Wild Iris ~ Brazoria County, Texas
To paraphrase a line from poet Robert Browning’s “Andrea del Sarto” ~
Should not our reach exceed our grasp?
Or what’s a season for?
I’ve always thought of the various flowers that bloom alongside our highways and rural roads as ‘ditch diamonds.’ Their preference for a damp environment makes ditches a perfect home for them, and their beauty certainly qualifies them as jewels.
Last year, I found my first of these jewels in the form of Spider Lilies (Hymenocallis liriosme). Despite our significant February freeze, a few had come into bloom when I discovered them on March 7, east of Lake Jackson along Farm to Market Road 2004.
Yesterday, March 6 — just a day earlier and a few miles west of Lake Jackson — I found my first spider lilies of 2022. In last year’s post, I mentioned that these first blooms stood as tokens of the massed lilies yet to come. Looking through my archives, I found that to be true. Photos from 2018, 2019, and 2021 show ditches filled with the flowers in the latter part of March.
There’s no question about it. The lilies are coming.
A young friend once described dragonflies as being “all buzz and all wings.” It’s an apt description, although “jewel of the skies” seems equally appropriate.
It’s always a treat to find one at rest, showing off those jewel-like qualities. This one, which I take to be a pennant of some kind — perhaps a Halloween Pennant (Celithemis eponina) — was kind enough to remain at rest for several minutes. From my vantage point at the side of a county road, I was able to photograph it with a background of grasses on the other side of the ditch that was attracting so many of its kind.
Then, I decided to change position. Turning ninety degrees to my right, I posed the dragonfly against the gray and not necessarily appealing ditch water; the striations in the background are reflections of the reeds on the other side of the ditch.
It’s the same dragonfly and the same perch, shown only minutes apart, but the feel of the photo has changed. As in photography, so in life: what’s offered as ‘background’ — of a person or of an issue — can make quite a difference in our perception.
After returning from my recent foray into the wilds of Bluebonnetland, I realized I was in danger of repeating a mistake I’ve made in the past. Despite knowing last year’s iris leaves had emerged in the ditches surrounding the San Bernard Wildlife Refuge, I put off a return visit; by the time I saw the irises again, the flowers were gone.
Not wanting to miss them this year, I decided to make a quick trip to the refuge to see if a few irises might still be blooming. They were: another form of ditch diamond to enjoy.
Everyone seems to agree that at least three iris species are native to Texas. This Southern Blue Flag (Iris virginica) may be the best known. I first heard the phrase ‘flag pond’ after moving to Texas, and misinterpreted the phrase. I assumed it meant a pond with a flag pole next to it. A pond filled with irises never occurred to me.
Two to three feet tall, Blue Flags can vary in color from very light blue to purple, leading me to suspect that the next two photos also show Blue Flags.
The Zigzag iris (Iris brevicaulis) has different growth habits. Flowers are borne on sprawling stems which typically zig-zag to a height of no more than fives inches. The specific epithet brevicaulis means ‘short-stemmed,’ and the long, strap-like green leaves often hide the blooms.
Color variations also exist among Zigzag Iris. While some sites describe the flower as lavender, others mention purple and yellow as possibilities. Given their short stature and the length of their sepals — substantially longer than their petals — I suspect this next pair might be Zigzag iris as well.
The colonies were pretty when seen from the road, but only a walk among them revealed their variety of color and form: except, of course, for the yellow iris, which demanded to be noticed.