While working in the veggie garden, trying to figure out how best to pair up my veggies with good companion plants, I noticed two other little companions not too far away. And of course, I just had to snap a picture to share with my blogging companions.
I also noticed that it’s apparently time to add a little more water to the pond! Ok, weather, clearly it’s time you sent us some rain.
This week I received a special invitation to join the Beautiful Wildlife Garden garden blog team as a southern representative — Texas being my home region. I feel very honored to join such a great team so dedicated to wildlife gardening! Please visit this wonderful group blog that works to redefine beauty in the garden and to encourage the welcoming of wildlife of all sorts.
What does it say about my personality that I love thorns? Thorns, spines, prickles, bumps, sharp-pointed leaves, and even little velcro-hairs — I am utterly fascinated by them all.
My husband might say that I’ve been a loving thorn in his side for some 15 years now (well, he wouldn’t say that to my face). My parents and sisters might say that I’ve been a thorn for much longer than that, given that I’m in my fourth decade now! My kids probably consider me to be a big thorn in their plans to conquer the world one video game at a time.
But truth is, thorns and other sharp things have a much greater purpose than just to snag your clothing, irritate you, and make you bleed. We’re back to talking about plants, mind you.
In terms of botany, they are a supreme defense.
And in terms of wildlife value, they provide tremendous protection. Birds nest safely in their midst.
The leaves of the Agarita bush might be sharp, but the plant is called the Babysitter Bush for a reason. Deer and other animals hide their young under the bush while they forage for food.
Lizards are well protected from predators in briar patches and brambles.
See? Good stuff, those thorns.
I can’t say that I love all thorns. I’ve been stabbed by some that made me cry. We removed a small tree from against our house when we first started gardening, because the 2-inch long spines on that tree were going to put an eye out (it spreads by roots, it turns out — years later we are still trying to keep that tree from coming back).
And Greenbrier is one frustrating vine. It has all sorts of prickles, including ones on its leaves, and it is the very example of a plant version of a Hydra — cut off its head and it will grow two more.
But no matter. I still love thorns and the like. And if I can be a bit of a thorn myself, I’m okay with that. I tell my kids that it’s a mother’s job to be a protective thorn — keeping her kids safe and guiding them along the pathways of life (and keeping them in line!).
Just my thorny opinion, as it were.
I had such fun working with 4th-graders in their language arts class today. They are studying words with the root foli-, which means “leaf.” So we headed outside to look for real-life examples of foli- words. But first we reviewed several prefixes, including:
Uni- (one)
Bi- (two)
Tri– (three) (also Tre-)
Quatre- (four)
Quinque- (five)
Multi- (many)
Per- (through)
De- (from, of)
Ex- (out of, from)
With that, see how many of these words you already know… (EDIT: I’m not sure why the boldfaced type got so messed in the text that follows — my entry looked fine, but it’s showing up differently.)
Foliage (leaves, leafage; cluster, especially as in tree or forest or shrub)
Foil (a leaf; a thin sheet of metal) Sure you know what foil is, like aluminum foil. But did you know it came from the latin root meaning “leaf”?
Exfoliate (to peel off in layers or flakes, as the bark of certain trees) Golden-cheeked warblers use the exfoliated strips of the Ashe Juniper to build their nests.
Texas Persimmon’s exfoliating bark is remarkably beautiful.
Defoliate, or Defoil (to deprive of leaves; to cut or pick off leaves prematurely) Insects and caterpillars can strip a plant of its leaves, but bonsai gardeners sometimes purposely defoliate their trees, too, to force the growth of a new set of leaves.
Folium (leaf, especially a thin leaf) Thin enough to let the light shine through!
A folium is also a specific algebraic curve, such as the Folium of Descartes.
Foliation (process of forming into a leaf or leaves; the way leaves are arranged in the bud). Here’s a budding Mexican Redbud from last spring.
Trifoliate (having three leaves) Wood sorrel is a fine example of a plant with three leaves.
Trifoliolate (divided into three leaflets) There are many well-known trifoliolates, including Columbine…
Wafer Ash, or Hop Tree (even its scientific name shows that it’s 3-leaved: Ptelea trifoliata)…
And of course, Poison Ivy.
Trifolium, or Trefoil (Clover, a plant with 3 leaflets) Good ol’ Clover. Of course, clover is also technically a trifoliolate.
Quinquefoliolate (having five leaflets) The Texas Star Hibiscus is one such quinquefoliolate. Just look at those 5 long fingers…
Virginia creeper typically has 5 leaflets, too, though it sometimes has 7.
Some plants can be 3-foliolate, 5-foliolate, 7-foliolate, or just plain multifoliolate. Dewberry is one of those plants — 3- or 5-leaflet sets all on the same vine.
