The Garden Fence

A garden fence is a must have hardscape of the farm yard, especially if you have yard birds running amok. We have over twenty chickens (I'm scared to count because I don't want to know how out of hand I've become) and one pet turkey that would love to scratch out all the seedlings, peck any emerging produce, and feast at the compost bin.

This year, instead of just protecting the crops, we have a sight to behold. A riot of almost white, pink roses. We had roses last year, but not this huge wall of color. We have about 30 feet of pink.

These are old roses that I took from my mother's yard. I clipped five pieces three years ago. Now, I get to enjoy the amazing scent of thousands of roses as I hoe, plant, and harvest. I get to sit in the kitchen and enjoy the bouquets Princess clips, and I get to enjoy the shocking display every time I step out the back door.

Some of life's greatest pleasures cost nothing. Enjoy!

Sugar Snaps

Sugar Snaps grow only during the spring and sporadically during the winter here. We get too hot to have a long growing season with delicate pea plants, lettuces, broccoli, and carrots. We have been in the 80's this week which means my precious peas won't last much longer, but this week we are enjoying this fantastically crisp and sweet treat in abundance.

We like them barely cooked, either steamed or sautéed with some sesame seeds. Last night, I was home alone and I threw a few into my pasta water at the last second, then added some Parmesan. Of course, when I was picking my supper, I popped a few into my mouth right off the vine. I have caught my children, on several occasions, standing suspiciously at the raised beds containing the pea plants and the carrots. Yet, I can't get upset because I can't think of a more healthy snack.

Sugar snaps, or at least these, claim they don't need staking, but I find that everything does better with a little support. These are growing on pieces of cattle panel braced by some triangular tomato cages and have grown to about four feet tall. Since they aren't touching the ground, the heavy rains haven't harmed the blooms or rotted the peas. If I could just control the heat, I could have wonderful peas all through the summer. I bet they wouldn't seem so special if I could have them all summer long.

Peach Blossoms

There is something incredibly satisfying about walking out to my very own peach orchard, breathing deeply the scented air, and watching my very own bees pollinate the blooms that will produce the sweetest, most luscious Redhaven peaches in July. We are busy here. In fact, we are so busy that this picture was taken a couple of weeks ago. We now have tiny little peaches where all those blooms are.

Spring goes quickly here.

Springing Spring

Spring needs some serious help lifting itself into full bloom. One month ago, I found the first daffodil. Today, we had snow and I will have to find someway to warm my fruit trees tonight. The projected low temperature of 26 is not a great thing for fruit trees in bloom . We have weeks in the upper 60s and low 70s, tricking the trees and flowers into bloom, then BAM, back to winter.

Isn't it funny how the cold always feels colder once you've been truly warm for a while. I'm hopeful that this is winter's last hurrah. I can't take much more.

For now, I'm out to cover the vegetables.

In the Pastures

We have started our annual battle with thistle. Honestly, I think thistle is pretty, but when your hayfield is inundated the beauty begins to fade. This year we are trying a clove oil spray early in the season, and will resort to digging and bagging, as is our usual, when it begins flowering.

Driving through the pasture on a tractor with a trailer sprayer full of Round-Up would be much easier, but farming organically doesn't allow such nonsense. The whole family walked and sprayed together. Sounds like torture, but really it was a lot of fun. The weather was nice and it felt good to be out of the house and doing something productive. The weed-killer smells like that old Clove Gum which is a lot better than that harsh chemical smell. Do they make that anymore? I haven't thought about that gum in a long, long time.

I quit chewing gum all together about a year ago. The artificial flavors, colors, and sweeteners (sugar-free varieties) left the smacking less palatable. I used to get great enjoyment out of gum. In fact, I frequently got carried away, masticating wildly, so I resorted to chewing gum in private at my mother's behest. More people should think about chewing gum privately. There is one incredibly cute college age girl in town who smacks like there is no tomorrow. I must be turning into my mother because that smacking drives me crazy. I can't help staring in awe as that gaping maw works that gum.

All that said, if I had a piece of that old fashioned clove gum that I haven't seen in years, I would probably pop it into my mouth, artificial junk and all.

Daffodils, Accidental Felting, and Winter Excitement

As is my custom, I like to recognize the first daffodil of the year. For some reason, seeing that yellow bloom, even if the weather is stinky, makes me feel like spring is drawing nigh. My spirits soar. I begin piddling in the dirt, ordering seeds, and making plans. The power of that first flower is awesome.

