Creek before retiring for the evening.

They're unhurried and relaxed, slowly absorbing the sights and relishing what's left of the day.

Below is the heron, who isn't exactly relaxing or savoring the remains of the day.  His laser-beam focus is on a very serious mission that does not entail lollygagging or admiring this or that or winding down for the night.

He's in search of food--food he will not slowly savor but swallow whole before resuming his search for more.

Next up, we have this particular royal pain in the... nuisance specimen of foul  fowl, which is unable to relax at all and takes great pleasure in ensuring nobody else around is able to relax either.

Here he displays his superior (?) intelligence.

Here he shows his impeccable attention to oral hygiene.
(Click on the photo if you can't see the grass hanging out. Beady-eyed thing.)

He's tired of pretending any longer. His true self festers beneath the facade.

Like a volcano--a volcano full of hot, molten lava molting evil--he prepares to erupt.

Finally, he can contain himself no longer.

[Insert the sounds of snakes, goblins, devils, demons, fire, explosions, witches cackling, fingernails on chalkboard, glass breaking, and any other awful sound you can imagine]


Click here and here for the sounds that came from Gustav after this hideous hiss. 

Click here  and here  and even here for what slipped from my mouth.


That's all, folks.

Deep Thoughts

Look deep into Nature,

and then you will understand everything better.

-Albert Einstein

The poetry of the Earth is never dead.

-John Keats

Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature.
It will never fail you.
-Frank Lloyd Wright

Then again, there are exceptions.
-Chesapeake Bay Woman

Horn Harbor Nursing Home

Just off the road leading to Sandbank down New Point sits the former Horn Harbor Nursing Home. Although I'd heard of the nursing home, I'd never been there before and was startled to see its condition.  In spite of its state of disrepair, the nursing home facade has many photogenic features.

Almost all the windows are framed by weeds and vines.

This lonely old ladder leans lifelessly against the exterior.

The building struggles to look alive even as dead weeds choke it out.

 There's all sorts of graffiti on the inside.

(Not that I went inside or anything.)

(Well, maaaaaybe I was in there for just the quickest second or two to take this picture. It's hard to say for sure.)

Just down the way from this nursing home lives a flock of domesticated geese that look exactly like Killer Goose Gustav.  I was so shocked at the sight of that many Gustavs concentrated in one area, that I lost all my wits and failed to take a photo of them. But rest assured there were Gustavs comin' at me from every which way.

I'm thinking the next time ol' Gustav gets loose and swims up Queens Creek, I'll point him in the direction of Horn Harbor rather than risk life and limb trying to herd him back home to my parents' house next door.

Click here if you missed that hour of my life that I can never get back that gripping saga.

Have a great, nursing home free goose-free Monday.

Ralph the Gooose

Gustav 2011

This is a shameless reposting of a story written in 2009 by my mother about Gustav's friend Ralph, who left this life for Goose Hell Heaven several years ago. Enjoy.

Ralph the Goose
An Introduction
by Chesapeake Bay Mother

Sometimes well-meaning people give little children Easter gifts of baby animals, instead of candy likenesses, which are more practical. Usually the baby ducks, geese, rabbits, etc., grow to become problems with feathers or fur. I fell heir to some ducks and geese who failed to fit in well with the first owners; my thought was that I could manage to give them a pretty good life and, for the most part, that was the case.

Everyone settled in: fences were erected, plastic pools were provided* and those who got along stayed together. As every poultry person will attest, male birds just don't know how to get along with anything but an ear of corn; something to draw parallels from in that. Therefore, the two male geese were separated from each other and all else.

Occasionally the largest goose, already named "Ralph" by his former owners,was allowed the run of our 4-acre yard. Ralph was pure white and truly enormous and when his wings were spread they looked like those of an angel pictured in my Bible story book. The comparison ends there, however, though he was the most people friendly goose I have ever known. We never weighed him, but 25 pounds would not surprise me.

Although affectionate, a goose is a goose, is a goose; and a goose by any other name will still pinch hard enough to stop your heart! He had his uses and we were always grateful when he prevented the well-meaning but always intrusive Jehovah's Witnesses from paying a call. They took one look at Ralph, wings spread, coming at them with head in battle station mode and drove on.