FYI, sometimes people use “foliate” and “foliolate” (with their prefixes) interchangeably, but technically “foliolate” refers to leaflets. There just aren’t many plants that have a single leaf or two leaves total — there are some orchids, though, that do qualify. But “foliolate” is more accurate for plants with leaflets. It’s just annoying to say.
Here are a few more foli- words:
Bifoliate (having two leaves)
Bifoliolate (having two leaflets)
Defoliant (a chemical substance that causes leaves to fall from plants, such as Agent Orange)
Foliaceous (belonging to or having the texture or nature of a leaf; having leaves intermixed with flowers; leaflike; consisting of thin layers)
Foliar (consisting of or pertaining to leaves) Many gardeners use compost tea as a foliar spray to give nutrients directly to leaves.
Foliate (adj. of or relating to leaves; leaf-like; v. to hammer or cut into thin leaf or foil; to produce foliage)
Foliated (having leaves or leaflike projections)
Foliate papilla (areas of the tongue with taste buds)
Folic acid; Folate (form of Vitamin B9, found in leafy vegetables)
Folio (leaves or pages of a book formed from the folding of a larger sheet)
Foliolate (having or relating to leaflets)
Foliose (leafy; having many leaves)
Folious (like a leaf; thin; unsubstantial)
Perfoliate leaf (a leaf with the base united around and apparently pierced by the stem)
Portfolio (case for carrying loose sheets of paper, manuscripts, and drawings)Quadrifoliate (four-leafed) Four-leaf clover
Quatrefoil (four-lobed) Four-leaf clover
Unifoliate (having only one leaf)
Unifoliolate (compound in structure yet having only one leaflet, as the orange)
After awhile, some of those foli- words start to sound the same, don’t they? But my favorite is quinquefoliolate. My granddaddy, always a fan of long words, would have loved that one.
No photos. Just a moment of sharing. Last week and today I presented a slideshow tour to teachers from different elementary schools and middle schools about the process involved in the creation of the habitat at my son’s school, and this evening I got to share the story with the latest NWF Habitat Steward trainees. It’s just been one of those feel-good days. How warm my heart gets when I take moments to really reflect on all the accomplishments of the past year and the goals of the year to come… the lives I’m touching by the work that I’m doing. Tomorrow I get to go out into the habitat with language arts students to find real-life examples of words based on the root “foli-” (leaf), and next week I get to spend time with Kindergarteners showing them the wildlife in our habitat and looking for signs of fall. It all just feels really good. Ya know?
Sometimes I feel overwhelmed with the red tape I run into from time to time — or frustrated by little snags along the way. Sometimes I wonder how in the world I got into such an enormous project (the finger points right back to me). Thank goodness for those who help where they can or take on big, big jobs and ongoing roles (one of them reads this blog and he knows I’m talking mostly about him right now). Thank goodness for my family, who never complain when they have to cook their own dinner or get volunteered to volunteer. It’s certainly been a learning process, this project. But it’s all worth it, seeing those kids loving nature (and seeing all the happy wildlife, too).
Not the big furry kind. Not even the big-footed kind. But around our yard, we’re seeing some giants and never-before-been-seens that just seemed to appear out of nowhere.
We’d seen evidence of the giant swallowtail visiting our yard –eggs, munched-on leaves — we even enjoyed fostering some bird-poop caterpillars for awhile. But until this weekend, we had never actually set eyes on the giant butterfly itself. When it appeared, I stalked it all over the yard with my camera.
Of course, the best pictures are of it on the invasive Lantana I have yet to pull. Drat that pink-and-yellow Lantana! But between the hyper dogs, curious kids, and unwillingness of the butterfly to rest for even a fraction of a second, I’m lucky I got any shots at all.
Giant toadstools and other mushrooms are appearing all over my yard. I’m sure they are all deadly. You won’t find me seeking out edible mushrooms anywhere except the wild grocery store. But who can resist letting a sleeping gnome rest under a toadstool of that size?
Even with the gnome there, I don’t think one gets enough of a size comparison. So here’s a shot with my son’s hands as he places the gnome for me.
I absolutely love how mushrooms look underneath. This one was already overturned, presumably by rambunctious wrestling dogs. I guess this is a variety of Amanita mushroom — that definitely means poisonous. I finally decided to order a book on Texas mushrooms. I’d love to be able to ID them better… and then pull them out of the yard with gloves on.
We’ve got two Southern Leopard Frogs living in the big pond. They are so much fun. It’s like a game we play, the humans trying to catch a glimpse of a frog before it dives under the water. The second frog is more skittish than its companion. In fact, it let out the cutest chirp when it decided that at 5 feet away I was way too close — it chirped and zipped underwater with a splash. Not this other guy — he watches me for a long time. I think he secretly likes posing for a camera.
So many plants are beyond huge now. The Common Tree Senna is getting to be 4-5 feet tall and has its first blooms just now appearing.