Though my spirits are rising, the temperatures are all over the place. A few weeks ago, I found this pattern and knitted a version for my cold feet that don't like shoes. I made them out of a wool and llama blend. I immediately wanted a happier color, but brown is practical. Anyway, I loved my Moc-A-Socs. I frisked about my house like a sprite with my hardly noticeable foot warmers. Then disaster struck. I accidentally washed and dried them. They were stuck in my pants legs. Now, my wonderful new Moc-A-Socs are smaller, stiffer, and hotter. The biggest disaster was that I had to disassemble my lint ducting and outside vent because of my sloppy washing routine. I didn't have time for dryer repair and maintenance because of my crazy single farming schedule and because we are hosting the Dixie National Trail Ride, again.

The riders will pull in Sunday afternoon. I don't have to cook for the 300 cowboys. The fundraiser was so successful last year that the group asked to borrow the kitchen for another needy family. We aren't riding either. We never do, but a lot of the town seems to be participating this year. I was at the hardware this afternoon and they were doing a steady business in saddle repair, bridle bits, and reins. The Colombian man who lives at the sale barn is so excited for the diversion that he wanted to invite relatives. My attitude must be wrong, because I just don't get it. I do have my battery charged so I can snap a few pictures.

I'll be able to write more after the weekend. I have finished the W-2s, the quarterly reports, Workman's Comp audit, and other stinky end of year chores. I also mailed the last Christmas presents today. I know I should be ashamed. Next week I'll mail my Christmas cards.

In the Rye

This is Dusty. Dusty isn't his real name, but his real name is really weird (Spanish Straw DJ) so when we bought this horse for K, we asked him what he wanted to call him and Dusty became Dusty. True, changing an animal's name after 20 years seems mean, but the horse is smart and never missed a beat. I think he hated the other name. The horse comes up to the gate when you call, especially if you have a feed scoop in your hand, so I'm thinking he made the transition without any lasting crisis of self image.

Dusty is an old show horse, which is what you want for your young cowboy in training. The idea is to get a horse who knows more about showing than the child, then you just plop the child on the horse and blue ribbons start falling out of the sky. We had no intention of showing when we purchased the horse, but we did want a calm ride who knew a thing or two. We got that plus a few extras. One of Dusty's selling points was that if you got drunk on the Dixie National Trail Ride and lost your seat, the horse would stop, wait as long as it took for you to regain the saddle, then mosey on down the trail and get you to the next stop. We haven't tried this, but if he throws you, he won't run. The crazy old coot will stand there, patiently, until you dust your britches and remount.

That brings me to one of Dusty's unadvertised and not so positive traits. He can lose a rider in 10 seconds or less if the rider delivers a miscue. With vocal signals, if you kiss when you should click or vise-versa, you get the stop and duck. With rein and leg signals, if you lift and tap, rather than lift and squeeze you get the ouster. If you tap too many times you will be sent sailing. In fact this training tool is one of the reasons K doesn't train anymore. Besides that quirk, Dusty is a stellar horse. We love him so much that we frequently use the wrong relative pronoun.

Anyway, before Thanksgiving I was out in the barn and Dusty came up and nuzzled my neck. I turned around and started rubbing his head. Something was not right. He had a small swelling right where the side metal piece would be if we haltered the horse. I grabbed the swelling and mashed it around. It didn't hurt him so I let Thanksgiving and The Nutcracker pass before I checked it again. The thing was bigger so we called a few vets. The vets thought it might be cancer, a fatty tumor, or an abscessed tooth. Every one of them reminded us that at 24, he could have a lot of serious problems. They talked about needle aspirations, dental work under anesthesia, and other scary "What if he dies during the test?" type stuff. During all this, the best (only) horse vet in this area gets sick. We wait, scared we will wake up one morning to a dead horse.

Finally, we get the appointment, get a halter on the horse, which is difficult because of this growth thingie, haul him to the vet, and leave him for the procedure and recovery (overnight). Thirty minutes later the doctor calls and says to come get the horse. The cancer, the tumor, the big scary thing was nothing more than a wad of hay that had become trapped in the space that once housed a tooth. Dusty was so good that the vet didn't have to use anesthesia to dislodge the wad or to grind the adjacent tooth so that it would be less likely to happen again. All this worry, all this planning so that biopsies could be sent to the university, all this money, all this hoodoo for a wad of hay.