Each of us has his own special Ralph story, including the grandchildren who learned to run very fast with Ralph as a personal trainer. Granddaughter owes her basketball defensive prowess to her constant "one-on-ones" with Ralph, offense being his only game. He gave new meaning to the term "pick and roll."

I think he liked me best, but I too wore the scars of his somewhat indecisive devotion. Bending over to fill his food container one day, he struck like lightening at the bull's eye of my most private place.** Illegal, immoral and unconstitutional, it taught me never to turn my back on anyone with my bottom in the air--altogether a good policy.

Whenever there were bruises--and there were some--we got huffy for a while, but always came around when he endeared himself by announcing the arrival of anyone who dared to set foot on our property. As everyone assured us, we would never be victims of a sneak attack by anyone but Ralph. True and true.

=============================================

Chesapeake Bay Woman's Two Cents:

* The water fowl section of my mother's nature preserve includes several plastic swimming pools made for small children but used recreationally by geese and ducks (when they were still alive) even though there is the entire Queens Creek right in our back yard; and an enclosure made of chicken wire inside a wooden fence (two layers of entrapment).  At one point there was also a nylon tent, which is where the ducks slept all nice and incarcerated zipped up "for their own protection" each night. Lucky ducks.

** This happened to me once when I was in my own yard (where Ralph seldom ventured) minding my own business, bending over to reach a french fry from off the floor of my car. As soon as my hands touched that french fry, he zapped me right where it counted. Mypsyche  vocal chords suffered permanent damage from the ensuing scream, and I'm not sure which one of us was hissin' and spittin' the most. I do know I've had an aversion for cleaning out my car ever since, and I recoil at the sight of a dried up french fry. It could be argued successfully that I never cleaned out my car anyway, but this is neither here nor there.

Beelzebub Gustav 2011

Gustav Says...

"That bunch next door is having a party tonight.  There better not be any disruption to my beauty sleep."

To which CBW says, "Pay no attention to this ornery, honkin' son of a gun who causes more disruption than any other animal I've ever known."

Speaking of the big party tonight, is it over yet? I'm worn right out.  Middle Sister and her husband arrived last night.  Chesapeake Bay Daughter had an away (far, far away) basketball game last night.  There's still macaroni and cheese to bake; pork tenderloins to marinate,  and ham biscuits to make. Fruits, vegetables and cheeses need slicing.  Wine needs pouring. Floors need sweeping and dust bunnies need evicting.

Come on over and help me clean help us celebrate my father's 70th birthday. The festivities begin at or near 6:00.

Hopefully you'll avoid any encounters with this:

Take a gander (pun intended) at those beady little  eyes.  

As long as we're still talking about how much work there is left to do Gustav, below is a video the Chesapeake Bay Children made last summer for Blog Fest.  There may be a misspelled word or two, but even innocent children can see Gustav equates to chaos and bedlam.

Here's to keeping Gustav, chaos and bedlam at bay.

Enjoy the rest of the weekend.

Gustav's Great Escape

Once upon a time, Gustav broke free and went for a swim.

This is a very long story that involves more than a few cuss words, regrettably.  If you wish to read the Reader's Digest condensed, abridged, PG-13 version, just look at the pictures, read the captions, and scroll down to The End.

Once upon a Saturday, Chesapeake Bay Woman was happy that her friend Bayman had arrived to help put together her daughter’s new basketball goal, where help means he was going to do it because CBW doesn’t have the patience to read instructions or put things together.

As they were discussing whether or not the necessary tools were on hand, Bayman casually noted that Gustav the Killer Goose was out cavorting with two Canadian friends.

CBW, who ordinarily would not give two hoots what the killer goose was doing, noticed he was swimming up the creek, away from the house, to a land far away. And she knew right away this was a blessing in disguise since she and the goose were anything but BFFs a big problem.

Now most ordinary folks would say, “Oh, look, that goose is enjoying himself in the creek.”  But not CBW, whose family is anything but normal ordinary.

