Ten Reasons to Love the Ozarks in the Early Spring

1. Harbinger of Spring

2. Toothwort

3. Redbud

4. Rue Anemone

5. Henbit

6.  Johnny-Jump-Up

7. Violet Wood Sorrel

8. Hickory

9. Dogwood

10. Bird's foot violet

Linking with: 

Weekly Top Shot

Macro Monday

Eating Crow

The commotion outside started when I was on the phone. 

I had the impression of turkeys sounding off and a cacophony of crows. 

When my conversation ended, I looked out the windows to determine the cause of the ruckus. 

It wasn't hard to find. 

The turkeys had fled, and not far off, a hawk was on the ground with a crow pinned under him. 

A murder of crows perched in the trees overhead 

and swooped down toward the hawk and their downed brother, 

trying to distract the aggressor from his victim. 

It looked bad for the crow.

At first I saw no signs of life from the form on the bottom of the heap, 

but then, suddenly, a struggle ensued. 

There was  a jumble of flapping wings and feathers with the hawk all the while on top. 

From the sound of it, they had been at this for a while. 

I know hawks are beautiful, and crows are, well, crows, but in the middle of the fight, 

strangely, I found myself rooting for the crow. 

There's something about the underdog.

As I watched, caught up in the natural drama in front of me, there was a lull in their exertion, 

both of them laying still, like a short stack of pancakes at Cookies' Restaurant. 

And then, amazingly, the crow struggled free and flew away.

It may have been my imagination, but I thought the hawk looked a bit chagrinned, 

glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. 

Then he shook himself, raised his wings, and sailed off over the trees.

It's quite possible, I suppose, that this fight was not about a meal at all, but just a brawl, 

the hawk teaching the crow a lesson. 

After all, nobody really wants to eat crow.

Linking with Weekly Top Shot
Wild Bird Wednesday
and Saturday's Critters

Three Tenors

It's cold out, and a few snow flakes have been flying through the air today.

There's no doubt, however, that it's spring; the wild turkey gobblers are displaying for the hens,

although, for the most part, the hens seem underwhelmed.

The big birds pivot slowly, almost on tip-toe, flaunting their beauty, 

catching the light on their iridescent feathers...

and then, all together, lean forward and let loose their loud and distinctive gobble.

Move over Pavarotti. 

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

and Weekly Top Shot

Early Vernal Noon

A crocus appears

that wasn't here yesterday--

today's lunch special.

Linking with Weekly Top Shot and Saturday's Critters

School's Out!

Snow fell, thick as oatmeal, filled the sky with white wonder,

and piled up on the backs of bewildered turkeys.

Afterwards, one of the night crew, a young possum, came out to find a snack.

Then he was off on a mission, undeterred by his bad hair day.

He stopped under the stone bench. 

 It seemed to be familiar territory; he had probably been here many times at night.

From the shelter of his den tree, high overhead,

a young squirrel looked on, happy that the sun was back.

Linking with Saturday's Critters

and Weekly Top Shot

Dog Dreams

The dog curled on his pad tonight looks warm and content, but he's not a puppy any more. At nine years old, he's showing his age. Nine may not be all that old, but Barley has had some hard knocks, and some mornings he'd rather stay on his pad than go for our morning walk.

One thing can be counted on to transform this dog in an instant, and that's snow. We've had snow on the ground all week, and Barley can't wait to get outside. Out the door, he takes a nose dive into the white powder, rolls on to his back and rocks back and forth, feet flailing in the air in joyous abandon. He gets up, shaking himself and admiring the canine snow angel he left behind. Then he's off, racing over the ground in broad circles, his boots sending up showers of snow.

The whole process doesn't last long, but for a few minutes, flying through the snow, he's a puppy, the date on his birth certificate temporarily forgotten.

Just now, on his pad, Barley's legs move jerkily to the rhythm of his dream, and the snow flies again in his heart.





A note about his boots: on snow days, Barley used to have to stop frequently to bite away the ice that formed between the pads of his feet. The boots have solved that problem. It took him a time or two to get adjusted to them, but now he loves to see them come out of the closet.  We got them here.

Linking with Weekly Top Shot
and Saturday's Critters.

I Love Sunflowers

It's sunflower season, and I love sunflowers.

I love the magic encased in their spiky packages,

and how their petals unfurl...

and turn toward the sun, catching its fire.

I love the way the little stars of pollen appear and multiply...

sprinkling out stardust like parmesan cheese on a pizza.

I love the way they adorn an evening table...

the gentle curve of their leaves...

the graceful arch of their stems and the stiff white hairs that cover them.

I love sunflowers, but more than that, so much more,

I love the One who made them,

who also made the stars,

who gave His life so we could live.

Linking with Weekly Top Shot,

Little Things Thursday

and Friday Photo Journal

First published on 9/12/11

Thunder

After a long cold winter, the earth has heaved a sigh of relief, 

its warm breath moistening the air and spurring new growth. 