When Dusty got back home, I turned him out in a rye grass field. I decided our geriatric horse didn't need any more coarse hay. He has been back there happily grazing for weeks, only coming to the gate each morning for his scoop of oats. He doesn't look so old when the sun is setting on him in his winter coat and the bright green of the rye. Yet, age is there. When taking a closer look the gray tinges around his mouth and the developing cataracts in his eyes certainly tell a different tale. I suppose we need to trade his registration in the AQHA for one in the American Geriatric Horse Association.

Though, I suspect he has a few more years left to graze on the rye.

I Was Attacked by Frosty the Snowman

Believe it or not, I was attacked by Frosty the Snowman. Well, not the whole, "all a livin'" Frosty, but a small piece of him. Snow, in the South, can cause all sorts of strange behaviors. We had tons of big, juicy, snowflakes that fell on well saturated, but not frozen ground and the natives went crazy for the 14 hours the snow lasted. We made snowmen, though they were quite dirty. The snow just wasn't deep enough to give full coverage to the just falling leaves and the rain saturated ground, but we made snowmen and have the pictures to prove it.

Anyway, a couple of days after The Big Snow, I started on my annual cookie baking fest by making dough. One of the recipes called for pecans. Since we have about 20 gallons of pecans in various freezers, I opened the freezer in the kitchen and started digging around to see if I had any in there (so I wouldn't have to walk to the shed), when, !#@BAM!#*%, Frosty hit me on the top of the head. All went black and stars were swirling.

After a few seconds, I recovered enough to look around to see what hit me, then I stormed out of the house to see who was responsible. Apparently one of my children thought it would be a good idea to store a miniature (12" tall) Frosty in the freezer until summer. Frosty and the plate on which he was sitting fell from the top part of the freezer and hit me right on the top of my head.

Can you believe Frosty would do such a thing?

We've Met the Sugarplum Fairy

Nutcracker is over. Our 150 mile daily commutes are done. Four hour rehearsals are done. My late nights and early mornings are done. Sticky, hair gelled hands are done (until after Christmas). Believe it or not, I am experiencing a sense of loss. Loss of what, I don't know. Sanity?

After two months of extra rehearsals, a week of daily stagings and dress rehearsals, and six performances, what is apparent this week is how much Princess has matured. During past performances, I have been responsible for hair, makeup, and costume changes. This year Princess did her own makeup and costume changes. Though I pulled two backstage duty details and had to produce umpteen regulation ballet buns, complete with sticky gel and stinky hairspray, I got to watch from the audience a few times. I enjoyed my backstage time this year. I chatted with other mothers, laughed, knitted, and taught a few girls how to knit, with very little drama.

Of course, there was production drama - the Sugarplum Fairy was sick, the Chinese principal's new costume kept splitting when she did the tumbling pass and had to be redesigned after dress rehearsal, a theft occurred backstage, and Mother Ginger's Wig went AWOL. Yet, none of these mini-dramas were ours.

Princess had a wonderful time and she never forgot to say thank you for driving and waiting - not even once. She is old enough now to appreciate the sacrifices made on her behalf, and she does. That is indeed a good thing.

Now, I can begin Christmas preparations. I had plenty of opportunity to work on Christmas gifts while I was waiting, but there is still much to be done.

Fire!

I think I mentioned once or twice that we have some rental property. We have one house less, today. We may have one cat more.

Yesterday, the children and I kept hearing sirens while doing school. Gawkers that we are, we had to run out onto the front porch to see what we could see. What we saw was smoke billowing over the hill. We realized it had to be our house. Obviously we went on full scale gawker alert. We got into the car and drove over there.

The house was old, made of heart pine. It didn't take long. By the time the two closest fire departments arrived, the house was fully engulfed. By the time we arrived the roof had already caved. Fire is amazing. Fire is powerful.

No one was hurt, not even the pets, but the tenant only got out with the clothes on his back. Mr. W. went home and got him a few items even though the renter and my husband aren't the same shape or height. I'm not sure what, but something.

I had the all-overs all day. I kept thinking about our tenant and how he lost everything. I just couldn't shake that "It doesn't take long" feeling. I checked the stove about ten times before we left for ballet. I made mental lists of which things needed to go first if we had a fire.

I checked the fire alarms.

I'm thankful for all the volunteer fire people and passersby who took time out of their day to keep the rest of our property safe.

I don't think our tenant took his kitten. Don't you think I need just one more?