Although CBW wanted to dash out and throw streamers and confetti to wish Gustav a bon voyage, she knew that CB Mother does not allow Gustav to swim in the creek, because he might enjoy himself might not find his way home, and this would spell D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R for Chesapeake Bay Mother, who keeps her animals very carefully imprisoned confined.

Realizing the life of misery that would ensue if she did nothing, CBW notified the proper authorities by telephoning her mother next door.

CBW:  “Hey, Gustav is in the creek.”

CB Mother:  “Oh, cheese and rice!!!!”

(Note: What she actually said rhymes with cheese and rice; they teach you in Sunday School not to say this under such circumstances, something about taking a name in vain and all.)

CBW hung up the phone and took a seat in her living room to watch the events she knew were about to unfold.

CB Mother, using her best Bruce Jenner form, sprinted across the yard with a bag of corn, hollering for Gustav to come back.

Gustav, well upwind, pretended not to notice and continued up the creek.

Chesapeake Bay Mother tried to lure him back with corn.  

CB Mother then darted to her car.

CBW very nonchalantly and matter-of-factly told Bayman, “She’s going to the cemetery now.”  The cemetery across the creek would put her closer to where Gustav was swimming. The last time he got loose she drove there and waded up and down the shoreline calling and directing him back home. 

Dear Queens Creek Neighbors, we just can't help it. Thanks for playing along and not calling the law.

In his version of the same story, CB Father, a mechanic whose concern leans more towards the vehicles than the animals on such a cold winter day, recounted, “She didn’t even wait for the car to warm up or anything!  She drove out of here so fast she broke all previous speed records set on this lane.  Dale Earnhardt, Jr., could not have caught her!”

From the comfort and warmth of her living room, CBW watched as CB Mother’s car pulled in on two wheels over at the cemetery.  

Gustav kept going.

A slightly baffled Bayman, wondering what planet he had landed on trying to understand why a goose shouldn’t be allowed to swim, watched intently as CB Mother attempted to direct the dim-witted goose back down the creek before returning to her car and driving away from the cemetery in defeat.

A little while later, CB Mother showed up to announce, “Well, he’s gone.  Gustav is dead. He’s dead!”

CBW, pointing at the tiny dot of white feathers making its way farther and farther down the creek towards the horizon, said, “He’s not dead! He’s right there.  Look.”

“He’s DEAD!!  He can’t fly, he’ll never find his way back. He’ll go ashore and a dog will eat him alive,” she said, wringing her hands.

CBW knew there was no use arguing even as she stared at the very much alive Gustav, right there in the middle of the frigid creek.

A visibly distraught CB Mother left.

After a long spell of silence, Bayman asked, “Do you want to take the canoe out there?”

CBW:  “No, but we have to.”

(In her head, her response was quite different, and it went something like, “Cheese and rice!  It’s 30 degrees out there, the wind is blowin’ a clip, and I’ve got to get in a (insert some strong profanity here) canoe to retrieve a (insert more profanity here, please) GOOSE?? )

When that didn't work, CBW braved the frigid waters in a canoe. Note there's ice there to the right.

Bayman and CBW dragged the canoe clear across the yard to her mother’s house since there was ice in the cove and no other place to put in.  Bundled up in a scarf, mittens, an attitude, and some very serious questions as to where exactly her sanity life went so awry, CBW began paddling in the very, very cold wind up the creek with a paddle towards one very ornery goose.

At first Gustav seemed agreeable and began to swim towards the canoe.  Then he changed his mind, resumed his natural state of ornery, and started swimming away.

After much ado, Gustav was finally herded so that he was swimming towards the house rather than out the mouth of the creek.  When he approached the shoreline, however, he took a wrong turn and headed down CBW’s cove, where the thin film of ice was.  If he got up on the ice, there was no way to retrieve him.

Realizing he was starting to flap his wings to elevate himself up onto the ice, and also knowing the creek was only knee-deep at this particular point, CBW jumped out of the canoe and ran after the beast.  After only five or six galloping strides, she herded him up onto the shoreline, where the thick marsh grass quickly ensnared him.

Then, knowing there was no other way to get him home due to the thickness of that prickly marsh grass, CBW did the unspeakable, the unthinkable.  With a canoe paddle in one hand for protection, she reached down and scooped up that goose under her left arm. Oh yes she did.

