Along the water way are signs of grace and beauty, but in my refrigerator life sucks if you are a fowl
Yesterday morning, Pied-billed Grebes bobbed along in the lagoons of City Park. An immature White Ibis sat on the trunk of a soap nut tree overhanging the lagoon. Brown pelicans and a lone large white pelican dominated the bayou scene. Great egrets like giant origamic glided along the tops of trees leading into the park. Then late into the gloaming, a Great Blue Heron sat in its iconic heron pose, as we motored down the bayou another appeared and took flight spreading its blue-gray wings and squawking its familiar cry.
By nightfall, another kind of fowl was on my mind – the American Butterball Turkey – the one that is going to end up in my deep fryer on Thursday. I have two 14 pounders in the refrigerator defrosting and ready for their Cajun spice rub before they get immersed into a boiling cauldron of peanut oil.