Farewell to the Watcher; Tiny Owlet; Hungry Hungry Turtle

 I used to belong to an online Halloween group.  Once a year, it would have a "cheap prop" (I can't remember the restriction - under $20, I think) competition.  I tried for several years; I did often get to the top 3, but in in my fourth year I won.  Inspired by a sculptor who created human-like swamp creatures, I built the Watcher.

The idea was simple - I constructed a framework of hardware cloth, pool noodles, fabric, and a Styrofoam skull, then plastered the whole thing with clay.  It was at the last part where the insanity came in - I gathered roadside clay from a back road that had a streak of Georgia red clay running through it.

I say "we" but of course Bob encouraged and helped me in my insanity.  We would fill the truck with 5-gallon buckets, and then drive out Joe Thomas road and shovel in the clay.  Then my backbreaking work started - I would mix the clay with enough water to make a slurry, then push it through a piece of hardware cloth to remove rocks, leaves, any other detritus, and break up any lumps.  Then I plastered over the framework, sculpting hands and face.  Strips of cheesecloth dipped in the clay became dreadlocks.  I have to admit that I was please with the final product (and I won the $50 Lowe's gift card prize)

He lived at the edge of the woods, gazing at our fire pit.  Anyone who came out both liked and were disturbed by him.

Alas, time, rain, tropical storms, and finally a hurricane caused him to slowly dissolve.

Even at this stage, he looked pretty cool.  In December 2020, I posted his picture on FaceBook, asking if I should take him down, or just let him dissolve.  Everyone voted for leaving him - except for a couple of people who suggested that I restore him.  I thought about that for awhile - and when he got to the point that all that remained was the wire, styrofoam skull (with no clay face left on it) and pool noodles. I thought I would give it a shot.  This time, I used cloth and monster mud (a mixture of drywall compound and latex paint, often used for props).  I got partway finished before I ran out of mud; I eventually went to Lowe's and got more, but somehow didn't get back to working on him.  

I think it's because he was more than a yard statue.  He was the time spent with Bob digging clay.  I often thought that he was so tolerant of my crazy-ass ideas; now, at a distance, I think it might be possible that it was one of the things he loved about me.  The Watcher had his time, and then dissolved, and it was best to let him go.  So today I dismantled what was left of him, crushed all the wire flat, and now he's in bags and will go to the dump this weekend.

Goodbye, my watchful friend.

And now, the owlet.  I don't know why I'm writing about him (or her, who knows) except that I write now about things the move me, or touch me, or just to get things out of my system.  And the little owlet makes me sad.

I was at the museum, cleaning the small aviary where we have several screech owls.  It's spring, so they have a nest.  But below the nest box, I saw a broken egg, fallen or maybe even tossed from the nest.  I carefully picked it up, gently moved the broken shell, and saw the tiny pink blob inside that was a baby owl.

I took the egg back to the kitchen.  I was holding it when the other volunteers came in.  I held my hand over it, giving the trigger warning - "it's an owl embryo, if you want to see it."  They did, and gathered around as I carefully with the tip of my pinky finger wiped aside the yoke and the white and straightened him out on my palm.  He was a little over a half inch long, pink and naked and alien looking - but also a tiny owl.  They took pictures; I did not.  But it was all done with respect,witnessing this tiny miracle.  Afterwards, I carefully slipped him back inside the broken shell, got a trowel, and gave him a little funeral.  

On a happier note, my turtle made me laugh today.  She was on the front deck as I came back from feeding the chickens, and started walking towards me as fast as her stubby little legs would move.  I walked past her back into the house, and she turned and was following me.  I came out a moment later with her breakfast; I thought it was a generous serving, but when I looked out a little later her dish was empty and she was
trying to get the last little bits up.  So I refilled it, commenting that she was "hungry hungry Hippo."  I'm not sure that "Hippo" is a good name for a turtle, but perhaps she is Hippolyta.  We'll see if the name sticks.