Soaking wet in the frigid temperatures, she trudged across the yard, pushing aside all thoughts relating to a panic attack  Gustav suddenly deciding to peck her eyeballs out or bite her on the neck.

Her mother, who clearly had been crying, raced out into the yard. She immediately asked how come CBW’s pants were soaked.  “Because I had to jump out of the boat.”

 “Why?” her mother asked. 

And then, knowing the goose was safe and the nightmare was over, but wondering what on Earth sort of question that was, CBW did the next most unthinkable thing besides picking up a killer goose. 

She shoved the goose into her mother’s arms and said, “Here’s your Godd@#* goose,” before doing an about face in her soaking wet pants and stomping in her soaking wet shoes towards her nice, warm, cozy, dry, gooseless house.

(They teach you not to say Godd@#  in Sunday School too, but sometimes after you’ve just chased a goose in freezing waters you can’t think of anything else to say.)  

After everyone did things they could not believe, Gustav was returned safely to his pen.  The End.

To clarify a few things for those of you with the obvious, logical questions:

1. Although Gustav is a goose, CB Mother does not allow him in the creek because he’s too dumb to find his way back home and might be eaten alive by dogs if he wanders into someone’s yard. (The dumb part is my theory; the dog part is hers.) 

2.   Having witnessed several previous attempted escapes and how much angst they cause my mother, I had no choice but to notify her and do everything in my power to retrieve that goose, no matter what my personal feelings are towards him. Otherwise, I’d never hear the end of, “You mean you saw him swim away and didn’t tell me?! Cheese and rice!!” 

3.  My mother used to keep her ducks zipped up in a nylon tent “for their own protection.”  Confinement seems to be preferable to freedom around here, especially if you’re a domesticated goose.

4.  I do not love the goose, but I love my mother, which is the only possible explanation for me jumping out of a canoe to scoop up an armful of evil in the middle of January on my day off.

5.  My apologies for all the cussing, but evidently I'm not done yet.

6. We’re all crazier than hell here in Mathews.

The End

The Opossum

Welcome to the newest addition to the Chesapeake Bay Family Circus Zoo:  Mr. Opossum.

The other night as I was wasting my life away on the Internet working on the computer, I heard one of the four thousand cat food dishes being shoved around in a most unruly manner on the deck outside my bedroom.  Right away I knew something other than a cat was out there.

(Since the flash doesn't work on my camera, the lighting in these shots is terrible. The flash, like everything else I come into contact with, doesn't work due to the magnetic field referenced in yesterday's post.)

Although opossums are very common around here, you're more likely to encounter them dead in the road  than dining on Special Kitty dry cat food on your back porch. But it's been very cold here lately, so a nice dish of Special Kitty is just what the opossum ordered.

What is it about dry cat food?  In the summer, blue jays snack on it like it's a tub of hot, buttered popcorn. Raccoons love it.  Canada geese love it.  Even my dog Buddy would rather eat dry cat food than dog food.

The cats, however, think it's absolutely vile and hold special emergency meetings where they concoct schemes to get me to buy them some canned cat food. For example, there's the "We're going to meow you to death and claw your screen doors off the hinges until you give us want we want" ploy.  Or the "Let's see if we can kill CBW by charging in between her ankles as she tries to negotiate the back steps carrying bags of groceries" routine.  Or the oldie but goodie, "Let's slaughter a bird, rabbit, mole or vole, pull out its guts, and leave the carcass and assorted parts right on her front door step so she has to hurdle the scene of the crime to get inside."

Yes, they have their tricks, but given the volume of animals I'm feeding and the expense of canned cat food, they're getting dry food.  The End.

Anyway, this opossum took his time dining on cat food and then sashayed down the steps, in no hurry whatsoever to get wherever he was going.

My BFF Wikipedia says this about Mr. Opossum:
"The Virginia Opossum was the first animal to be named an opossum, usage of the name was published in 1610.  The word opossum comes from the Algonquian aposoum meaning "white beast."  ...Their unspecialized biology, flexible diet, and reproductive strategy make them successful colonizers and survivors in diverse locations and conditions."