In the afternoons, thunderheads have been sprouting against blue skies, promising rain and delivering little, though showers poured down all around us. But this morning, a storm kicked off with Goliath's bowling ball bouncing on the roof, followed by raging wind and rain. 

I love Midwest thunderstorms; they always sound like they mean business. Growing up in the Northwest, most of the thunder I remember was distant and didn't send dogs slinking under the bed. 

I was in my twenties the autumn I moved from Oregon to Kansas City. Dad had recounted with fondness the storms of his youth in Illinois, and I waited through a bitter winter before experiencing my first Midwest spring storm. Thunder jolted me awake in the middle of the night, and deciding to get all I could out of the show, I padded into the tiny apartment kitchen and popped some popcorn. 

Back in the bedroom, I sat on the floor near the sliding glass doors, my neck craned, and watched in wonder as lightning split the sky, and the heavens roared. It was spectacular, everything I had hoped for.

I will never tire of the marvel thunder and lightning, or of the reminder that the One who made the storm is the One who loves us more than we can comprehend.

Who can understand how He spreads out the clouds,

how He thunders from His pavilion?

Job 36:19 

For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son...  

John 3:16 





Check out more sky images at the Skywatch site!

Also linking with Mandarin Orange Monday
and Weekly Top Shot

Irresistible

In the chill of late February, on our patch of Ozark land, 

the only things that appear to be blooming are a few delicate snowdrops.

Saturday's sunshine pried open the petals.

Was it the fragrance, wafting on the breeze, that woke the slumbering honeybees?

Hovering honeybees

find a snowdrop's siren song

irresistible.

How many are your works, O Lord!

In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures.

All creatures look to you to give them their food at the proper time.

When you give it to them, they gather it up;

when you open you hand,

they are satisfied with good things.

Psalm 104:24, 27, 28




Linking with Weekly Top Shot
and Our World Tuesday

Snow Glory

It's cold out, and Last Friday's snow still lingers on the ground.  I gather Barley's boots from the hearth and he comes to me, wagging his tail slowly and lifting his front paw.  When his boots are cinched, I suit up: boots, coat, scarf, hat, and two layers of gloves.  Then we're off, boots crunching through the snow as we head down to the hollow.

We follow an old path through the woods, marked heavily by deer tracks as well as our own footprints.  Where deer prints diverge from ours, Barley investigates, nose to the ground.

The trail opens into the hollow and we pause, listening to the silence.  It seems to permeate everything until it's broken by a song bird and then by distant crows.  When we continue, a dry creek bed leads us through a broad valley, covered with dried remnants of last summer's wildflowers and on to the edge of the lake.

Barley wades in, boots and all, undeterred by a strip of ice that intersects the cove, 

eases into the frigid lake and treads water, pivoting slowly and taking in the whole scene.

Then he's out.  He shakes, the motion starting at the tip of his tail and working forward to his nose. Suddenly, he's a race horse, running in a wide circle over the loamy soil and through the dried flowers. He was born for this.

Barley's a little like the birds of the air; he doesn't worry about what he's going to eat (Beneful Dog Chow) or wear (blue boots) or what's going to happen tomorrow.  We'd do well to have that kind of trust.

Do not worry about your life, 

what you will eat or drink;

or about your body, what you will wear.

Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?

Look at the birds of the air; 

they do not sow or reap or store away in barns,

and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. 

Jesus/Matthew 6:25, 26

Linking with

Camera Critters
Saturday Critters
and Weekly Top Shot

Fleeting Victory

In vibrant colors

Fall steals the road from summer

Inevitably.







Linking with Weekly Top Shot

Monarch Watch

Somehow in grade school, 

I missed the part where the students stand around a jar 

and watch a butterfly emerge from a cocoon, 

and I've always felt like my education wasn't quite complete.

So, a few years back, when I saw a monarch chrysalis attached to one of the flowers in our flowerbed, I was delighted to be positioned in the inner circle around the jar.  For several days, I watched the soft green cocoon, with its bright spots of shiny gold, until the small jewel became translucent, and the familiar black and gold of a monarch, though faint, began to show through.

We had to make a day trip out of town, and when we can back, the first thing I checked was the cocoon.  We were only gone the better part of one day, but during that time, the contents of the bright green and gold package had flown away, and all that remained was a limp, empty skin.

It wasn't until recently that I saw one again.  

Last week, six fat monarch caterpillars ate their way 

through the butterfly milkweed plant near the house...

When they were quite satiated, they made their way off, one by one.  

I located three of them later,

 hanging limp on the underside of leaves of nearby plants.

The transformation came overnight.

We woke in the middle of the night Thursday to the sound of pounding rain, 

and I wondered about those small green treasures,

but in the morning they were fine.

It's supposed to take about ten days for a butterfly to emerge,

and I have my calendar marked.

Stay tuned.

Linking with Weekly Top Shot

and Camera Critters