Creatures Gazette – Enchanted Habitat

Ice Boxes and Refrigerators

March 16, 2018March 16, 2018 ruthbyrn10 Comments

34.7º N 92.2º W. Little Rock, in Central Arkansas, in the United States

3/15/18

Note from the Author
Readers may have noticed a months-long interruption in this blog. That’s because life got in the way. Or rather, death. There occurred the last illness and death of a loved one, followed by all that must be done after someone dies, and that was a demanding time. Afterward, as so many caregivers do, I got sick. But now the green blade riseth again, and I am well, and I hope you will excuse my temporary absence and enjoy the future with me.

___________________________

Southern Refrigerators

A friend from California said to me that we in Enchanted Habitat are strange in that we keep goods in the refrigerator that don’t need to be there. “Like what?” I said. “Sugar, flour, baking soda, shortening,” (Californians don’t say Crisco). “Shall I go on?” she said.
“But those do need to be refrigerated! They’ll spoil,” I said. Then I said, “At least they might get stale. And no bugs can get to them in the refrigerator.”
She gave me a look that said the West Coast equivalent of, “Bless your heart,” and we left it at that.

Afterward I thought about it, and the next time I bought a pound of flour I tried putting it in a container on a shelf in the pantry, but I just couldn’t do it. All of my people have put everything they could in the refrigerator, dating from the time they got refrigerators. Which hasn’t been that long ago, depending how old you are. Some of us are still around who forget and say icebox when we mean refrigerator. I remember The Ice Man coming with huge blocks to stock the icebox when I was maybe five.

A wrinkle in time.

The Ice Man. Out of a storybook. Awesome in the original meaning of the word. Drove up in a covered truck filled with 50-pound ice cubes sitting in clean wet orange sawdust. Big man, because he had to be. Wore tall wet black rubber boots. A wet brown leather shield covered his back as protection from the blocks of ice he gripped with iron tongs as long as I was, and slung over his shoulder.

Almost back to now.

You know that old hand-me-down icepick you keep in the very back of your kitchen junk drawer so you won’t stick yourself with it? That thing you use two or three times a year to punch holes, and retrieve small items that fall into crevices, and such, and you would no more throw away than you would a holy relic? There was a time somebody used that to chip ice.

Back to the future.

So yes, if you come to my house and want to bake or fry anything, go first to the refrigerator.

__________________________

From The Creatures Gazette: Rabbit Outruns Dog Every Time

Most nights, in the backyard, comes a rabbit. I think she wants the dog to chase her. Bunnybunny always wins by many lengths. I swear she enjoys it. She is faster, and also she has a strategy. She waits until the dog discovers her, and then runs toward the dog, then makes a sharp turn and circles back and races the whole length of the yard in a full-out, foot-thumping, dog-gasping contest. The dog is always far behind. Bunnybunny exits the yard through a little hole in the fence and disappears into the neighbor’s yard. The dog participates in this non-match with all her heart, same thing over and over, many times a week, and when it ends she is stoic each time. I think she should get a medal for dog-ness. Doggedness.

But aha! one night there was also a guest dog. Two dogs. Guest Dog is half Beagle, half Terrier, but at least this night she was less than the best example of her breeds. She is not the one who “scared up” (as we say here) the rabbit; Home Dog did. When the noisy chase began, and all the way through it, Guest Dog stood around still sniffing things, trying to get information through her nose about what was happening. The rabbit did not believe this could happen: near the end of the chase, with Home Dog far behind as usual, Bunnybunny ran smack into Guest Dog. They were both knocked for a loop. Bunnybunny recovered quickly and left the yard. Guest Dog got up slowly and headed for the house.

The Dirt on Dirt, Please

Have you ever read about the latest archeological dig/discovery that’s gonna redefine history as we know it, and wondered: How do these places get covered up in the first place? where did all that dirt come from?