CBW says this about Mr. 'Possum:
First off, I really hate the spelling.  Can we drop that annoying "o" and be done with it?
 
Second, 'possums sound a lot like us Mathews folk, with all the flexible diets and ability to survive in diverse locations and conditions, which may include below-sea-level elevations and absolutely no access to Thai or Vietnamese food. Whatsoever.

Third, I thought the white beast was already in our midst:

Gustav the Killer Goose

In other news unrelated to aggressive poultry, cat food, or opossums,  the Mathews Christmas parade is Saturday at 3:00. I hope to be there, camera in hand.

Have a fantastic weekend.

Driftwood

Today's photos feature driftwood, and the accompanying narrative features drifting, as in off topic.

These first two photos were taken several weeks ago at Aaron's Beach.  I particularly like the second one, below, that looks like the two pieces of wood are shaking hands. Or maybe the one on the left is a gentleman helping a lady out of her chair. Or maybe the one on the left is givin' fives to the one on the right.

Or something.  See above about drifting, which may soon apply to the reader, who is no doubt drifting off to sleep.

Below is a piece that looks like more driftwood two dogs barking.  There's one on each end.  Click on the image if you can't see, but there are even eyes on these dogs. I wonder what they're barking at?  I think it's geese.  Canada geese.  Thousands of them that never leave, ever.

Good dogs. Go get 'em.

Now we come to the piece de resistance in this strange little exhibit.

The photos below, of what appears to be some prehistoric creature with arms outstretched, are from Cow Point, at the mouth of Queens Creek.  I shot this back in the summer. (The photos, not the prehistoric creature, also known as a piece of driftwood. But of course that didn't really need explaining now did it?)

All this fellow needs is a cape and perhaps a coat of paint to touch up his facial features, and he could be the mascot of Queens Creek.

Not that we need one, especially with this beast around:

Gustav, my mother's killer goose. Unofficial King of Queen's Creek and official inventor of the evil eye.

Driftwood Trivia

Wikipedia says: "According to Norse mythology, the first humans, Ask and Embla, were formed out of two pieces of driftwood, an ash and an elm, by the god Odin and his brothers, Vili and Ve."

Gustav Trivia

Wikipedia says, "From the time of the Romans, white geese have been held in great esteem....Whereas wild geese have a horizontal posture and slim rear end, domesticated geese lay down large fat deposits toward the tail end, giving a fat rear and forcing the bird into a more upright posture. This also completely prevents flight, though geese will run and flap their wings when startled, and may get a foot or so in the air momentarily... Domestic geese have been used for centuries as watch animals and guards, and are among the most aggressive of all poultry."

Attitude

Several weeks ago, I drove down to Aarons Beach to check on things and discovered that a herd of juvenile delinquent fiddler crabs had uprooted a "Parking This Side of Road Only" sign, flung it into the mud and incorporated it into their twisted little fiddler crab habitat.

As an aside, that sign was always a mystery to me, and I'm not exactly surprised that the fiddler crabs would declare it to be ridiculous and toss it into the mud.  But still, they are brazen little crustaceans.

As you can see, these very tiny churls crabs sport nasty attitudes and thumb their noses by waving their one over-compensating claw as if there is any chance of intimidating Chesapeake Bay Woman, who is a black belt in marsh arts.

Their default disposition is mad, and their default mood is bad. Bad to the bone. Or the shell, as it were.

Above, you'll see where they've tried to bury themselves in the mud (those darker areas) because the sign is blocking their ability to retreat further away from me. They don't realize all they have to do is scurry around the sign.

Fiddler crabs is so stupid, to borrow and slightly modify a phrase from Yosemite Sam who at the time was speaking of dragons. (Click on this  link  or this one and tell me if the audio works.  I have just laughed myself silly with these Yosemite Sam clips. This is a first for me-the audio link, that is.  Not the Yosemite Sam quotes.  Oh, how I loved Yosemite Sam.)

There is only one other creature in our midst whose default temperament rivals that of the fiddler crab.  He sits proudly atop the Totem Pole of Intolerable, Insufferable Creatures.

His name is Gustav the Killer Goose, and he can be found mocking the world on Facebook twenty four hours a day.