Texas Poinsettia (Wild Poinsettia, Fire on the Mountain, Euphorbia cyathophora) is making an appearance. However, every spot I found it was not in a spot I originally planted it. I cast narrowed eyes at this potentially naughty spreader. Oh well, it’s native and very pretty.
And we have a new bloom on the Exotic Love Vine.
Now take a look at where it is on the Cousin Itt of a plant that it has become. Sigh. Where’s Waldo?
Here’s another Waldo hunt. The hummingbird feeders have become buried under the Black-Eyed Susan vines. Good thing I have plenty of others around for the hummingbirds.
Oh, happy big black carpenter bees, always on the blue sage plants. They are so hard for me to get a picture of — always wanting to land on the opposite of the bloom from where I’m standing. This carpenter bee was so heavy that the entire bloom would sag down when the bee landed for a bit of nectar.
Speaking of blue sages, this Salvia plant is one that I bought spur of the moment in the spring. It’s sending forth giant stalks of beautiful violet blooms. Is it Majestic Sage, or a close cousin? I regret not actually writing down the name.
Not to be outdone, Tropical Sage is in bloom. So pretty.
Squatter alert! This squirrel seems to have taken up residence in one of our Screech Owl houses. Not only that, but it’s a thief, taking some of our row cover but not quite getting it inside. Evidence, mister! You are caught red-pawed! There was a rag hanging off one of the lower limbs, too. Little naughty squirrelsy.
The garden never ceases to surprise me. I love hunting for yetis and other whatnots around the garden.
First a tarantula, and now a Black Witch Moth (also called a Bat Moth). It’s not even October yet — way too early for Halloween!
This large noctuid beauty earned one of its names simply from its shape and size — the wing span is at least 5 inches across. I imagine at night it would be quite easy to mistake such a flying creature as a bat. The lovely irridescent “comma” is one of its strongest ID markers. From the pale stripes going through the center of the wings, this particular moth can also be identified as a female.
The Black Witch Moth, Ascalapha odorata, has quite a bit of folklore about it… some consider its presence to be a curse– that the moth is a harbinger of death– particularly if it enters your house. Other people believe that if the moth flies over you, you will lose your hair. Fortunately, neither are the case here — phew! Yet another belief is that the moth is the embodiment of a lost soul, and still one more is that the moth is actually an indicator of good luck — as in winning the lottery. Well, I suppose I should have entered the lottery on the day I saw this lovely girl — I guess I blew it.
Edit: Apparently the pupa of the Black Witch Moth was what killer Buffalo Bill put in his victims’ mouths in the novel “Silence of the Lambs” (the movie used a different species). Whoa.
Our moth girl was missing a leg and seemed rather frail. It was clear that she wasn’t going to live much longer, so I can only hope that she enjoyed a full life. I’m glad I got to meet her.
Thinking about the full metamorphic life cycle of moths and butterflies — here’s the larval stage of another kind of moth. The dark horn is going to remind tomato growers of a moth they aren’t particularly fond of, but this hornworm is actually the caterpillar stage of the Snowberry Clearwing Hummingbird Moth, on Coral Honeysuckle. As with other hornworms, these caterpillars are very well camouflaged on the green leaves they feast upon.
My cat keeps turning on my printer and making pages print. Time to get her out of here — and me into the garden!
That might be a trick title. You’ve been warned. Even if only briefly.
A couple of days ago my neighbor called me excitedly to tell me about what she’d saved from her ever-naughty cat. “It’s a big tarantula!” she said. Well, I’m all for saving tarantulas (and I was secretly jealous that the tarantula wasn’t in my own yard — I live for those kinds of discoveries).
My friend brought the tarantula right over. It’s a Texas Brown Tarantula, and its dark coloration is a pretty fair clue that this guy is, well, a guy. Male Texas Browns get those dark colors as they complete their final molt toward sexual maturity, and then it’s off to the races! They will wander long distances until they find a lady friend, and I’m pretty sure that’s what this handsome, hairy guy was doing until that ever-naughty cat noticed it. By the way, Mr. Tarantula was completely unharmed. The cat’s ego might have suffered some, however, when my neighbor threw her keys at it to get it away from the spider.
Isn’t this tarantula GORGEOUS? Just look at those pretty eyes. Simply hypnotic.
When we realized that the tarantula had probably been wandering in search of a female, we knew we wanted to let it continue on his way. Apparently males only live for a few months after they reach sexual maturity, and we wanted our guy to have a chance at getting a girlfriend. However, we invited it to stay a couple of days at our home so that my son could show it to his classmates this morning at school. And we offered it a few juicy grasshoppers — apparently it chose the largest, a brown one. The green ones had to endure a couple of days of sheer terror.