I don’t mean dirt that already exists and is displaced and pushed around by such as glaciers or dust storms or earthquakes. I mean new dirt. Dirt that somehow made its own self, and over time accrued in such amounts as to bury whole cities; what is that dirt made of? What is the origin of dirt?
We all have personal experience of dirt coming mysteriously from nowhere and accruing. I deal with this most notably because it accrues under the little feet-pads of my computer mouse, which then drags. About twice a week I turn the mouse over and scrape its little feet with the letter opener and end up with a tiny pile of detritus of a dark neutral color. But surely, even after a hundred centuries, this kind of micro-particle debris could not account for the burial of Gobekli Tepe. So what does?

Off the top of my head I made a list of some candidate ingredients that might decompose together over a long time and constitute dirt. I will only name some here. The list starts out okay with, “pollen, dust, human and dog hair,” but then the items tend to get disgusting, beginning with, “dandruff, dead dust mites,” and, believe me, other bits of life you don’t want me to name. But my list would not make enough dirt to matter, even with an addition nominated by my California friend: the item frust, which according to the Urban Dictionary is the small line of debris that refuses to be swept onto the dustpan and keeps backing a person across the room until she finally decides to give up and sweep it under the rug.

So if any readers know the answer to the mystery of dirt, kindly enlighten the rest of us.

This is my season for scarcity of home-grown garlic. It’s early Spring and other plants are burgeoning everywhere, but when I go to my pantry and take the lid off my terracotta garlic house and look to see what’s left: naught but two or three cloves. And a long time before I can replenish. Mid-June at the earliest is when the local backyard gardeners harvest. Meanwhile, I’ll get only grocery store garlic. Clean and white, yes, not a speck of dirt in their controlled-looking little roots. But not as clever in the tasties.

Wild Berries, Peasant Bread, Hillbilly Bruschetta

June 10, 2017June 14, 2017 ruthbyrn4 Comments

34.7º N 92.2º W. Little Rock, in Central Arkansas, in the United States

6/4/17 – 6/10/17

The Berries are Ripening Here!

Do you like blueberries? Blackberries? Both? In Enchanted Habitat you can be very happy soon. My Good Gardener Friend keeps me informed of her blueberries’ progress from green-ness through peachy-ness to indigo-ness. This sketch was their state two days ago. I love looking at them better than eating them: my true love is The Wild Blackberry, and those are getting ripe too.

It’s hard for me to write about wild blackberries without getting excessive.

The best way to eat blackberries begins with picking them yourself. Find a wild patch on your own, or ask people until you find someone who knows. Folk who know are the kind likely to share the treasure map with you. (No one is likely to give you actual berries they’ve picked; we are mere mortals after all.) Prepare against chiggers and snakes, put on long pants and a long-sleeved shirt, and a straw hat for sheer effect, hang a bucket in the crook of your arm, and wade into the thorny brambles to where the best ones are. If you have scouted out a good patch, when you finish your fingers will be punctured and sore to the bone, your skin ripped in several places along with the so-called protective clothing, you will itch in unscratchable places, and you will take home a third to a half bucketful of berries. Wash them gently to get the occasional bugs out. Put a handful of the berries in a single-size bowl. Pour a little genuine heavy cream over them. Sprinkle a little powdered sugar on, and stir to dissolve it. Dive in. If you are of my spiritual clan the pain in your fingers will transpose into a set of wondrous sensations at the back of your tongue and also you will forget every other trouble you ever had.

Your brain will recognize the distilled flavor of the cosmos itself, from the moment of The Big Bang until now.

If I’ve made Wild Blackberry Eating sound like the quest and finding of the holy grail, it just about is.

Commercially grown blackberries are a step down, and it’s an exponential step, but if I can’t get the real thing I’m not too proud to eat bought ones. They don’t cause me to rhapsodize though.

Roadside Wildflowers

While you’re at the roadsides looking for blackberries you may notice that the crimson clover is out of season now and gone, replaced largely by Queen Anne’s lace and black-eyed Susans. Thanks to the U. of Arkansas Cooperative Extension Service for this photo of the prolific Queen Anne’s lace, with elegant flowers that actually do look like exquisite handmade lace and are sometimes the size of saucers.

The black-eyed Susans are the perfect visual complement to the Queen Anne’s lace, in color and in shape. I will leave you to look below and imagine that their petals are yellow-orange and their centers are black-brown, and that they are contraposed against their companion “weeds”.