Hidden Picture

Can you find the pecans? Seriously, you can't walk without crunching one, but when you are harvesting you can't see them until you hear the crunch. When people come to the house, they rarely make it inside, not that I want anyone to see the mess. They stand in the yard, pick up pecans two by two and crack them, then eat - one of the pleasures of fall.

The chickens love them, too. As do the squirrels and crows.

Even so, we have collected bags full. We took one bag to the co-op and had it cracked. Now, every night we pick pecans, sitting on either side of a huge dishpan, competing, talking, thinking.

This, That, and The Other

I hate to do this. I really like to post about one thing at a time, but I can't seem to find the time to post regularly. So here goes.

This.

I feel that having knowledge that a certain vice-presidential candidate didn't know that Africa was a continent, not a country (My children, who aren't old enough to vote, know that Africa is a continent and consists of many countries.), and not telling it until after the election is a mal-practice of journalism. The idea that Fox News would save this morsel until after the election is just plain telling. Yet, I suspect people who wanted to know, could guess the state of preparation from the Katie Couric interviews.

How demeaning to our intelligence and sense of right and wrong it is to try to play off a poser on the American people for the sake of a win. What a scary thing is this lack of knowledge especially if it is indicative of the state of education in America and America's curiosity about the world beyond our doorstep. How did we get to this place? Is she really an everywoman? The world is so global now that I find it difficult to imagine how you could leave school without a clear idea of continents and countries. And if you didn't have this base information, what would make you think it was appropriate to say yes. Was it ignorance or complete lack of respect for America?

That.

Jove, who has never lacked curiosity about anything, wanted more of my opinion about the bee decline. I don't think the decline is caused by one single thing. Insects, as are most animals, able to adapt to many stressers. Noticeable problems arise when there are a combination of stresses.

Jove asked specifically about the over harvest of honey and supplementing with high fructose corn syrup. I do believe, as I preached here, that commercializing bees and feeding substandard supplements is problematic. Dragging bees all over the country in 18-wheelers for commercial pollination just seems stressful, not just because the bees are separated from natural honey and fed cheap supplements, but because with the bees in such close proximity any disease, fungus, or mite can be easily transmitted. Any problems become noticeable quickly.

Add to commercialization of the pollination business, the use of genetically modified seeds, specifically corn that produces an insecticide in the pollen, and you create an additional decline. Yet, there is one other problem. The attempt to rid the nation of mosquitoes and other insects by broadcast spraying is devastating. Even in my rural county, a grant was sought and given for mosquito control. Instead of using the grant for education (emptying standing water, mosquito biting times, and effective larva control) they bought a sprayer and drove through the county roads spraying insecticide into the air. Because of lack of education about mosquito behavior, spraying started too early thereby killing bees that were still working and was rendered ineffective because it is impossible to spray the entire county from the road. Mosquitoes instead became immune to the chemicals and West Nile Virus was not reduced, yet bees were.

The Other.

I promised a book review of David Guterson's The Other back in the summer. Here it is.

When I first began reading this book, I was a bit disappointed. I thought it was nothing more than a thinly masked autobiography. You see I have read everything David Guterson has written including the homeschool book, so I knew he was a teacher (Countryman was a teacher), lived in the Northwest (the novel was set here as his others have been), and had other basic similarities of the character. I wasn't impressed because it seemed like a loosely tied journal purge.

But I kept reading. I kept reading to find that I could have been correct, but that the quality was hypnotic. I kept reading to struggle with questions of when to intervene if friends are damaging themselves. I kept reading to struggle with questions of hypocrisy, idealism, and worth. I kept reading because I was mesmerized. I had to know what happened to the Hermit of the Hoh in his attempt to live his convictions and how Neil mollified his conscience. I kept reading because the language was beautiful.

Vote!

I've voted. Here, there are no lines, few controversies, and no campaigning outside of the polling place. The only weirdness was that Roger Wicker, a Republican candidate for the Senate, printed out a sample ballot that made him appear to be a Democrat. I didn't get one, but they were around. I also got a text message that suggested that all Obama supporters should vote on Wednesday. Since Mississippi is sooo Republican, we are, for the most part, left to our devices. Thank goodness.

Anyway, I took my children to the polls. We voted for the environment, diplomacy, calm in the face of economic and military strife, and we voted for privacy. We voted for the best international representative for our country. We voted for the future.

Now, we wait to see how the rest of America voted. Go. Make your voice heard!

Boo!

I'll come back to the bee fun tomorrow because I have so much to say and y'all are giving me an excuse to drone on and on by asking questions.

But. . .

