Botany and Barley

Stooping to free myself from a tangle of greenbriar on this early morning walk, I checked for Barley. Fifty paces back, he was a statue in the forest, nose glued to the ground, gathering information about the night shift. The level area around me was above the creek, where supple-jack grows in profusion, green and brown vines intertwined, the new green spirals winding around unwary cedars and dogwood trees. A thin spiral of supple-jack will start up a tree, subtle as sin, then grow and bring the tree to its knees before eventually uprooting it. Of course, the supple-jack comes down with the tree. Make of it what you will.

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t mean to disparage supple-jack completely. Many wild birds, including wild turkeys and bobwhite quail, dine on the fruit. The vines also make good perches for birds. A vine harvested last year formed an arching perch over our birdbath. It was broken recently, and the remains were useful only as something for Barley to carry around. I cut a few strands to take its place.

The walk up the hollow used to be an easy one, but since the 2009 ice storm, much of the area is obstructed with downfall, bleached bones of once stately trees. Searching for a clear path, I had turned up the bank from the creek bed and walked through shoulder high weeds along a deer highway that widened into a bedding area, then split off into narrow paths. One of the trails led back toward the bottom to the flat area where I now stood.

A few steps down from the flat was water, and Barley had come to life and found it before I did. It doesn’t take much to make him happy. A spring gurgles out from the rocky hillside and forms a creek that flows into pools where polliwogs and watercress grow. There are many springs here, but the kind that run all year are referred to as everlasting springs. The presence of watercress is a mute testimony to this.

Years ago, up a little further, I found wild hibiscus growing out of a rock ledge beside the creek. I’m not sure what I was hoping to find Sunday, but the clock turned me back before any notable discoveries were made. Though, on the way back, I saw several black and white feathers scattered on the ground, about 7” long. From the number of them there, it seemed likely that the bird they came from wouldn’t be needing them any more.

Back home, Don and I speculated about what kind of bird gave up the feathers. Don guessed a red headed woodpecker, or possibly a pileated. “Or maybe an ivory billed”, I suggested. “Good luck with that one”, Don grinned.

One of my college professors gave an assignment each semester for students to go out in the country on a clear night, lay on the ground for an hour facing the sky, and think about God. (The times were safer, and they didn’t have ticks there.) It was a worthwhile exercise, and I came away with even more awe of the One who scattered the stars in space.

I get the same feeling in the hollow, this place without distractions, surrounded by God’s creation. I came back refreshed, and with only one tick, a reminder that we are in this world and not the next.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Feathered Feast

Thanksgiving is behind us, and the company's gone; 

the patter of little feet and squeals of delight are only a happy memory.

Our Thanksgiving meal was a little different than the traditional feast, but not unlike what the first pilgrims ate; 

we had venison, potatoes and rhubarb pie.  

History may not record whether or not they had rhubarb pie at that first Thanksgiving, 

but if they didn't, they should have.  It's our favorite.

There's a belated Thanksgiving feast going on in the old dogwood tree outside our window.  

A flicker came early, dressed in his black polkadots and bow tie, 

the bright red heart on the back of his neck matching the berries he came to eat.

Cedar waxwings arrived in small groups, the tips of their tails freshly dipped in red and yellow wax.

This celebration doesn't happen every year.  

Often, the squirrels strip the berries before the birds consider them ripe enough to eat.  

But this year, there's a bumper crop of acorns, 

and the squirrels are far too occupied with their favorite nuts to dine on dogwood berries.

When the biggest bird on the block, the pileated woodpecker, dropped by, the other birds scattered.

 He didn't stay long, but picked up his carry out and flew away.

Just one more bite of those sweet morsels and the bluebird flew away, too.  

I expect they'll all be back; there's plenty of berries left on the tree.

When opportunity knocks, you'd better open your beak.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Mr. Bluebird

Besides being one of our favorites, the Eastern Bluebird is also the state bird of Missouri.

After a morning bath, he shakes vigorously.

He cleans up pretty good, don't you think?

This male air-dries in the dogwood tree.  

When the berries ripen, it looks like he'll have plenty to eat.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Silver Linings

The winter weather that crippled much of the country last week skated through here with barely a whisper, leaving behind less than 1/2 inch of precipitation, in the form of rain and freezing rain, followed by sleet and snow. 

Still, it's all we've had this year.

 It was enough to create some silver magic in the hollow..

...and bring our favorite visitors clustering around for a handout.  

There was something for everyone.

This cardinal thought he was quite dapper, 

but he didn't know he had a sunflower seed hull on his beak.

How embarrassing!

There were even cat brier berries for the bluebird.  Yum!

If any of you want to truck some of your excess snow down to the Ozarks,

there's a photographer here who would love to take it off your hands.





Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

The first photo is wearing Kim Klassen's wonderful texture, 1402