Hillbilly Bruschetta

The first of the homegrown tomatoes are coming in at the farmers’ market! If I made it sound like wild blackberries are my favorite food–they are, and so are homegrown tomatoes. One way I like to eat good tomatoes is: bruschetta on homemade bread.

We didn’t have bruschetta here when I grew up. It’s an import. I discovered it well into my middle-age, and an old dog can teach herself a new trick. I first tasted it at the local Olive Garden. Their servings of it are sparing, which is what my grandmother taught me to say instead of chinchy or stingy. Also they drain the juice out of it, the best part. Like any born-and-bred woman of Enchanted Habitat, my initial thought was, “Hmm. This is pretty good but I could make it better–and enough of it.” Here is the resulting recipe. Click to enlarge.

Now as to the bread– not that all I can think about is food–here is my favorite to go with hillbilly bruschetta. I got this simple, superb recipe when a friend of 60 years re-posted it on Facebook. I don’t think I ever had the name of the woman who originally shared it; my hat is off to her. Below is my lift of the recipe. She didn’t name it, so I gave it a title.

Crusty Bread Baked in Cast Iron Pot

From The Creatures Gazette

Among our faerie folk here is a strain who masquerade as man-made objects. They are usually motionless when mortals are around. One of them lives close to the door of El Porton restaurant in Little Rock, and the other day I may have seen him move.

Akashic Pasta

May 26, 2017May 28, 2017 ruthbyrn3 Comments

34.7º N 92.2º W. Little Rock, in Central Arkansas, in the United States

5/15/17 – 5/26/17

High Calorie Out-of-this-World One-Dish Pasta Meal

Here is a recipe that came to me from the akasha and is good eating.

If you are an experienced cook you will know the proportions you like for the ingredients. If inexperienced, be generous with everything and then adjust according to your taste. If you are watching your weight you should not even read this.

Ingredients
Penne Pasta, cooked and drained, but still hot
Smoked Gouda Cheese, cubed. Prep it ready to stir in and go melty in the hot drained pasta.
Fajita Chicken Strips, cooked, cubed. (If frozen, defrost.)
Tomatoes, whole medium fresh (or canned) diced. Include the juice.
Green Peas, fresh (or frozen and defrosted), uncooked or slightly cooked.
Kalamata Olives, whole, pitted, drained
Mayonnaise (be generous)
Seasoned Rice Vinegar (be generous)
Salt

Directions
Stir everything together in a big bowl.

Good Manners in Enchanted Habitat

A friend who grew up in California and moved here observes that we in Enchanted Habitat have at least three nicenesses she’s never noticed anywhere else.

One, I have named the Mandatory Entryway Compliment (MECompliment).
When we as a guest enter someone else’s home, we always, somewhere near the front door, find a way to say something that sounds admiring about the place. Such as, “Oh your yard is so nice!” or “Oh, hardwood floors are so wonderful, aren’t they!” Women usually include the exclamation points. Also, even if it is the tenth time we’ve been there we find still again something else nice to say, or at least find a new way to say a previous thing.

Only if the householder might be our mother or BFF might we exempt ourselves from the MECompliment.

Or if we want to be covertly rude.

Next, there is Making Small Talk About The Weather (MSTATWeather). My grandmother taught me how to do it and why, and this ability has served me all my life. But it only works in the company of people who also know how to do it. Unfortunately not everyone does. It would help us if more did. It takes at least two to tango here, and if you are the only one doing MSTATWeather, and the others think instead that what you are doing is really talking about the weather, then you’re going to get some odd looks if you persist.

(Never expect a Californian to MSTATWeather. California doesn’t have weather to begin with. Here, we have real grist for the mill.)

The reason for MSTATWeather is the same as one of the reasons for MECompliment: it gives people something socially safe to talk about. Further, MSTATWeather can be counted on as an inexhaustible subject if need be. The MECompliment is not meant to last as a discussion topic, and is is about five degrees toward personal, so you have to be a tad careful. But the MECompliment is the one that also has secondary purpose. When you say a MECompliment to your host/ess, you are sending a clear signal that your feeling about them is positive–without being obsequious. Is that a clever folkway, or what!