Now, I must tell you a little about the Texas Brown Tarantula. First of all, don’t be scared. They can get big, yes (this guy had about a 5-inch leg span). But they are not aggressive, and that’s why so many people keep them as pets. Even if they were to bite, probably due to the human’s fault, it wouldn’t be more than like a bee sting. No, the only two spiders in Texas that we ever worry about are the Brown Recluse and the Black Widow Spider. Tarantulas, they are just lovable furry creatures.
I don’t know whether Texas has a state spider, but the giant Texas Brown Tarantula fits right in with any number of our “Big” mottos (We grow ’em big in Texas; Go big or go home; Everything’s big in Texas; and so forth).
The spider was quite calm and nonchalant throughout its stay, and when we released it, it just started up its traveling once again — in no hurry, just at a nice steady pace. I love watching the way it moves its legs.
It walked right past a toad (the tarantula was larger than the toad, in fact) and began crawling up the fence. Never stopped (boy, that toad did, however). Just climbed right over, and right back down the other side. Good luck, Cassanova!
The sweet smell of Almond Verbena drew me out into the garden this morning. Apparently I wasn’t alone. As soon as the sun began coming up, a few flies and hoverflies were sampling the nectar of the fragrant flowers.
As I took in the aroma, I noticed how similar the Almond Verbena is to other plants in my garden, and I set out to match it up.
The pigeonberry is in full bloom, a lovely white and faint pink at the moment, though it will show off more pink colors before long, I’m sure.
But the longer stalks of tiny white blooms of the Texas Kidneywood really match up well in size to the Almond Verbena.
If you take a closer look at the leaves, however, they are like night and day. Whereas the Almond Verbena has lush, ample green leaves, the Kidneywood is covered in tiny leaflets.
And these leaflets made me think of the Fragrant Mimosa, which was still a baby during blooming season.
But look at those thorns!
Near the Almond Verbena is a special Tecoma Stans variety called Sangria.
With that hint of orange in the yellow tubular flower, it looks so much like the bloom of Crossvine. Actually, my other Crossvine has the opposite color pattern of this one (yellow on the outside, orange-red on the inside), and it would look even more like Sangria were it in bloom.
The butterfly flower of the Gaura plant is so fairy-like.
And so is that of the Mexican Anacacho Orchid. I’m so glad this little plant toughed it out and survived a term in an ill-draining location, a transplant to a new spot, and last year’s terrible freeze. It seems so much happier now.
Lastly, the Cigar Plant is quite inviting to the hummingbirds with its red tube-like flowers.
Just like the hummer magnet, Firebush.
It’s a small world, after all.
I’ve recently learned to recognize pokeweed, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s on our school campus (the picture above isn’t from school; it’s from a recent visit to McKinney Roughs). Well, shortly the plant won’t be at the school any longer. All parts of it are considered highly toxic to humans, and for our kids’ safety, the plant has to go (it was right by the Kindergarten wing, as well). I apologize to the nearby birds — I’ll plant three more berrying plants in my own yard just to make up for it. It’s such a shame — what a great native wildlife plant.
I did get the pokeweed berries off right away, since they might look enticing to a hungry youngster or foolish adult, and I’ll pull the whole plant out very soon. Then I did what any good mom would do — I took the poisonous berries home right away to do a project with my kids. No, not that kind of project… geez!
According to multiple sources, fermented pokeweed ink was used to write the Declaration of Independence, as well as letters during the Civil War. (Edit: Thanks to Dana R., who contacted the National Archives and found out that the Declaration and the Constitution were written in iron gall ink — this means another ink-creating experience awaits me!) Native Americans used the berry juice to decorate their horses and dye cloth, and even used it for war paint. But given that the toxins from the juice can be absorbed through the skin, you won’t find me recreating that part of history.
What did appeal to me, however, was making ink. I donned gloves and carefully crushed them to all sorts of juicy greatness.
I then strained the mixture through pantyhose into a funnel (this last part was cool — with my gloves on and all the red juice squeezing out from the stained lump, I looked like a surgeon massaging a heart — granted the heart was about the size of that of a chicken, but still it was c-o-o-l cool). And from the funnel, the juice flowed into a small bottle.
Next I added a pinch of yeast to the liquid to help it ferment. I’m keeping the liquid out of the sun, too, so that it doesn’t turn brown right away from the UV rays. That cork is just there for show right now, as I need to let the gases escape during fermentation.
I’m going to teach the kids a little calligraphy, I think, to go along with the ink. Hopefully in a few days I’ll get to update the ink report with sample writing. What fun! (EDIT: My son ended up using the ink for a nifty visual for his Social Studies project on the American colonies.)
Note: I talked to a teacher about making this a lesson for the Social Studies classes at school, but the timing was all wrong for either studying about Native Americans or the later American history. Perhaps if I still have ink, I can share it with them then. Or maybe I’ll be able to find some more pokeweed berries elsewhere and enjoy another project.
