Spring

Jeremiah, Is That You?

~ shoreacres ~ 82 Comments

 

One of my greatest frustrations over the years has been an inability to see big frogs in the ponds and sloughs I visit. I often hear them — their croaks, and their splashy retreats into water — but I never have seen more than the ripples they leave behind.

That ended last weekend at the Aransas Wildlife Refuge. Standing on a bridge that crosses a pond, I was idly scanning the water when I noticed a bit of bright green. Looking closer, I realized it wasn’t another clump of algae. It was a frog; even better, it was a frog who seemed willing to tolerate my presence.

After a few photos, I realized the frog wasn’t about to move, so I moved to a different vantage point on the bridge, where I was able to catch this wonderfully typical froggy expression.

Eventually, a noisy conflict between two bull alligators caused the frog to disappear into the reeds, but I had my photos. Only two days earlier, on March 3, I had expressed my hope to Steve Gingold, frog photographer extraordinare, that this year I finally would find a bullfrog. On March 5, I did just that.

Leaving the refuge, I was filled with the kind of joy that only a true Jeremiah could evoke. I’d gone for flowers, but found a bullfrog. It seemed a fair trade, and reason enough to break into the song that you know.

 

Comments always are welcome.

The Arts of Spring

~ shoreacres ~ 59 Comments
Rockport, Texas City Cemetery ~ March 7

 

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.
And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that’s gone astray, and is lost.
                                      “The Enkindled Spring”  ~  D.H. Lawrence

 

 

 

Comments always are welcome..

May Babies

~ shoreacres ~ 48 Comments
Female black-bellied whistling duck (Dendrocygna autumnalis) and ducklings

The first time I noticed this mother duck, she was resting on a bank at the Lafitte’s Cove pond on Galveston Island with all seven of her ducklings tucked beneath her wings.

After a time, as she led them to the water for a swim, the father arrived to stand guard while they splashed, chased one another, and fed on the greens just under the surface of the water.

I found it hard to photograph the active ducklings in a single group because of their constant scattering and diving, but even a single duckling makes a worthy subject, especially when it seems to have crowned itself Queen (or perhaps King) of the May.

 

Comments always are welcome.

 

Poetic Praise For Pyrrhopappus

~ shoreacres ~ 50 Comments
Texas’s native “dandelion” ~ Pyrrhopappus pauciflorus

 

The Dandelion’s pallid tube
Astonishes the Grass,
And Winter instantly becomes
An infinite Alas —
The tube uplifts a signal Bud
And then a shouting Flower, —
The Proclamation of the Suns
That sepulture is o’er.                                                    
                              ~ Emily Dickinson

 

Comments always are welcome.

 

The Beauty of Bud Break

~ shoreacres ~ 45 Comments
Last year’s tendril, this year’s growth

While vineyard owners worry and fuss, the wild grapes (Vitis spp.) twisted around old sheds and roadside fences begin their yearly cycle without assistance.

By early summer, their full-grown leaves will hide everything from windmill supports to trees. By late summer, their fruit — beloved of so many birds and other creatures — will have been simmered into jelly or crushed into wine for human consumption after the leaves have gone. 

The first sign of renewed growth, commonly known as bud break, is marvelous to behold. While not as obvious as spunky dandelions or vast fields of bluebonnets, the tiny buds emerging from their vine are equally delightful.

 

Comments always are welcome.