Our third niceness reported by my friend, I call Never Taking The Last Piece (NTTLPiece). No one ever taught me NTTLPiece, I just always knew it. I assume it is a genetically transmitted behavior. The last hors d’oeuvre, the last ear of corn, the last glassful of wine in the bottle, the last spoonful of the mashed potatoes. No matter how much we secretly want it, we will decline it. And then there it is, one lonely little serving that the hostess has to do something with after everyone goes. Unless someone in the party was not from here.

My Californian friend tole me this true story:
After a potluck, one little square of exquisite homemade lemon bar remained. A woman was trying to get someone, anyone, to take it. This woman genuinely didn’t want it herself, and she was not from here originally. My Californian friend said to her, “You’re not going to get anyone to take that. They’re all from here and they never take the last piece of anything.” The woman said, “Oh God, that’s why my husband does that!”

From the Creatures Gazette

Cicadas Gone ‘Til 2028

Last appearing in May/June 2015, the 13-year cicadas will not appear again for 11 years more. Although this strain is only one of the cicada types inhabiting central Arkansas, it is likely the most numerous in terms of individual insects. Until 2028 fewer children will find and shudder at and show each other empty husks left hanging on tree trunks after the nymphs dig themselves out of the ground and free themselves to be real noisy insects.

Hooray for the Home Grown Farmers’ Markets!

They’re here and open again! Worth every penny. The only other thing to say is, I’ll be so glad when it’s time for tomatoes.

Uppity Women and Mystery Guests

May 12, 2017May 15, 2017 ruthbyrn6 Comments

34.7º N 92.2º W. Little Rock, in Central Arkansas, in the United States

5/5/17 – 5/12/17

Intrepid Inhabitants–The Laughing Ladies

Uppity women are everywhere in Enchanted Habitat. I know their number is disproportionately large here. I can’t prove that because the Census Bureau doesn’t ask the right questions, but there is plenty of evidence. Examples shine out among just my limited circle of personal contacts. To wit: The Laughing Ladies.

This is a friendship group of four who range in age from approaching senior to unmistakably senior. They are all breast cancer survivors. They decided to raise money for the fight against breast cancer, and to do it in some fun way. (Uppity women never act for one reason only. They make everything count at least twice.) So they thought up what they wanted to do: raft rivers. Yes, really.

Then they did it in spades. They named their project 4 Survivors, 4 Rivers, 4 a Cure. Their first river was in Colorado, in the Rockies. They whitewater (whitewater!) rafted the headwaters of the Arkansas. This is a photo of them there.

They also found their name in Colorado. The Laughing Ladies is an historic name. It was originally the name of a good times establishment during the frontier days, and yes, that means what you suspect.

After the Arkansas River exploit they rafted the Buffalo in Arkansas, the Roaring Fork in Colorado, and the Colorado in Utah.

They elicited from their sponsors thousands of dollars to give to the Arkansas Affiliate of Susan G. Komen. This Affiliate is a standout among worthwhile nonprofit organizations: you can bet on it that The Laughing Ladies would know where the money should go.

At the end of the fourth and final rafting trip they created and performed their finalization ceremony. It’s one of a kind. I’m pleased to make you privy to its content, with their permission.

The Ceremony of the Dime on the Colorado River was this: The four uppity rafters stood together on the bank of the Colorado. Each threw a dime into the river. They chanted in unison

We had a dime-good time

But we dime sure don’t plan to raft again.

The Ruby Crowned Kinglet

Six years ago this charming tiny bird alit like a grace note near me as I was sketching on the shore of Lake Maumelle. It was about 4″ long. I did my hasty best to capture on paper something of its shape and markings and its posture, and how it caught the light, and I made some notes in my head about it, and then too soon whit!, it was gone. But thankfully there remained the thorn bush it had been in: something simple (and still!) that I could draw in surety to add to my sketch. Nature often lends a helping hand to try-hards.

The time was mid-September, and later when I identified it in in the NGS Field Guide to the Birds of North America I learned that Enchanted Habitat is in the northern part of its winter range.

