Wow, it was blowing dogs off chains a few days ago! If you
live anywhere in the middle of the country, you know exactly what I’m talking
about. I’m not complaining, mind
you. Compared to the blizzard conditions experienced in other places, we got
off easy.
Wind gusts exceeded 50 mph in our area. According to the
National Weather Service (From Jim Spencer’s weather blog on KXAN), Hays
County’s highest measured gust was 53 mph.
I am amazed at how strong trees are, and how much movement
and stress they can take. Looking out the window the other day at the trees
thrashing about, I expected more damage. But those trees are tough. Our damage
was limited to occasional broken Ashe juniper branches, though one of those was
quite a large branch in a tree directly in front of the house.
Besides the woodpile, a few branches fell, also. |
One unforeseen problem emerged. In a recent tree-cutting
spree we stacked wood five feet high between several moderately sized cedars.
When the winds started gusting, the trees started swaying – and a good bit of
our woodpile toppled. Now we get to stack that wood twice. Live and learn.
Did you notice the noise of the windstorm? Even inside the
house, I could hear a low sustained roar. Outside, the roar was intense: an amalgam of wind whistling through
branches, leaves rustling, limbs crashing against each other, and trees
creaking and groaning – for miles around.
“Awesome” – though overworked – is just the right adjective!
The violets have begun blooming, few and sparse right now. These
little darlings appeared without my help and began proliferating under the roof
overhang and live oak tree. According to the Wildflower Research Center they
are “Good for the moist but well-drained woodland shade garden.” Well, that’s
not exactly what I’ve got, but I’ll take ‘em! I think they are Missouri violets
(Viola missouriensis).
For some reason, I thought of poetry when writing about the
violets, and I found this sweet little poem to share.
Who hath despised the
day of small things?
By Cristina Rossetti
As violets so be I recluse and sweet,
Cheerful
as daisies unaccounted rare,
Still sunward-gazing from a lowly seat,
Still
sweetening wintry air.
While half-awaked Spring lags incomplete,
While
lofty forest trees tower bleak and bare,
Daisies and violets own remotest heat
And
bloom and make them fair.