If you have a Facebook account, do a search for "Gustav" and select the one who claims to be a public figure. Mrs. Foolery is the brains behind Gustav's status, which is always cantankerous, ornery and aggravating.

Just like those fiddler crabs.

p.s. Right now, I am so tickled with the Yosemite Sam audio clips that I am beside myself. Seriously.  Howling with laughter. What fiddler crabs? Killer goose who?

Gustav Says...

Summer ain't over until I say so.

Now back off before I bite you in the knee cap. Or worse.

It's time for my daily dip in the pool.

- G.

For more attitude from Gustav, my mother's killer goose, visit him on Facebook by doing a search for Gustav (no "e") and selecting the beast that resembles the nightmare above.  He's listed as a "public figure," but really he's a public nuisance.

A Tuesday Trio

The other day on the way home from Mobjack I got lost turned down a road I might have been on never once before in my life.

The sunlight was perfect, so I was stopping every few feet yards to take pictures. Thankfully, there's not a lot of human beings traffic down that way, so pulling over on the side of the road isn't such a big deal.

Here are three different shots of the same barn.

Which one do you prefer and why?

If you can't stand any of them have no preference or would just rather talk about something else, when was the last time you were inside a barn?

I like the first one because the telephone pole and the trumpet creepers provide a soft frame, and the main elements are in better proportion with one another. But I also like that picture of dogs sitting around playing poker, so pay no mind to me.

The last time I was in a barn was when I borrowed my parents' Cub Cadet, which they park in their barn. You have to dodge and deflect jug hornets to get in and out of there (all while trying to start the tractor), but if you're quick on your feet and used to dodging geese, for example, you have nothing to worry about except some residual psychological trauma and the occasional flashback.

Gustav Says...

Sleep with one eye open.




And the kickstand down.

CBW Says...To see more of my mother's killer goose Gustav and his ornery attitude, check out his Facebook page by clicking here.

Be sure to leave a comment on his Wall, perhaps some words of encouragement regarding a relocation to Hawaii or better yet to the roasting spit Canada, along with those black and white parasites friends of his he leads all over my yard.

Algae

The front page of yesterday's Daily Press had an article on algae and the Chesapeake Bay.

"The normally blue-green waters are awash in cranberry-colored stains that, scientists say, indicate the bay still has serious pollution problems."

According to the article, if the algae is dense enough it creates dead zones--areas depleted of oxygen--which can kill baby oysters and crabs, among other things.

"'It's an indication that the bay's water quality is out of balance,' said Christy Everett, Hampton Roads director of the Chesapeake Bay Foundation, the elder statesman of a growing number of bay advocacy groups."

A combination of warm water and dense nutrients from storm water runoff creates the perfect environment for the algae to thrive. The runoff dumps fresh water laden with things such as fertilizer and animal waste, which create nitrogen and phosphorus. As the water cools, the algae dies and sinks to the bottom.

"As it decomposes, it consumes oxygen while sinking to the sea floor."

My father recently took a boat ride for the first time in many years. He was astounded at all of the new homes along the water. It's nearly impossible to find a patch of waterfront that hasn't been cleared.

Although I am in no way, shape or form fit to discuss science on any level, I have made some general observations over the years. The water in our creek has definitely changed over time--it's darker, murkier. What that is from I cannot say, I just know it's different.

Over time different forms of wildlife have come and gone on our creek. When I was a kid, mallard ducks and muskrats were everywhere; now we're lucky if we see any. Canada geese? We never had them 20 years ago. Now they come here in throngs thanks to Chesapeake Bay Mother's 24-hour Corn Buffet and Spa.

I could go on and on but my point is this: What sort of algae do I need to buy to create an oxygen-deprived dead zone in the hopes of keeping Gustav the Goose from leading his Canadian friends into my yard?


For more information on the state of the bay, visit the Chesapeake Bay Foundation's site.

For more information on Gustav and his antics, check out his Facebook page.

Descriptions

Serene:


Foreboding:


Menacing:



Raging:


Tranquil:


Ominous:


A Royal Pain:


The End.

p.s. What word best describes how you're feeling today? And what one word would you use to describe a killer goose? I can't seem to designate just one word, it must be an entire string.