Today, we are going to a haunted house, and making popcorn balls and gingerbread cookies. Last night we carved the pumpkins. Then, K experimented with nighttime photography with some fiery results.

We had more time for experiments than the beginning of our day suggested. My hometown has a thing about changing holidays for convenience. At the beginning of the week, trick-or-treating was scheduled for Thursday night because of the football game on Friday. Thursday, early a.m., found me frantically trying to finish costumes and homemade treats. When I finished and delivered the payroll later in the day, I found that the school decided they would rather a few children miss the ballgame and not have the candy-crazed children in the classroom on Friday, so the town changed trick-or-treating to Friday. I agree. Let the parents handle the children drugged with artificial colors and flavors.

Yes, my natural foods obsession interferes with Halloween. I let the children go to a few houses for the fun of the see and be seen moments of Halloween costuming fun, but then they can trade their artificial candy for some non-toxic varieties. They may choose to eat a few yucky things and I let them, but honestly, my children choose natural treats most of the time because they just taste better.

Inquiring Minds

Zilla needs more information than I thought would be interesting in yesterday's post. Who knew that honey could be so fascinating? Nevertheless, here goes.

An Account of what I Know About Honey

Honey is the by-product of the bee's harvest of pollen and nectar so it stands to reason that the product would reflect the inputs. From a beekeeper's point of view there are two basic harvests, spring and fall. Spring/summer honey is generally a lighter color and has a lighter flavor (here is a picture of spring honey), whereas fall honey is darker and more strongly flavored (I'm looking for jar and will post it as soon as possible). Most commercial honey is either spring/summer honey or a mix of the two. Honey is graded for color and the lighter honey is always rated higher.

Some commercial and small farm honey claims to be clover honey or citrus honey and they may well be, but I've found that I can't really control where my bees forage. Perhaps I'm not trying hard enough. I've seen lavender honey and apple blossom honey advertised, but I remain skeptical. In order to achieve fair labeling, a bee keeper would have to add honey supers exactly when the blooming is the most prevalent species available and remove them immediately after pollination or when the blooms begin to wane. They would also have to know that the bees only sought nectar in that orchard or field and didn't go to the next field for a little basil, sunflower, or oak tree pollination. Managing all this is more than a little difficult. So I wouldn't pay extra for an exotic honey unless you have tasted it first and find the claims to be true. With all that nay-saying, I do have to say that I can taste subtle differences in honey. As we harvest frames, I can generally tell whether the honey is clover inspired or fruit tree inspired, but I have tasted a lot of honey over many years. As far as seasonal variances, you don't need acute taste buds. The differences are dramatic.

Now, natural medicine advocates say that if you have fall or spring allergies, take a teaspoon of local, raw honey from the season each day. So, if you are allergic to fall, take a teaspoon of fall honey each day and the following fall you should have fewer symptoms. Go find a local apiary, get some raw, wildflower honey, and be beealthy. You also get that feel good sensation for supporting a local, small farmer. Why does the honey have to be raw and local?

Raw honey is minimally processed - no heat and minimal filtering. As my brother says, "Give me some of that honey with the legs and wings in it." Honestly, you don't want bee parts in your honey, but you should try to find natural honey in its bee produced perfection. Finding local honey is just as important as finding raw honey, not for the carbon saved, but for the health benefits. If you live in Mississippi and you have spring allergies you aren't reacting to almond blossoms or California wildflower blossoms, you are reacting to pecan, oak, or Mississippi wildflowers. Dose accordingly.

Bon Appetit

Honey Harvest

One of the things I've been doing when I haven't been writing is harvesting honey. Actually, we harvested about a month ago, but we returned some of the extracted comb to the hive for a fall flow. I know it doesn't seem logical to those of you who are already shivering, but we are in the prime of goldenrod and fall flower season. We'll slip these fall supers off at the end of November when the temperatures start dropping in earnest.

This last hive check will give us an idea of which hives will need a little extra help in winter and which hives have all the honey and pollen they need until the spring. We don't count individual bees, but we do like to have a general idea of bee population going into the winter. Once the weather turns cold, we won't pop the tops.

Anyway, honey harvest is a family production. There is a job for every person. Honey supers have to be removed, jars have to be sterilized, cappings have to be removed, the extractor has to be spun, comb honey has to be cut and jarred, and jars have to be filled and sealed. Our goal was to be finished in one day. We weren't, though we were incredibly more efficient.

