Of Weeds and Things

A garden seems like a simple thing - turn the soil, plant the seed, let the sun shine, and wait. Then the sun shines and warms the earth. The early risers spring into action, but where are the corn and beans? A healthy crop of weeds tangle each row. Pull the thistle, kochia, grass and armfulls of unknown citizens. Finally, in the clean spaces, the corn and beans lift their heads. Squash, carrots, beets, and chard stretch upward and touch the sun.

Now the competition has begun. In each row, like painted lanes for a race, they jump into action. Weeds take the early lead in one row, while vegetables inch forward in another. So the summer proceeds. The hares-pace weeds always outdistance the tortoise stride of the produce. So I sit and watch the race...and weed. The removal of some doesn't seem to change the race much. There always comes a replacement hopping into action. The crops now strong and tall, dwarf the speedy weeds, putting every ounce of energy into growth. It just takes time, patience, and faith that the race will go to those who wait and weed.


Watering the Garden

The cool, clean stream of water
began its course down the row.
In the early morning light
the sun painted it silver-gold.
Like molten metal it flowed.

The thirsty soil clutched
and pulled at it.
So slowly the ribbon unrolled;
edges tripped and crawled
forward over piled grains.

The gentle curl of glass
wound around clumps of rock-hard clay
and lifted a leaf and carried an ant
on its back.

The saturated earth, now black,
pushed the stream on -
reaching, stretching, soaking
it inched.

Finally, at row's end,
the burnished trail shone brightly
from splashing entry to placid pool.
Its march now complete.

Plover Lover
July 10, 2009

Getting to Know You

Have you ever had one of those extra special personal interactions with wildlife that you never dreamed could happen? Well I have, and they keep me out looking, waiting for the next time that nature reaches out a feathered wing, a leafy branch, or a furry tail. The more time I spend outdoors, the more I love the small and simple things - so common and yet not.

As I went out this morning for a walk with my wife and new 7 month old daughter, I found the lighting perfect to capture some great images. I have been taking plant photos for another project that I am working on. There are so many new plants (weeds) that I don't know, having never lived on the plains, that I want to identify, so I take close-up pictures of plants to research later. I compose my shots carefully to show the common in unusual ways, so now I have quite a collection of Beautiful weeds. What a calendar it will make some day.

Well, that is not really the story that I wanted to tell. When climbing fences and taking my time to find something to add to my plant collection, I found myself face-to-face with one of my very vocal neighbors (Cassin's Sparrow). So why not photograph him too? He must have known he was my subject for a special photo shoot today. At close range, he permitted some great poses. Although not brightly colored, nor unusual in appearance, his flight and song make him a real treat to see so closely. I always consider this a gift and always appreciate it. After taking many pictures and having front row seats to his flight display, I wanted to get a picture. I am finding it almost impossible to do with my digital camera. The shutter and autofocus seem never to be in sync. I sometimes get a blur of wings or a blank shot of the sky. Maybe that is why I take pictures of plants. They don't seem to leap out of way.

There he sat on the barbed-wire and begged me to come closer. I failed miserably in getting a flight photo, but was then given a much better gift. As I leaned up against a power pole to steady myself and get a little cover, he popped up from the brush onto the fence wire about 15 feet away. As I was directly in line with the fence, my camera focused on the post in front of him. So I leaned out for a better view, and the bird seemed to feel my desire for a better shot. He started to hop and walk, foot-over-foot, down the wire toward me. I just stood there gawking and never even thought about getting it on film.

Before I knew it, he was only 6 feet away behind the fence post. Then, as if to play peek-a-boo, he leaned out and looked around the post at me and then leaned back. He did this several times before jumping into the air and landing on the wire agian. I could nearly reach out and touch him. He displayed several times as I tried to take some arial photos. It seems such a small thing, but the interaction was so real. I am better for having experienced it and to have taken the time to slow down and see and hear.

Is this sparrow only common like a weed, or is a weed a flower fit for framing? I only know that I will continue to collect beautiful things: weeds, flowers, sparrows, rocks, and images. My world is like a buffet with so many things to taste. I love to take some of everything, for I may find my new favorite, but will always come back to the common everyday things so familiar to me.

My Personal Air Show

I have spent more time in the yard this past couple of weeks since school let out. The garden is doing well and so are the weeds. We had some good heavy rain that saved me watering the yard, however it just about washed my garden out. I have hoped the plants know how to push through the mud that covers them. It has taken a few extra days but now they seem to be growing fine in sunny weather.

While in the yard a new song captured my attention. I finally got a look at the bird singing it. It is a sparrow that I was not familiar with. It has a long tail and nearly constant song. I had to take some time to identify it- so I took my camera out and did my best to get a picture of it. Its song identified it to be a Cassin's Sparrow. It is one of my new favorite birds. I love birds that sing with heart and soul. A song filled with joy and energy, not for any particular purpose, but just for fun. Their favorite stage is on top of a yucca, or a conveinent wire. I have only seen Cassin's Sparrows one other time, but now they are my constant companions singing, making my time in the yard more pleasant. Their early morning songs accompany my dreams, punctuate my work, and sing me to sleep at night.