Here is a photo of the ruby crowned kinglet courtesy of Steve Creek, wildlife photographer par excellence of the Ouachitas. His blog is a must-see.

From the Creatures Gazette

Dog is not a Terrier:
Mystery Guest Remains Unidentified

The Baby Racers

In my friend’s fenced-in garden, which is on a slight slope and drains well, and where almost no other person ever intrudes, the baby racer snakes are awake from their winter. We’ve had frequent rains lately, and the snakelets have been wishing we had fewer wet days, and more of the new spring sun to bask in.

There is a new set of wee ones every year in that mid-town garden. I wonder if there could be a generational memory about the place being a safe and nurturing one for these babies. They apparently love wintering-over in the abundant insulating mulch my friend puts down, and they stay on into the warmer weather. Their gardener has also made them a rock pile nearby because snakes like warm rocks at certain times of the year, and because it gives them a perfect place to hide. If you want some tips for reptile-friendly landscaping and gardening, go here: http://www.env.gov.bc.ca/wld/documents/snake_landscape_brchr.pdf

When the racers are young they eat mostly insects and larvae and moths. The are nice pest eradicators to have in a garden. Later they go for larger meals such as rodents. They grow fast, and when they get bigger they move on.

They are nonvenomous, of course. They can get as long as five feet or so. Racers are common in Enchanted Habitat and throughout the U.S. They come in several kinds and colors: brown, black, gray (or “blue”) and shades in between. As adults they are notably fast in getting away from whatever might be after them; hence the name Racer. If you want to know more, here are a couple of good links.
http://www.herpsofarkansas.com/Snake/ColuberConstrictor
and
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coluber_constrictor

Beadwork You Won’t Find Anywhere Else

Here are some examples of the work of an Enchanted Habitat bead artist. She says these pieces are circa approximately 1980.

First, a beaded strip containing the symbols of the ancient elements: Earth, Fire, Air, and Water. (A clue: earth is the brown strip that envelopes the others.)

Next, a beaded pouch, front and back. Note also the jingle bells.

You Win Some, You Lose Some

April 27, 2017May 28, 2017 ruthbyrn2 Comments

34.7º N 92.2º W. Little Rock, in Central Arkansas, in the United States

4/23/17 – 4/27/17

The Royal “Paulina” Tree

A block from my house is a flowering tree 60 feet tall of great beauty. I was alert for it to bloom this year, which it did and has just finished. Here are its blossoms. Photo credit: By Famartin – Own work, CC BY-SA3.0,https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=33009600

Despite its size and beauty I only noticed it last year when it was in bloom, and I began asking about it. I’ve lived here all my life and have never seen one like it that I remember. I learned that we commonfolk here in Enchanted Habitat call it variously. Princess Tree, Royal Princess Tree, Empress, Royal Empress, Paulina, Royal Paulina, Empress Paulina, and so on. Mix and match, take your pick. Wikipedia names it Paulownia tomentosa.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paulownia_tomentosa

Also according to Wiki, the Paulownia is native to China, and probably got to the U.S. in the late 1800s when its seeds were used as packing for goods shipped here. It likes the eastern third of the U.S. It can’t grow in the shade of other trees, but where it does grow it tries to take over and make a grove, multiplying by seeds and also sprouts on limbs and roots. Supposedly even fire and surface mowing can’t eliminate it unless repeated several times. If that’s true I wonder why we don’t have more of them.
The leaves are huge and are said to make good fodder for cows. The seed pods are pretty. The wood of this tree was and maybe still is used by Asian musical instrument makers. This fact reminds me of our own people of an older generation who used the beautiful dogwood tree for making fiddles and mandolins.

People who are against invasive non-native species don’t like the Paulownia; people who are into showy trees for ornamental landscape gardening, do. Chinese legend says the phoenix will land only in this tree, and then only if the current ruler is a good one. On both counts: I wish. When the time comes for her to land, I’ll be watching down the street.

The Hauling Garden
The moral of a story is more important than the story, right? So I’m giving you the bottom line first: If you want to grow vegetables that taste like anything, don’t grow them in potting soil.

Now the story.