Confession. I still have a pot of comb and cappings that need cleaning sitting on my kitchen cabinet. Perhaps today will be the day I tackle it.

Goober Peas

Sittin' by the roadside
On a sunny day
Chattin' with my mess mates
Passin' time away
Lyin' in the shadows
Underneath the trees
Goodness, how delicious
Eatin' goober peas

Peas, peas, peas, peas
Eatin' goober peas
Peas, peas, peas, peas
Eatin' goober peas

Peanuts have been harvested in our area. The green, non-cured, peanuts are great for boiling and are an oh so delicious salty treat. Yum! Yum!

No Excuses

Thanks to my little sister who called and suggested the pear entry was getting stale, Melanie for de-lurking to inspire me with all the nice things she says about me, and Zilla who is ever encouraging via email, I am finally posting something.

Something.

Just kidding. I'll give you a brief update on activities here, then I'll go into detail in separate posts.

We've harvested gallons of honey, driven countless miles to get Princess to ballet practice and Nutcracker rehearsals, and spent many hours schooling.

I've read several good books and a couple of not so good books, knitted a jacket, a vest, and have completed half of another sweater, and started on the madness that will be Christmas card season.

My husband has completed one two week trip and leaves for another two week trip Tuesday at 3 a.m. so herding AWOL cattle is beginning to be old hat.

This doesn't begin to paint an accurate picture, as there are a lot of funny stories and interesting tidbits embedded in this madness I like to call normal life. I'll try to be more regular. Maybe I need more fiber.

We've been inside for a few days

Though our area was a near miss for hurricane force winds, we have gotten rain, rain, and more rain. Last night, after I thought it was finished, we got even more rain. In other words, we have spent a good bit of time inside. The time was not wasted.

We made pear preserves.

Pear preserves are the most labor intensive of the fruit based canning I do, because you have to peel the pears, core the pears, then slice the pears before you can start cooking. Mississippi pears are not like the pears of the cooler climates. They are hard - hand cramping, claw producing hard. Peeling and coring are a labor of love. My husband helped peel since he was stuck in the house all weekend.

Once peeled, I run them through the food processor to slice them because I'm all about efficiency and uniformity of slices in the jar. In fact, I slip the end pieces in my mouth. Once sliced I sprinkle them with lemon juice so they won't turn brown before I get a chance to cook them.

Once the pears are peeled, cored and sliced you add sugar, lemon slices, and some water and cook. I find that the pears will get done before the syrup is thick, so I remove the pears at the end and cook the syrup longer until it is the color and consistency I like. Then, I return the pears to the syrup and make sure everything is hot before I put the preserves in jars.

Pears are a low acid food. Even though I use liberal amounts of sugar and lemon, care must be taken in the water bath or pressure cooking. By all means make sure you release all air bubbles and don't scrimp on the recommended times in the canning guides. You don't want to poison anyone.

Barracuda

dnshepard at webshots.com

• Barracudas are fearless marine fish known for their fierceness and ambush style hunting. They lie in wait and catch their prey by surprise.
• Barracudas have a large mouth filled with teeth that look like tiny daggers.
• Great barracudas don't nurture their young.
• Barracudas eat young barracudas.
• Barracudas sometimes hunt in a group by herding small fish into shallow water.
• Barracudas strike anything that moves.

With barracuda swimming around the Republican National Convention, McCain (There was a moment there that she got so excited, I think she forgot she was not the presidential nominee. Did you notice?) and the rest of the country should know the predator. Information is good. More information is better. Becky has great links, too, as usual.

I'll leave you with the lyrics of Kris Kristofferson's song Killer Barracuda which I got from here. You should hear Helen Reddy singing it.

Look into water, see the barracuda
Patient as the devil
Hanging still
Like a shadow in the water
Pretty barracuda,
Dagger of the devil
Waiting to kill

Little girl beware, of killer barracuda
He rules these waters like a king
He'll cut your heart out slicker than a dagger
Not 'cause he's hungry 'cause he's mean

You can see the shark now
Glidin' through the water
Ugly as death.
Eats anything
But the pretty barracuda, don't touch no leavins
Takin' what he wants to
'cause he's king
And you can't scare him or entice him
He won't move for the devil, 'til his own time
Then quicker than heartbeat
He'll turn you away girl just to
See you fall, and leave you dyin'

Little girl beware of the killer barracuda
He rules these waters like a king
He'll cut your heart out slicker than a dagger
Not 'cause he's hungry
'cause he's mean

Barracuda information provided by these fine sites.