They have no striking colors or patterns but have captured my admiration for two reasons. The first is their song which varies little and yet is a tune that gets stuck in your head. The second is their amazing flight display. I have to say it reminds me of a jet fighter landing on an aircraft Carrier. They launch themselves straight into the air and then with head reaching to the sky, feet stretched forward to the ground, tail cocked back as if a parachute land ever so gracefully in the weeds. They repeat this many times throughout the day. I appreciate the break from my yard work, which will assuredly be there after a bird break, and listen and watch.

One of the commonest visitors to the yard is the Horned Lark. They are not particularly concerned with my presence. They will land in the garden with me and sing their chime-like song, or find some fast food to nibble on.

Over the last few months I have learned to love the great maneuverability in flight they have. They are constantly on the road and seldom have a problem waiting till the last moment and darting off just in the nick of time. When with a partner they seem to delight in complicated synchronized flying- as if performing in a military air show. They carve their way across the fields. Flying low they veer suddenly upward and just as suddenly weave an intricate pattern with wing man tucked neatly in position, never missing a beat. Bursts of speed are followed by separation of the team, only to again resume the show. Was this show meant just for me, or simply a time to feel the wind beneath powerful wings and try something new, just because they can?

The Smell of Rain

As I walked home from school one day. I was followed by a darkening sky and strengthening breeze-an approaching storm. The thick, black, velvet curtain was suddenly drawn across the sky behind me. "Can I make it home?" I made it only half way before I was caught in the rain. I love the rain and took a mental image-amazed by its many faces. Sometimes you can feel the rain coming and sometimes you can smell it. This is one of those times when the native smell of dessicated air is gradually replaced just before the storm. As I mulled over how to describe this image. These words gave life to what I saw and smelled.

The Smell of Rain

This land where water is scarce and the
pungent odor of dust rises up your nostrils
like the smell of empty grain sacks.
Stiff dry plants crackled under foot -
the browns of life wanting - filled the vast expanse.

Always a hint of grit in your teeth,
ever-drifting sands prowl looking for respite,
anchored only when slowed by some tenacious plant
somehow clinging to this land like a weathered homestead.

The hope of rain is eternal -
clouds carried by need and fervent prayer often build
and sail on without a single tear.
In this land rain is more precious than gold,
distant clouds black with rain drifted in with the promise of life.

Before she arrived, a cool assurance piqued my interest
as I stood and faced the wind and willed it forward.
The breeze delivered the welcome message -
the smell of rain approached - slow on turtle's feet.
This sun-baked land now drank deeply and grasped at her passing skirt.
As I walked, I now could smell the wet earth
alive with energy released by soaking rain.

The smell of life, of wet rain-filled soil
are better medicine than rest.
Each passing storm with hope and longing, taunts my memory,
and conjures up the image of the prairie alive with oceans of green,
sprinkled with constellations of blazing color.

The smell of rain proves this is no mirage -
but an awakening of the senses, and the earth.
Growth and hope are as secure in this land
as the unyielding plants that breathed deeply of the smell of rain.

Plover Lover
May 7, 2009

Another School Year Is Over

So busy, that is all that can be said as any school year comes to a close. Final everything, final concert, final trips, final games, meets, tests, and graduation. All were a success in their own way.

My first year in Karval was a success and a great welcoming. I welcomed spring and warm weather. I welcomed planting the garden to the song of birds. I look forward to time to do yard work, study, plan, make curriculum, write poetry, read, bird watch, sing, hike, and play. It is finally here and first on the list- rest and get the garden in. Now that I have time, the home list continues to grow faster than the garden weeds. I am excited to have the summer to get things done one task at a time. It is wonderful to be a teacher and have time to get ready for the next year and reflect on the past.

Mountain Plover- Dreams

As the season transforms itself from spring, the call of the Mountain Plover is heard less often. The now familiar sound still brings me to attention. I hope to see the flight display again. It is hard to put into words the feelings one gets seeing something unusual and rare. It is like finding a buried treasure or climbing a mountain peak. The scene just can't be described, only experienced. The Falling Leaf Display, as it is called, is performed over the nesting grounds. The male flies into the air, plummets with wings held in a tight "V", and drifts back to earth. This repeated dance is accompanied by the call that echoes across the prairie as to say, "Whee, here I come... look at meee!" Oh, the things we will do to impress our lady friends. In a time of anticipation, I penned these words, hoping the real event would be as vivid as my imagination. They remind me of finding my own treasure and the crystal clear view standing on the mountain peak.

The Mountain Plover

From falling leaf to falling leaf
how strange it was…
I saw the plover flying near
up, up - on powerful wings they flew

So high its ascent,
almost beyond sight
then in an instant tumbled
down, down - as a wind-blown leaf might do

Then up again to higher points
it all began again
feathers ruffled, he plummeted
Swiftly, swiftly he blew

And many a hidden secret told
by the pattern of wing and tilt
what purple, what gems displayed for her
below, below - he knew


October 2008
Plover Lover

SBJ'S- Small Brown Jobs! Who Am I?

As I sat in my car on the far side of Karval lake a small visitor came and posed for me. I took several pictures and found him a challenge to Identify. Much smaller than the White-Crowned Sparrows that were in the Salt-Cedars with him. He had distinct markings on his face, and back. The streaked crown and color on the back ruled out Chipping Sparrow for me. The noticeable facial pattern made me question Brewer's Sparrow. They seem to have a less distinctively marked faces. Could this be a Clay-Colored Sparrow? Experts out there get out your field guides and give our SBJ a name. By the way his song was a low buzz of two to four syllables, much lower pitched than Chipping Sparrows.