My back yard has no place for a vegetable garden. It’s big, but shady. There are sunny spots but they only last half a day at most. Two years ago it came to me to create a moveable garden, a container garden on wheels, “So that the plants could follow the sun” would be the euphemism. Or in the vernacular, so that I could haul them around. I bought the biggest wagon I thought I could pull. It was black. It had deep sides. I bored holes in it for water to drain out. Here is how I envisioned the setup.

The wagon perfectly held the six huge plastic pots I bought. The pots held enough potting soil to exceed the remainder of the $budget, but oh well. Then I put in the seedlings. I thought, “And because the wagon’s sides are so deep, I can jury rig the supports these tomato plants will need.”

Of course tomatoes.

Vegetable=Tomato. Summer=Homegrown Tomato. Same as so many others in Enchanted Habitat and elsewhere: give me home-grown tomatoes first, last, and most of all. After I prioritized the list of tomato varieties I wanted, there wasn’t room for frills like beans or peppers. I rigged the supports. Store-bought tomato cages would not do for my tomatoes. I was sure they would be big. Scaffolding was what they would need.

And lo and behold, for once it looked like my actuality was turning out kind of like my plan. A little tweaking here and there as we went along, but after awhile there it was: prolific robust tomato plants eight feet tall, flowering and fruiting.
When I hauled them, it was one careful step at a time. The rig was heavy, and top heavy. The neighbors watched from their windows. But I didn’t care. The stink bugs loved them too, and I won that battle. Those tomatoes were beautiful.

But every one, of every variety, tasted like cardboard.

I stopped making myself eat them after they convinced me they were all only for show. Seeing them lined up on the kitchen counter looking like prize winners until they began to sag got to be more than I could bear, so I stopped harvesting them.
Denouement: For the last two growing seasons my source of home-grown tomatoes has been the Real farmer’s market across the river. So I have not been deprived of them, only the deep pleasure of growing them. And slowly I’ve been healing from my disappointment. By next year I might be ready to try the whole thing again with real dirt.

From The Creatures Gazette

Dog Rejects Insect

Anopheles, Aedes Return

Who Who Whooooo Left This On The Front Porch Last Night?
I believe it was an Eastern Screech Owl. It’s not a big feather, and they are the smallest of the four kinds of owls who are permanent residents of Enchanted Habitat. I found some nice information about our owls on this website. http://www.arkansasonline.com/news/2013/jan/27/whooo-what-when-where-and-why-some-our-most/

The permanent owls in Arkansas are: Barn, Eastern Screech, Great Horned, and Barred. All except the Screech are big birds, 16″ to 22″ long. The Eastern Screech is only 8-1/2″, about the size of a quail. I’ve had only one opportunity ever to get a good look at a Screech Owl, and they are truly magical-looking little creatures. The one I saw came one night to sit on a wooden fence near the back patio of the house where I lived then. The night was dark, but there were yard lights, and the owl was sitting only about twelve feet from me. It stayed there for about fifteen minutes, apparently regarding me. It seemed very calm. If it was looking at, or watching for, something else, I was unable to discover what that might be. I was the only living thing out there that I know of. After a long time I decided to find out how close I could come to it. Moving slowly, I got to three feet away before if kind of shook itself and flew off. The next day I learned that something profound had happened to someone in my family.

The Gem and the Setting

April 14, 2017May 28, 2017 ruthbyrn10 Comments

34.7º N 92.2 W. Little Rock, in Central Arkansas, in the United States

4/10/17 – 4/14/17

You are Here
Thanks to the Arkansas Department of Parks and Tourism for this nice map of Arkansas which shows the special placement of my homeland.
https://www.arkansas.com/maps/
There are other maps with somewhat different boundaries, but this is representative enough. We are in the middle of five other regions, each with its own different nature, and we exchange influences with all of them. We are more than a melting pot, we have our own nature, but if any one of the regions is likely to have something in common with every one of the others, it’s us. I can drive less than an hour west or north and I will still be in my region but will be going up and down foothills. Going east or southeast I’ll be in flat plantation land.

