perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers. ~Claude Monet
What is there to say about flowers that hasn't already been said? That they are beautiful and dazzling and provide the perfect accent in an anotherwise dull space? That they fill the world with fragrance, or that their colors mesmerize and defy characterization? Flowers are "all of the above," and then some. What sort of nature writer would I be were I to forget that they are the end to the means that millions of plants undertake to produce them?
Before fruit, there must necessarily be a flower, and before the light fades, their is often the last color we see amidst the interminable green of summer. It is the first color in spring and the last in fall as the year creeps again toward winter, dwarfed only by the changing of the leaves and defying the mornings when frost has claimed the less stalwart among them.
They drape our vales and hillsides, brighten our small hollows and ditches, and pop up in our lawns and along our woodland edges. They cascade from window boxes and baskets, paint bold swatches across fields, drip from rock walls and arbors and imbue the ocean air with a fragrance that can only be described as heaven-sent. On a more practical note, they provide us with a tangible means of celebrating certain traditions and, ideally, they make more glorious the last journey we all take from this world to the next. What else can I add that will give flowers their just due, to assign them, once and for all, the status they deserve as one of the most joyfully indispensible blessings that nature has bestowed upon us?
Like so much else, flowers came into this world, to this Earth, slowly and deliberately. Their purpose was to add a final and glorious touch to the vegetation that predated much of what we know today as annuals and perennials, as vines and shrubs, as weed and wanted plant, displaying an intricacy of color and texture not seen in other living things. They loom large or small in the landscape, from the enormous blooms of tropical flowers to the tiny blossoms of ground-cover plants so small that they escape our notice and are often trampled underfoot in our rush to get on with the processes of living.
Yet who among us does not love flowers? Who among us could find anything negative to say once we know of the miraculous journey they undertake to get here and, in some instances, such as the daylily's brief stint, to grace our lives for but a day? A morning glory opens at the first touch of sunlight then fades with the light, while a moonflower blossoms at day's end and fades with the dawn. Lady slippers appear in shady wet places in late spring and johnny jump-ups live up to their names by producing more of their own kind each year without any effort on anyone's part. Jonquils, crocuses, hyacinths and tulips usher in spring while brown-eyed Susans and Queen Anne's lace save their graces for later when the summer's heat distracts and dismays. As fall extends the year's bridge toward winter, chrysanthemums, both domesticated and wild, share their own late glory with us in field and garden when the rest have called it good for another year.
What would our lives be without flowers? Our tables, nightstands and sideboards would be bare, our yards and lawns one endless unbroken ribbon of green. Our winter holidays would be devoid of the reds and greens of poinsettias and amaryllis, while our spring festivities would take place without the lily's pure and gentle touch. From the bouquests of carnations and freesias in supermarket garden shops to the goldenrod and forget-me-nots along roadsides, flowers persist as an easily accessible source of beauty and comfort. They are small quiet blessings, appearing often in our lives when we least expect them and when we need them most.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530989876
Showing posts with label lawns. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lawns. Show all posts
Saturday, June 7, 2014
House Finches
My cat, Muffin, alerted me this morning to the spectacle going on outside. Oh, she didn't exactly approach me directly to inform me of this. Rather, she did her cat thing and spent much of the morning dashing from window to window in an attempt to get the best vantage point from which to watch the show. And I know enough to realize that she doesn't act this way unless there is something out there worthy of my time and attention.
As the various weeds and grasses once again reach maturity, the birds have descended upon them in a frenzy. For the last few days, I've been seeing them streak by my windows and have heard their peeps and tweets as they forage among the tall full-headed stalks of grass and other plants that are once again bearing their annual or biennial loads of seeds. There they were, dozens of them, flitting from place to place, from shrub to shrub, poking through the vegetation that grows near the back steps and flying back and forth from the top of the surrounding fences to the thick unruly growth just outside the bedroom window. Not until just now did I take the time to check on what type of birds these actually are, and a quick (because they don't stay in one place very long) look told me that they were all female house finches, the very drab nondescript counterpart to the more colorful males who sport bright red feathers on their heads.
