A pond story

 

Last year we put together a small water feature outside our living room window (you can read about that here). I thought it would be pretty, and that we would enjoy the soothing sounds of trickling water, both outside and, when we could open windows, inside.

But it has been so much more.

Last week my daughter called me to come look at something. I was halfway up the stairs toting the vacuum cleaner (why is that invariably when someone calls for you?). Somewhat grumpily, I set the vacuum cleaner down on the landing and trudged back down to my daughter, who was pointing out the window at the new pond.

“Look, it’s the snake,” she said.

Sure enough, a checkered garter snake was swimming in the pond.  We have seen this non-venomous snake in this area many times (see Just a member of the family).

Grumpiness be gone.

We watched him as he swam around. Soon he began writhing under the water splashing into the pond from the water spigot. He did this several times – at first we thought he was trapped under it, but soon we concluded he was doing this because it felt good.

The goldfish were also swimming about, no doubt watching him warily. We decided this was a different, smaller snake than we’ve seen here before, and that the goldfish are big enough to be safe. My daughter was concerned, however, about the small leopard frog who also lives in the pond.

Bees drink from this pond all day long, gathering on the edge in a cluster, and then flying off to their work. One day my daughter told me she had touched a bee on its back – how cool is that.  I wondered if this snake might eat bees.

My nature lover daughter could only watch from afar for so long, and then she headed outside. Mr. Snake watched her draw near, and then beat a hasty retreat to the rock pile in the corner.

When I swung by the window 15 minutes later, he was back, swimming around, resting his head on the rock or edge of the pond, writhing under the waterfall.

Meanwhile, a female painted bunting came fluttering by for the drink. I stood still, thinking, “Watch out for the snake, little bird!” Instead of perching on the rock to get a drink, where she would be within the snake’s reach, she lit on the water spigot about a foot above the pond. I watched her lean over to snatch drops of water from the spigot’s spout. Smart bunting.

I decided two things about the little snake:  it was hungry and it was hot. The pond took care of both of his problems, apparently.

We’ve not seen him since. Nor have we seen the little frog.

Favorite spot in the garden:

Several years ago my friend Lona gave me some  phlox after I admired her very healthy stand. I planted them in the wrong place, with too much shade. They did not thrive. After three years or so, I figured out the problem. I moved them over about three feet to a sunnier location. This spring, they are putting on quite a show for me, and I “ooh” and “ah” every time I walk by. Garden success!

Fall beauties.

The white mistflower (Agaratina havanensis) is blooming in my garden, in a profusion not seen here before. The mistflower is native from Central Texas south into Mexico. In and of itself, it is beautiful when in bloom. But when butterflies flutter all around it, drawn by its heady fragrance wafting on a breeze . . . well, it becomes sublime.

Red admiral (Vanessa atalanta)
is the most common visitor.

I've never seen this butterfly here before;
it is a bordered patch (Chlosyne lacinia 
adjutrix). The adjutrix  is a Texas subspecies.

I have spent time the past two days sitting on a pile of rocks next to this bush with camera in hand. I can’t really describe how fabulous this is: perched two feet away from buzzing bees and fluttering butterflies, including some new-to-me types, all so intent on this little bush with its multitude of tiny white blooms that they quickly forget I am here.  They are busy harvesting the last nectar of the year before cooler weather arrives.

Queens (Danaus gilippus) are frequent visitors on our blue mistflower; guess they like this, too!

This was one of those transcendent natural experiences.

Well, I'm not sure but I think
this is an American painted lady
(Vanessa virginiensis).

The Texan crescent (Anthanassa 
texana) is new to me, also.

Have you ever had one of those experiences? While outside somewhere, you happen upon something so cool, so beautiful, so interesting that you will never forget it? For me, it usually happens when it is very quiet and I am alone.

Twenty years ago we lived in the middle of a 10-acre hay pasture. Bluebonnets covered the pasture in the spring; it was absolutely beautiful. One quiet day in early summer I stepped outside and heard the oddest popping sounds all around me. I stopped and looked around, trying to determine the origin of the sounds. I saw nothing, but quickly realized that I was hearing bluebonnet seedpods popping open all over the pasture. I stood there listening with a big grin on my face, looking over the pasture in amazement. Yes, I still remember that moment.

