Common Things

 

It is time for all the heroes to go home
if they have any, time for all of us common ones
to locate ourselves by the real things
we live by.
Far to the north, or indeed in any direction,
strange mountains and creatures have always lurked —
elves, goblins, trolls, and spiders: we
encounter them in dread and wonder.
But once we have tasted far streams, touched the gold,
found some limit beyond the waterfall,
a season changes, and we come back, changed
but safe, quiet, grateful.
Suppose an insane wind holds all the hills
while strange beliefs whine at the traveler’s ears —
we ordinary beings can cling to the earth and love
where we are, sturdy for common things.
                                                       “Allegiances”  ~  William Stafford

 

Comments always are welcome.
Photos can be enlarged by clicking on the image.
For more information on poet William Stafford, please click here

An All-Season Favorite

 

Although less common during the winter, the plant commonly known as sea ox-eye (Borrichia frutescens) can be found throughout the year on coastal salt flats, beach dunes, salt marshes, and tidal flats along the upper Texas coast, where it grows with such other typical salt marsh plants as glasswort (Salicornia virginica), saltwort (Batis maritima),  saltgrass (Distichlis spicata), and seepweed (Suaeda linearis).

Ranging from south Texas to Virginia, it’s known by a variety of English names: sea ox-eye daisy, sea marigold,  seaside tansy, and bushy seaside ox-eye.  In Spanish-speaking countries, common names often compare the flower to other species, such as beach carnation (clavelón de playa) or sea purslane (verdolaga del mar) in Puerto Rico, and coastal rosemary (romero decosta)  or marine sage (salvia marina) in Cuba.

For many people, ‘ox-eye daisy’ brings to mind Leucanthemum vulgare, a pretty white flower with a yellow center brought here from Europe and now often considered a nuisance. In his book Florida Ethnobotany, Daniel F. Austin notes that the name ‘ox-eye’ had been added to Borrichia frutescens by 1866, perhaps because of its vague resemblance to the European daisy. The genus name honors the Danish botanist Ole Borch, while the specific epithet refers to the plant’s shrub-like character.

Tolerant of both drought and standing water, the plant can bloom prolifically, with flowers approximately one inch in diameter. The grayish-green, pubescent leaves give the foliage a silvery sheen which becomes more pronounced as the plant dries and begins to set seed.

Because the plant blooms in every season, it provides both food and cover for a variety of insects, birds, and other small wildlife. Texas butterflies which enjoy its nectar include the great southern white, the Gulf fritillary,  the large orange sulphur, and the southern broken-dash. I haven’t yet seen any of those butterflies this spring, but the sea ox-eye is putting on a fresh set of blooms, and I expect it to begin receiving visitors any day.

 

Comments always are welcome.

The Peter Pan of the Pond

One out-of-focus but very special pied-billed grebe (Podilymbus podiceps)

Nothing brings a smile like the sight of pied-billed grebes bobbing and diving their way through our ponds and wetlands. Small, skittish and shy,  they seem to be everywhere and nowhere at once: floating on the water, bobbing for vegetation, and fleeing at the first sign of human presence. They’re divers and swimmers, not flyers; not once in all my years of watching them had I seen one take flight.

When I noticed this one in middle of a Brazoria Refuge pond,  it seemed typically grebe-like in its behavior, until something strange began to happen. As I watched, it appeared to grow smaller, drawing into itself until only half its original size. Its feathers, no longer smooth, began to ruffle, and its wings seemed to flutter above its back.

Before I could readjust my camera’s settings for a clearer photo, the grebe suddenly raised itself, stretched out, and began running along the suface of the water like a coot attempting to gain altitude. In fact, that’s precisely what the grebe was doing: gaining altitude, and beginning to fly.

I’d always known grebes could fly, but I’d never seen it happen. Neither had Mia McPherson, until she witnessed flying grebes at her local Utah pond in February, 2017, and posted photos on her blog. As she described it in On the Wing Photography :

Pied-billed Grebes only migrate during the night, which is why until yesterday I have never photographed them in flight. I’ve even written a post here on On The Wing Photography bemoaning the fact that I would never photograph them in flight. I was wrong, delightfully wrong.
Yesterday afternoon I was at my local pond where I photographed not one but two Pied-billed Grebes in flight. This is rarely seen and rarely photographed. I might never get the chance again. 

After admiring Mia’s photos and envying her experience, I left a brief comment, wondering as I did if I ever would have the same opportunity. I didn’t think so, until January 5 of this year when, like an ecstatic Peter Pan, this grebe took flight.

Like Mia, I might never be granted such a sight again, but I’ll be watching our grebes much more closely in the future. They’re not as predictable as I thought.

I can fly!

 

Comments always are welcome.