There wasn't a male among them to be seen, and it caused me to wonder just what the ratio is of males to females and when exactly the boys come out to partake of the feast that, if this frenzy keeps up, will be short-lived at best. It doesn't take any time at all for a flock of birds, male or female, to totally deplete an area of desirable food, and I'm wondering if this isn't some kind of avian "early bird" shopping experience whereby the girls just HAVE to get there first for the best deals.
A few of them gathered briefly in the butterfly shrub next door where they were joined by a few monarch butterflies and honey bees, themselves feasting on the nectar hidden deep inside each tiny floret. They seemed oblivious to the birds' presence, and it appeared that there was plenty of room for all concerned as the various species did what comes naturally to them.
This is such a rich time of year. There is a distinct scent of ripeness in the air, trees and shrubs are as full as they're ever going to get during a single season, and it seems that they somehow know this as they dance about in the breeze when just a few days ago, they were sagging under the weight of the humidity that blanketed the area for several weeks. I'm hearing chickadees again, too, and remembering how they prefer cooler crisper weather, I welcome them back to the fence posts and feeder perches where their summer absence is always noticed and mourned.
The great finch invasion will continue until not a seed is left, much to my delight, for it's not much of a stretch for me to picture myself soaring with them on the air currents that dip and rise between the buildings and among the trees that delineate the properties here where the line between urban and rural is smudged, and some of each spills into the other, including flocks of birds that don't know or care that these are not open woods and fields but simply front lawns and back yards where small miracles, such as their exuberant foraging, happen almost everyday.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530989876
As the various weeds and grasses once again reach maturity, the birds have descended upon them in a frenzy. For the last few days, I've been seeing them streak by my windows and have heard their peeps and tweets as they forage among the tall full-headed stalks of grass and other plants that are once again bearing their annual or biennial loads of seeds. There they were, dozens of them, flitting from place to place, from shrub to shrub, poking through the vegetation that grows near the back steps and flying back and forth from the top of the surrounding fences to the thick unruly growth just outside the bedroom window. Not until just now did I take the time to check on what type of birds these actually are, and a quick (because they don't stay in one place very long) look told me that they were all female house finches, the very drab nondescript counterpart to the more colorful males who sport bright red feathers on their heads.
There wasn't a male among them to be seen, and it caused me to wonder just what the ratio is of males to females and when exactly the boys come out to partake of the feast that, if this frenzy keeps up, will be short-lived at best. It doesn't take any time at all for a flock of birds, male or female, to totally deplete an area of desirable food, and I'm wondering if this isn't some kind of avian "early bird" shopping experience whereby the girls just HAVE to get there first for the best deals.
A few of them gathered briefly in the butterfly shrub next door where they were joined by a few monarch butterflies and honey bees, themselves feasting on the nectar hidden deep inside each tiny floret. They seemed oblivious to the birds' presence, and it appeared that there was plenty of room for all concerned as the various species did what comes naturally to them.
This is such a rich time of year. There is a distinct scent of ripeness in the air, trees and shrubs are as full as they're ever going to get during a single season, and it seems that they somehow know this as they dance about in the breeze when just a few days ago, they were sagging under the weight of the humidity that blanketed the area for several weeks. I'm hearing chickadees again, too, and remembering how they prefer cooler crisper weather, I welcome them back to the fence posts and feeder perches where their summer absence is always noticed and mourned.
The great finch invasion will continue until not a seed is left, much to my delight, for it's not much of a stretch for me to picture myself soaring with them on the air currents that dip and rise between the buildings and among the trees that delineate the properties here where the line between urban and rural is smudged, and some of each spills into the other, including flocks of birds that don't know or care that these are not open woods and fields but simply front lawns and back yards where small miracles, such as their exuberant foraging, happen almost everyday.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530989876
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