My first i.d. of this one, too:  pearl crescent (Phyciodes tharos).

This tattered fellow appears
to be a variegated fritillary
(Euptoieta claudia).

This memory of communing with and observing butterflies on the mistflower will stay with me, also. When I’m looking out the window on a cold gray winter day, wishing for summer, I will unpack this memory, and relive those joyous moments, sitting with butterflies under a warm November sun.

New neighbors

Our north-facing picture window sometimes seems like a big screen TV tuned to a nature show. Mostly the action is slow and peaceful, but sometimes it gets racy.

My daughter took this picture of our roadrunner
carrying twigs for the nest.

Last week my husband called my daughter and me to the “screen.” “I’ve never seen that,” he said. About 20 feet away, two roadrunners were mating. It was not a speedy process.  We stood and stared, and then I retrieved the binoculars to get a closer look at the bug dangling from the male’s beak: a centipede, writhing madly, and not distracting him a bit from the task at hand.

A few days later, my daughter and I sat on the steps looking north. (She decided we were not bird watching, as that is something oldsters engage in. Instead, we were nature watching. Ah, the right words are so important.)

We noticed a roadrunner making his way across the yard/field carrying a large twig. Very cautiously (it knew we were watching), it made its way over to and up on our picnic table, then flew into a cedar tree.

The light came on. This had happened a few days before while I was nearby watering. Coincidence? I think not.

We crept toward the patio and peered up into the tree with binoculars. Yes! She was building a nest over our patio!

The nest is in the upper right area of the photo.

It was time to learn about roadrunners, or “chaparrals” as my dad and a neighbor call them. Roadrunners (Geococcyx californianus) are cuckoos. Bird books held a dearth of information, but the Internet provided a few sources – some with conflicting information. Hmm.

The gist is that roadrunners may pair for life (they live 7 to 8 years) and are territorial.  They lay one or perhaps two clutches of three to six eggs each year. If food is scarce, the weaker nestlings become food (CANNIBALS IN MY YARD!). They live in the desert southwest and are common throughout most of Texas. (Information from Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum and Passport to Texas.)

My sources say both male and female take turns sitting. Eggs hatch
in 18 to 20 days. We have seen those babies before – they are UGLY.

One site (Desert U.S.A.) says that the male uses a bug to entice the female to mate, rewarding her after the deed. That would not be my response to a centipede.

Roadrunners eat primarily animals and bugs – including rattlesnakes, mice and small birds. We have seen them with snakes and lizards hanging from their mouths as they dart about the yard. Their speed – around 15 mph – is invaluable for catching their prey. They fly when startled, but only for short distances.

Rattlesnakes? Yikes! I like these roadrunner neighbors!

Favorite spot in the garden:

I planted these lovelies earlier this year, and they have just taken off. Gomphrena globosa  ‘Fireworks’ are my most prolific bloomer right now. They seem to be dropping lots of seed without needing a ton of water – the perfect plant for my garden!

Katydid Cotillion

Well, the Katydid Cotillion continues in Hays County.

We aren’t ones to interfere with a good time here in my neighborhood. And these bugs have been having a really good time for the last few months – all over the trees, the houses, etc. Good time. The party really gets going after dark. The mating sounds, in aggregate, drown out conversations, outdoor performances and television.

Last night a cool breeze blew in, so we tried to sleep with the windows open. We lasted about 20 minutes, then jumped up and slammed the windows shut. It’s that loud.

Last week, we sat at a party on a neighbor’s deck, shouting at each other over the racket. A neighbor who is a biologist suggested that the overpowering buzzing might be interfering with mating rituals of other night species – owls, chuck will’s widow, frogs.  Maybe their ears are better than ours, but the katydids are the only things we can hear at night. We agreed that they are louder than normal this year, and speculated it might be due to the mild winter.

These katydids are Central Texas leaf-katydids (Paracyrtophyllus robustus) (from BugGuide.net). These little jewels dine on oak foliage, and are usually heard but not seen - except in outbreak years. Guess what, folks:  It's an outbreak year in Hays (and a number of area counties). In outbreak years, they are seen everywhere. I am disturbed to learn that they sing from late May to mid-July - they are nowhere near finishing.