Bayou Bartholomew
My house is in the middle of a metropolitan population of about 300,000, but the second-most biodiverse stream in North America originates less than 45 miles away: the great, historic Bayou Bartholomew, the longest bayou in the U.S. It is home to 100 aquatic species. It flows 350 miles southeast in the state and on down into Louisiana, virtually separating the Timberlands from the Delta. It has an interesting story, past and present. Here are two info links.

Photo of The Bayou close to its headwaters, near Pine Bluff, AR. Photo courtesy of Keith Yahl – Flickr: Pine Bluff Arkansas, CC BY 2.0

Grandmotherly influences – it goes both ways
One of my grandmothers was from the Ozarks, and the other was from deep in the state’s Delta. When they were young adults they each came to live here in the middle. I picked up a lot from both of them, fortunately. The two of them not only talked differently from each other, they cooked and ate differently. Neither of them had a recipe book that I know of. They had it in their heads. Nor did they write down how they did it. An odd thing is, I don’t need to refer to anything when I cook something the way one of them did. And rarely, just rarely, in what I like to think of as a stroke of genius, I change something in one of their non-existant recipes. For instance my Hillbilly Grandmother never heard of cheesedip, and it’s just great to put on grits ‘n redeye gravy!

We Got There In Time!
I was afraid the Crimson Clover might peak and fade before I could photograph it, but thanks to the help of a dear friend who drove me there and kept me from falling down, I got pictures this morning.
Every year in late March to early April, the clover blooms in expanses on all four sides of the I-630 interstate exit onto Rodney Parham Road in Little Rock. For a limited time only. To those of us who wait in our cars at the stoplights there, they are a wonder. And so that nobody else will be as ignorant as I used to be: clover that is the color pink is named Red Clover, and clover that is the color red is named “Crimson Clover”. Got that?

And not only the clover is there now: also there are stands of violet Vetch, and stretches of some small pure yellow flower I haven’t identified (it’s visible in the interior of the photo above). Here is a photo of the Vetch, which is growing there in smaller portions.

But spring will not be the end of this story of glory at the Interstate Exit. Different flowers appear here as the seasons change. I know I can look forward to abundant Black Eyed Susans, white Queen Anne’s Lace, and yellow Bitterweed–and more, but those are the ones that stand out in my memory.

And further still: Not shown in the photo is an area of land that belongs to the highway and abuts it, but is never mowed and is home to a beautiful tangle of trees and shrubby growth that flower in the spring and flame in the fall. This area has been let to return to a mini-wilderness, and due to the terrain it is almost marshy. It is home to many birds, and I especially see the male red-winged blackbirds there.

I found out that our state’s highway department partners with the parks and tourism department to do wildflowers in many places, and this is one of them. If what I learned plus what I deduce is the whole truth and nothing but, this little wild area at the I-630 exit is probably officially designated as a “Natural Zone”, bordered by the “Transition Zones” of wildflowers. I much approve of such a wonderful use of our taxpayer dollars!

The Cardinals
Three Redbirds are hanging out in the yard lately: two males and a female. I don’t know if it’s that the males are duking it out, or if the threesome is a ménage à trois. Cardinals adapt.Three years ago a pair of them had a nest that failed, and their reaction was to start feeding some nearby baby robins. They and the parent robins got along well and kept the babies worn out gulping all the meals, all the way through the growing-up process. The end result was fine in all directions as far as I could tell.

From today’s Creatures Gazette:
DOG CLAIMS, EATS ROSE
Last year the yard man cut down one of the rosebushes. I only realized it two days ago when I saw something red blooming a foot off the ground. The poor brave bush had produced a rose from its stock, below where the grafted hybrid used to be. Roses are not my favorite art subject but this one deserved to be noted somehow, and I fetched my sketching bag and fold-up seat. It’s beyond me how some animals know exactly what you’re paying attention to, but I had no more than opened my sketchbook when The Dog softly, finely, pulled an outermost petal from the rose and ate it. And then another. I folded my arms and watched while she ate one more. When she noticed I was watching her and not the rose, she stopped eating. And started again when I stared at the rose. We played a few rounds of this game and then we left the bedraggled flower and went into the house.