Click here to hear what we've been listening to.

Our critters have very long antenna and tall angular bodies that serve as excellent leaf camouflage. We see both bright green and reddish brown ones – many of each. One is hanging out in around my laundry room as we speak. 

My daughter and I collected a big jug full of them last week (this required lots of squealing, jumping and running – on my part), and then carried the lot down to the chicken yard for a chicken rodeo. Let me just say, chickens like katydids. Yum.

So settle in, neighbors. The katydids are here to party, and they will be carousing for at least another month.

Coneflowers backed by Mexican oregano (Lippia graveolens).

Favorite spot in the garden:

The purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) are blooming profusely right now. They are my daughter’s birthday flower, so we are always happy to see them blooming. I tried for several years to grow these, determined that they would live in my garden. After killing multiple plants, some finally survived, and have sowed offspring. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again!

Let’s talk about brush.

This Northern cardinal is enjoying his vantage point. 

I frequently see birds flying from our bird bath to this pile.

Brush piles provide cover for wild creatures. When we filled out the application for Backyard Habitat designation, brush piles counted in our favor. As our backyard is larger than the average Jane's, much of it crowded with Ashe juniper thickets, brush piles are easy to come by. In fact, much of the property might be considered a standing brush pile.

I was excited to realize that brush piles are beneficial. They aren't unsightly, but serve as homes to birds, snakes, rabbits, mice, etc. This was a tectonic shift for a girl who grew up in towns where brush piles were signs of a lazy homeowner. It’s all in the perspective, isn’t it?

Boy, do we have brush piles. Everywhere. We have burned lots of brush in our seven years on the hill. But frequently the county issues burn bans due to dry conditions, and the brush starts accumulating in . . . well, piles.

Forgive the photo quality; this was taken on my cell phone.

Last year favorable conditions allowed us to tackle the biggest, baddest brush pile ever – 10 feet wide by 30 feet long. Trees surrounded the monster pile, and our water hoses could not reach. It had been lurking there at the front of our property for a good long while, and had dried to a crisp.  First we cut back surrounding trees and piled that brush nearby. We set the thing alight, not knowing how fast it would burn, and hoping an inopportune gust of wind would not strike. Terrifying.

It burned large, but under control (barely). After the main pile burned, we threw on the newly-cut brush. It was an all-day burn extravaganza. I kept expecting fire department trucks to come wheeling in, sirens wailing, either after calls from nervous neighbors or after a panicked call from us.

We resolved NEVER to pile brush like that again. From now on, we would collect brush in small piles and, if needed, drag branches to a central location a little at a time for burning or chipping.

When I go out to clear small areas, I look for a hidden spot, preferably on a drainage of some sort, to pile brush. I address another issue with this strategy – slowing down the flow of run-off in the next flood event (that’s how we roll here – drought followed by flood). These piles can stay.

Recently we have been creating new brush piles. After watching wildfires scorch Texas this year, we decided to push the brush line away from our house (see Snow White and me). We plan to rent a chipper and make mulch. Meanwhile, the piles shelter birds and other critters. All is good in Pickens Land.

At least that’s what I thought until yesterday, when I read in the newspaper that Travis County officials are formulating new fire control plans, one of which is to minimize brush piles. Wait – brush piles are good, right?  Well, in the case of a wildfire, brush piles are bad. I imagine a burning brush pile would deliver fire up into the canopy very efficiently indeed. Bad.

In the interests of protecting our house, I have exchanged one danger for another. Oh brush, I’m so confused! What should I do?

Everything in moderation, as they say. Brush piles are good, when small and not located close to your house (in retrospect, this seems rather obvious).  As I look out the window at trees gesticulating wildly in the gusty north wind, I’m thinking I should rent that chipper pretty soon.

Sorry little critters. You’ll need to move along to smaller digs before too long.

Favorite spot in the garden:

Black dalea (Dalea frutescens) is native to Texas, Okahoma, New Mexico and northern Mexico, and likes to live on limestone hills. I've not found it in the wild on my property, but it seems to like my flowerbed alright.  This small shrub (mine is about a foot tall) has fern-like foliage and lovely blooms (July to October). I pick this lovely lady for today's favorite!